Once Buckman regained his interest. He had been examining the asteroid orbits as a favor to Horvath; suddenly his eyes went blank. Then he feverishly punched codes into the computer and watched the results. “Incredible.”
“What’s incredible?” Horvath asked patiently.
“The Stone Beehive was dead cold.”
“Yes.” Horvath had experience drawing information out of Buckman.
“Assume the rest of the asteroids are. I believe it. Those orbits are perfect—project them back or forward as far as you like, they’ll never have collisions. Those things could have been up there a long time.”
Horvath went away talking to himself. Just how old was that asteroid civilization? Buckman thought in stellar lifetimes! No wonder the Stone Beehive had been cold: the Moties made no orbit corrections. They just put them where they wanted them— Well, he thought, time to get back to the gift ship. It won’t be long before we have to abandon it—wonder if Blaine’s making any progress?
Rod and Sally were at the moment in conference with the Admiral. They met on the bridge: to the best of Rod’s knowledge, no one but the Admiral and his steward had ever seen the inside of Kutuzov’s cabin. Possibly not even the Admiral, as he seemed always to be on the bridge, watching the screens like any scope dope, perpetually looking for Motie treachery.
“It is pity,” Kutuzov was saying. “That ship would be valuable. But we cannot risk it aboard. Mechanisms—who knows what they are for? And with Moties here to take advantage?” Kutuzov shuddered.
“Yes, sir,” Rod agreed affably. He doubted that the gift ship was any threat, but there were assemblies not even Sinclair could understand. “I was thinking of some of the other artifacts. Small parts. Those statuettes Chaplain Hardy is so fond of. We could seal everything in plastic, then weld it all inside grounded steel containers and strap the whole works on the hull inside the Field. If the Moties have anything that’ll hurt us after those precautions, maybe it’s better we don’t go home.”
“Um.” The Admiral fingered his beard. “You believe these artifacts valuable?”
“Yes, sir.” When Kutuzov said valuable, he meant something different from what Sally or Horvath implied. “The more we know about Motie technology, the better threat estimates Cargill and I can make, sir.”
“Da. Captain, I wish your honest opinion. What do you think of Moties?”
Sally controlled herself with an effort. She wondered what Rod would say. He was proving to be an absolute genius at maneuvering the Admiral.
Rod shrugged. “I can agree with both Dr. Horvath and yourself, sir.” When Kutuzov’s eyes widened, Rod hastened to add, “They could be the greatest potential danger we have ever faced, or the greatest potential opportunity we’ve ever found. Or both. Either way, the more we know about them, the better—provided we take precautions against the dangers.”
“Uh. Captain, I value your opinion. If I give permission, will you take personal responsibility for neutralization of any threat from Motie artifacts taken from that ship? I want more than obedience. I demand your cooperation, and your word that you will take no risks.”
That isn’t going to make me popular with Horvath, Rod reflected. At first the Science Minister will be glad to take anything; but it won’t be long before he’ll want something I can’t be sure of. “Yes, sir. I’ll go over and see to it myself. Uh—I’ll need Miss Fowler.”
Kutuzov’s eyes narrowed. “Bah. You will be responsible for her safety.”
“Of course.”
“Very well. Dismissed.” As Rod and Sally left the bridge, Commander Borman looked curiously at his Admiral. He wondered if he saw a grin. No, of course not. It simply wasn’t possible.
If there had been an officer of higher rank than Blaine present at the time, Kutuzov might have explained, but he would not discuss a captain—and future marquis—with Borman. What he might have said, though, was, “It is worth risk of Miss Fowler to keep Blaine active. When he does not brood, he is good officer.” Kutuzov might never leave the bridge, but the morale of his officers was part of his duty; and like all duties he took it seriously.
The conflicts developed immediately, of course. Horvath wanted everything, and assumed that Rod had merely been humoring the Admiral; when he found that Blaine took his promise seriously, the honeymoon was over. He was midway between rage and tears as Blake’s crewmen began to disassemble the gift ship, ripping apart delicate assemblies—sometimes cutting at random to prevent the possibility that the Moties had predicted what humans would do—and packing them in plastic containers.
For Rod, it was a period of useful activity again; and this time he had Sally for company. They could talk for hours when they were not working. They could drink brandy, and invite Chaplain Hardy in. Rod began to learn something of anthropology as he listened to Sally and Hardy argue over theoretical niceties of cultural development.
As they approached the Crazy Eddie point, Horvath became almost frantic. “You’re as bad as the Admiral, Blaine,” he charged as he watched an artificer use a cutting torch on an assembly that generated the complex field altering molecular structures in another magic coffeepot. “We’ve already got one of those aboard Lenin. What harm would another do?”
“The one we have wasn’t designed by Moties who knew it would go aboard the battleship,” Sally answered. “And this one is different.”
“Everything the Moties make is different,” snapped Horvath. “You’re the worst of the lot—more cautious than Blaine, by God. I’d have thought you’d know better.”
She smiled demurely and tossed a coin. “Better cut it there too,” she told the artificer.
“Yes, miss.” The spacer shifted his torch and began again.
“Bah.” Horvath stamped out to find David Hardy. The chaplain had assumed the role of peacemaker, and it was just as well; without him communications on the cutter would have ceased within hours.
The spacer finished slicing the assembly and packed it into the waiting box. He poured plastic around it and sealed the lid. “Got a steel crate outside, sir. I’ll just go weld it in.”
“Good. Carry on,” Blaine told him. “I’ll inspect it later.” When the spacer had left the cabin, he turned to Sally. “You know, I never noticed, but Horvath’s right. You are more cautious than I am. Why?”
She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t, then.”
“There’s Buckman’s protostar,” she said. She flicked off the lights, then took his hand and led him to the viewport. “I never get tired of looking at it.”
There were a few moments before their eyes adjusted and the Coal Sack was more than endless blackness. Then the reds began to show, and there was a small whirlpool of red on black.
They stood very close. They did a lot of that lately, and Rod liked it. He ran his fingers up her spine until he was scratching her gently beneath the right ear.
“You’ll have to tell the Motie ambassadors pretty soon,” she said. “Thought of what you’ll say to them?”
“More or less. Might have been better to give them some warning, but—well, the Admiral’s way may be safer.”
“I doubt if it makes any difference. It will be nice to get back where there are more stars. I wonder— Rod, what do you think the Motie ambassadors will be like?”
“No idea at all. I guess we’ll know soon enough. You talk too much.”