“Fools!” Charlie shouted. “Watchmakers given time to adapt can destroy any ship. They contribute greatly to a collapse. If they were not so useful we would have them exterminated.”
“That’s been done,” Jock said. He gestured dry humor. “With the usual result. Another Master kept hers—”
“Silence,” Ivan demanded. “They fear us. Speak of that.”
“Do you know of what the humans call ‘fiction’?” Charlie asked. “Deliberately constructed legends. Both those who hear and those who tell them know they are false.”
Ivan and Jock indicated they were familiar with the concept.
“There was a tri-v program last evening. It was fiction as are many of the broadcasts. This one was called ‘Istvan Dies.’ When it was completed the commentator spoke as if the major action of the story were true.”
“I did not see,” Jock said. “Viceroy Merrill wished me to meet some Traders before the reception for the Barons. Curse! These endless formalities consume our time and we learn nothing from them.”
“I did not tell you of this program,” Charlie said. “The principal actor portrayed a man obviously intended to be Admiral Kutuzov.”
Jock signaled astonishment and lament for lost opportunities.
“You have a point?” Ivan demanded.
“Yes. The story was one of conflicting motives. The admiral in command did not wish to do what he did. There was war between humans: between the Empire and those outies they fear so greatly.”
“Could we not come to terms with the outies?” Jock demanded.
“How?” Ivan said. “They control all access to us. If they suspect we would ever do so, they would do anything to prevent it. Do not even think of such things. Tell me of your program.”
“In this war there was revolt of a planet. Other planets would soon revolt. What was a small war could become a very large war, with many planets involved. The admiral detected a way to prevent that, and decided it was his duty. With five ships like Lenin he killed all life on a planet inhabited by ten millions of humans.”
There was long silence.
“They are able to do this?” Ivan demanded.
“I believe so,” Charlie answered. “I am not a Brown to be certain, but—”
“You will reflect on this. Remember that they fear us. Recall that they now know we have a prolific subspecies. Recall also that from study of the probe they placed this man in charge of the expedition to our system. Fear for your Masters and your sisters.” Ivan went to his chamber. After a long time the Mediators began to speak rapidly, but very softly.
52. Options
Heavy clouds raced across New Scotland skies. They parted to let New Cal’s bright rays slant warmingly into the paneled conference room. Bright objects flashed momentarily before the windows polarized. Outside there were deep shadows in the Palace grounds, but the sunlight was yet bright in the narrow streets where government offices emptied for the day. Kilted crowds jostled and milled as the sector bureaucracy hurried home to their families, a drink, and tri-v.
Rod Blaine stared moodily through the windows. Down below a pretty secretary hurried out of the Palace, so frantic to reach a people-mover that she nearly bowled over a senior clerk. An important date, Rod thought. And the clerk will have a family… all those people. My responsibility, and that may be just too damn bad for the Moties.
There was a bustle of activity behind him. “You got arrangements for feedin’ the Moties?” Kelley demanded.
“Yes sir,” a steward answered. “The chef would like to do something with that mush they eat, though—spices, something. He don’t feel right, just putting meat and grain in a pot and boilin’ it.”
“He can get artistic some other time. The Commissioners don’t want anything fancy tonight. Just be able to feed ‘em all if they want it.” Kelley glanced at the magic coffeepot to be sure it was full, then glared at an empty space next to it. “Where’s the goddamn chocolate?” he demanded.
“It’s comin’, Mr. Kelley,” the steward said defensively.
“Right. See that it’s here before the Moties come in. That’ll be an hour.” Kelley glanced at the wall clock. “OK. I guess we’re ready. But make sure of that chocolate.”
Since they’d discovered it aboard Lenin the Moties had become addicted to hot chocolate. It was one of the few human beverages they liked; but the way they liked it! Kelley shuddered. Butter he could understand. They put butter in chocolate aboard the Limey ships. But a drop of machine oil in every cup?
“Ready for us, Kelley?” Rod asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Kelley assured him. He took his place at the bar and pressed a button to signal that the conference could begin. Somethin’ botherin’ the boss, he decided. Not his girl, either. Glad I don’t have his problems.
A door opened and the Commission staff came in, followed by several of Horvath’s scientists. They took seats along one side of the inlaid table and laid their pocket computers in front of them. There were soft hums as they tested their linkup with the Palace computer system.
Horvath and Senator Fowler were still arguing as they entered. “Doctor, it takes time to process these things—”
“Why?” Horvath demanded. “I know you don’t have to check with Sparta.”
“All right. It takes me time to make up my mind, then,” Fowler said irritably. “Look: I’ll see what I can do for you next Birthday. You had a gong coming even before the Mote expedition. But, damn it, Doctor, I’m not sure you’re temperamentally suited for a seat on—” He broke off as heads turned toward them. “We’ll finish this later.”
“All right.” Horvath looked around the room and went to a seat directly across from Ben’s. There was a quick reshuffle as the Science Minister arranged his staff on his side of the table.
Others came in—Kevin Renner, Chaplain Hardy, both still in Navy uniform. A secretary. Stewards entered and there was more confusion as Kelley sent coffee around.
Rod frowned as he took his seat, then smiled as Sally entered hastily. “Sorry I’m late,” she panted. “There was—”
“We haven’t started yet,” Rod told her. He indicated a place next to his.
“What’s all this about?” she asked quietly. There was something in Rod’s manner that worried her, and she studied him carefully. “Why is Uncle Ben so interested in Motie history? Just what happened last night?”
“You’ll see. The Senator’s about to start.” And I hope it’ll be all right, sweetheart, but I doubt it. What happens to us after this? Rod turned grimly to the conference. I wonder what my Fyunch(click) is doing now? It’d be nice to send a representative to this and—
“Let’s get moving,” Senator Fowler said brusquely. “This meeting of the Lords Commissioners Extraordinary representing His Imperial Majesty to the inhabitants of the Mote System is convened. Please write your names and the organizations you represent.” There was a second of silence broken by the soft hums of the computer links.
“We’ve got a lot to cover,” the Senator continued. “Last night it became obvious that the Moties lie to us about certain critical matters—”