“Yes, yes, but we haven’t the authority to sign treaties or trade agreements,” Horvath protested. “Really, we did accomplish a lot, and now we have to go. There was plague on MacArthur, something new to our doctors, and we don’t know the focal infection center or the vector. And since this ship is our only way home, the Ad—our decision makers think it best we leave while there is a full astrogation crew. We’ll be back!”
“Will you come yourself?” the Motie asked.
“If at all possible. I’d love to.” He had no trouble sounding sincere about that.
“You will be welcome. All humans will be welcome. We have great hopes for trade between our races, Anthony. There is much we can learn from each other. We have gifts as well—can you not take them on your ship?”
“Why, thank you—I—” Horvath looked at Kutuzov. The Admiral was about to explode. He shook his head violently.
“It would not be wise,” Horvath said sadly. “Until we know what caused the plague, it is best we add nothing we have not already been exposed to. I’m very sorry.”
“So am I, Anthony. We have noted that your engineers are—how can I put this delicately? Are not so advanced as ours in many ways. Underspecialized, perhaps. We have thought partially to remedy this with our gifts.”
“I—excuse me a moment,” Horvath said. He turned to Kutuzov after switching off the sound pickup. “Admiral, you cannot refuse such an opportunity! This may be the most significant event in the history of the Empire!”
The Admiral nodded slowly. His dark eyes narrowed. “It is also true that Moties in possession of Langston Field and Alderson Drive may be most significant threat in history of human race, Minister Horvath.”
“I’m aware of it,” Horvath snapped. He turned the sound pickup on. “I am afraid that—”
The Motie interrupted. “Anthony, can you not inspect our gifts? You may take pictures of them, learn them well enough to duplicate them later. Surely that would be no danger to persons who have been on the Mote planet itself?”
Horvath thought furiously. He had to have those! The pickup was switched off, and Horvath smiled thinly at the Admiral. “He’s right, you know. Can’t we put them in the cutter?”
Kutuzov seemed to taste sour milk. Then he nodded. Horvath turned back to the Motie in relief. “Thank you. If you will place the gifts in the cutter, we will study them on the way out and you may retrieve both the gifts and the cutter, our gift to you, at the Crazy Eddie point in two and a half weeks.”
“Excellent,” the Motie said warmly. “But you will not need the cutter. One of our gifts is a space craft with controls suitable for human hands and minds. The others will be aboard it.”
Kutuzov looked surprised and nodded quickly. Horvath caught it with an inward smile. “That’s wonderful. We will bring gifts for you on our return. We want very much to repay your hospitality—”
Admiral Kutuzov was saying something. Horvath leaned away from the screen pickup to listen. “Ask about the midshipmen,” the Admiral commanded.
Horvath gulped and said, “Is there any other word about our midshipmen?”
The Motie’s voice took on a pained note. “How could there be, Anthony? They were killed attempting reentry, and their craft burned away completely. We have sent you pictures, did you not receive them?”
“Uh—I didn’t see them,” Horvath replied. Which was true, but it didn’t make saying it any easier. The damned Admiral didn’t believe anything! What did he think, that the boys were captured somewhere and being tortured for information? “I’m sorry, I was instructed to ask.”
“We understand. Humans are very concerned about their young decision makers. So are Moties. Our races do have much in common. It has been good to speak with you again, Anthony. We hope you will return soon.”
An alarm flashed on the bridge consoles. Admiral Kutuzov frowned and listened attentively to something Horvath couldn’t hear. Simultaneously a speaker announced the quartermaster’s report. “Ship’s boats secure, sir. Ready to depart.”
The Motie had evidently overheard. She said, “The gift ship is quite capable of catching up with you, provided you do not accelerate at more than”—there was a pause as the Motie listened to something—”three of your gravities.”
Horvath shot an inquiring eye at the Admiral. The officer was brooding heavily, evidently about to say something. Instead he nodded to Horvath. “One and a half of our gees for this trip,” Horvath told the Motie.
“Our gifts will join you in five hours,“ the Motie said. The screens flashed and Horvath’s pickup went dead.
Admiral Kutuzov’s voice grated in the Minister’s ear. “I am informed that a ship has left Mote Prime and is traveling toward Alderson point at one point seven four of our gravities. Two Mote gravities. You will please have them explain what that ship is doing.” The Admiral’s voice was calm enough, but the tone was imperative.
Horvath gulped and turned back to the Motie. His screen came active again. He asked hesitantly, afraid to offend them. “Do you know?” he finished.
“Certainly,” the Motie replied smoothly. “I have only just learned of it myself. The Masters have sent our ambassadors to the Empire to rendezvous with you. There will be three of them, and we request that you convey them to your Imperial capital where they will represent our race. They have full authority to negotiate for us.”
Kutuzov took a deep breath. He seemed about to scream, and his face was almost purple with effort, but he only said, very quietly so that the Motie could not hear, “Tell them we must discuss this. Captain Mikhailov, accelerate when convenient.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“We’re leaving now,” Horvath told the Motie. “I—we—must discuss the question of ambassadors. This is a surprise—I would have hoped that you would come yourself. Will there be any of our Fyunch(click)s sent as ambassadors?” He spoke rapidly as the warning tones sounded behind him.
“There will be time for any discussions needed,” the Motie assured him. “And no, no Motie ambassador could identify with any individual human; all must represent our race, surely you can understand that? The three have been selected to represent all views, and unanimously acting they can commit all Moties to an agreement. Given the plague menace, they would expect to be quarantined until you are certain they are no threat to your health—” A loud tone sounded through Lenin. “Farewell, Anthony. To all of you. And return soon.”
The final warning horns blared and Lenin surged forward. Horvath stared at the blank screen as behind him the others broke into astonished chatter.
40. Farewell
His Imperial Majesty’s President Class battleship Lenin was packed, crammed to capacity and beyond with MacArthur’s crew and the scientists who had been aboard her. Able spacers shared hammocks in rotation with their duties. Marines slept in corridors, and officers were stuffed three and more into staterooms meant for one. There were Motie artifacts salvaged from MacArthur in her hangar deck, which Kutuzov insisted be kept in vacuum, constantly under guard, with inspections. There was no place aboard where the ship’s company could be assembled.
If there had been an assembly point it would not have been used. Lenin would remain at battle stations until she left the Mote system, even during the funeral services, conducted by David Hardy and Lenin’s chaplain, George Alexis. It was not an unusual situation for either; although it was traditional for the ship’s company to assemble when possible, burial services were often conducted with the ship at battle stations. As he put on a black stole and turned to the missal a rating held open for him, David Hardy reflected that he had probably conducted more requiems this way than before an assembly.