The Gripping Hand

by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle

  "Sure."

  "They will scatter," Bury said. "Of course they will. Seven ships. They have been preparing for this for years. Kevin, can we intercept them all?"

  "Not likely. Moties can't take as much gee stress as we can, but there's no way three ships can chase down seven. Not given that much head start."

  "Sinbad this is Agamemnon. What's happening, Blaine?"

  "Seven Motie ships so far," Blaine said. "Beyond us, and drifting in seven directions. I'll squirt up the data we have." He pressed keys, and the computer sent out what it had. Data twenty-plus seconds out-of-date would be better than nothing.

  Nearly a minute went by. "Blaine, they'll have plenty of time to recover from Jump shock before we get there," Balasingham's voice said. "Assuming each one accelerates along its present course, and giving them anything like the performance Motie ships had at the blockade point, we aren't going to catch more than four. Five tops, and that assumes we can cripple them without too much of a fight, which is assuming a lot. Damnation—"

  Pause; then Balasingham said, "I think it's time to change tactics. I'm ordering Atropos to move toward the

  I-point and prepare to chase Motie ships. That gets him close to you. I'm taking Agamemnon back to block the way out of this system. Our entry point won't have changed enough to matter. We'll never catch them all, but maybe we can bottle them up in here."

  "Not bloody likely," Blaine muttered. "But I suppose it's the best thing to try."

  "Captain Renner," Balasingham continued. "You were given sealed orders when you left New Scotland. To be opened on my instructions. My orders said to have you do that when the situation got beyond my control. I hereby instruct you to open those orders.

  "You'll find that your Reserve commission as Captain is activated, and you're in command of this expedition with the titular rank of Commodore. I don't know what you can do, but I sure can't think of anything. I'm ordering Commander Rawlins in Atropos to put himself under your direction.

  "Sir, I am now changing course to guard the Alderson point to New Caledonia. If you want me to do something else, tell me what it is. Agamemnon out."

  "God's navel," Renner said.

  "Kevin, have I heard correctly?" Bury demanded.

  "Apparently," Renner said. "I heard it too."

  "Moties," Joyce said from somewhere aft. "Chris—"

  "Later."

  "Yes, but—Chris, they're Moties!"

  "Joyce, it's a great story, but there's no time!" Chris shouted. "Captain, the first two Motie ships are under acceleration. They must be automated; Moties wouldn't have recovered yet."

  "Wonder what kind of computer they trust to work that soon after a Jump?" Buckman muttered.

  Chris Blaine examined the computer screen. "Continuing in their original directions. My guess is they'll all do that."

  Renner said, "Scatter and lose us. Only seven ships, and I don't see any more . . . in fact I've lost one. I'd have thought they would send more."

  "Me, too," Blaine said. "Maybe they couldn't."

  "Spacecraft are expensive," Bury said. He sounded comfortable enough under 1.5 gravities. "Many resources, of different kinds. A complex society."

  "Which may mean they've got problems," Renner said. "Jacob, where in the Mote system will their end of the tramline be?"

  "Fairly far out. Well beyond the orbit of their gas giant, Mote Beta."

  "We never looked at the Trojan civilizations," Renner said. "Maybe we should have."

  Half an hour later it was clear enough. Chris Blaine went back to explain to Joyce and Bury: "There are seven Motie ships. Five are under full acceleration in five different directions. One of them is lost, to us and Agamemnon and everyone else. Maybe we'll find it. Maybe not."

  "Mercy of Allah," Bury muttered. "And the seventh?"

  "The seventh is headed directly toward us, Excellency."

  Bury fingered his beard. "They will want to talk, then."

  Joyce Mei-Ling was staring at the viewscreen. Suddenly she pointed at the Motie ship. As they watched, a laser beam blinked on and off.

  "As you said, Excellency. If you'll excuse me . . ." Blaine went back to his duty station and turned to Renner. "Apparently they want to talk."

  "So do we," Renner said. "We'll never catch any of the others. Atropos may, but we won't."

  "One of the others looks to be heading for the Jump point to New Cal," Blaine said. "Agamemnon will be there first, though."

  "Meanwhile, that ship is coming to us," Renner said. "Hah. They're modulating that beam. Let's see if any of it makes sense—"

  "Imperial ship, this is Motie vessel Phidippides," the speaker said.

  "I've heard that name," Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo said.

  "We come in peace. We seek His Excellency Horace Bury. Is he aboard?"

  Joyce said, "Phidippides was the first Marathon runner. Delivered his message and died."

  Renner and Blaine looked at each other, then at Bury flat in his water bed with a screen above his face. Renner looked at the sensors before he spoke. Bury's heartbeat was steady, brain waves indicating he was fully awake. Okay.

  "Horace? It's for you."

  4

  The I-point

  Foreign relations are like human relations. They are endless. The solution of one problem usually leads to another.

  —James Reston

  The Honorable Freddy Townsend woke slowly, savoring each moment of relaxation. He felt eyes on him and turned over. "Hi."

  "Hi, yourself."

  Nobody puts a big bed aboard a racing ship. It only leaves room for accidents. Freddy had moved the double into Hecate for that earlier voyage with Glenda Ruth. He'd left it aboard for this trip . . . of course, why not? It had seemed so empty, until now.

  "Chocolate," she said. "Is there any chocolate aboard?"

  "You shall have your desire if I have to grow the beans myself," Freddy proclaimed.

  "If you find any aboard, lock it up. We're likely to need it."

  He stared. Then he reached for her, a tentative gesture. Glenda Ruth laughed. "I won't vanish, you know."

  "I can barely follow you, and you always know what I'm thinking. That worries me. If you know so much about— people—from what the Moties taught you, what do they know about us? Everything including what we don't know ourselves?"

  "Maybe not that much," she said.

  "But you're not sure."

  "I only knew three Moties. And they had to be the smartest ones available. I mean, who would you send as ambassadors to another race? To an empire that threatened your whole race?"

  "Yeah, you're probably right." This time he took her firmly by the shoulder and pulled her toward him.

  It would take them six days to cross to the Jump point to MGC-R-31.

  On a later splendid morning Glenda Ruth said, "You should let Kakumi teach you some fighting techniques."

  Freddy wasn't quite awake yet. He woke slowly and carefully. "Terry? I don't know that he knows any. Inuit are nice peaceful folk who really know machines."

  "Taniths aren't. There was three hundred years of tooth and nail. Terry Kakumi's half Tanith."

  "Mmm . . ."

  "And maybe five percent Sauron superman, Freddy. He's bound to know something."

  Freddy sat bolt upright. "Rape my lizard! Kakumi's been my engineer—Glenda Ruth, how would you know that? You barely know him!"

  "I started watching him because I don't want Jennifer hurt. It looked like she and Terry were, um, courting."

  "Four years, five, he's kept this ship healthy."

  "He's a good man, Freddy, but I noticed things. I've watched him move. He tried to cook for us once?"

  "Ugh. I should have warned you. In a race there's just the two of us. I take precooked. It's better."

  "They were perfect soldiers, the Saurons. March for a week without sleeping. Tolerate any sunlight level, any gravity. Breathe any atmosphere, never mind the stench. Sleep anywhere, wake instantly." She paused. "Eat anything or
ganic. Anything."

  "Oh. I guess that figures. Okay, so he's part—Sauron. There are Sauron loyalists, you know. Kakumi was six years in the Navy. Honorable discharge as an engineering petty officer."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Some places it does," Freddy said. "I'm glad they

  didn't know when we were racing in the Ekaterina system. I'm glad I didn't know. I'd have been too nervous."

  "You won, though."

  "Sure. Didn't know you . . . You don't follow racing. Damn, sometimes you scare me."

  "Pooh."

  "Yeah, pooh. Let's both take lessons." They'd been in New Cal system for four days; another six would take them through the Jump point to MGC-R-31. Six lessons in how to be a Sauron soldier?

  "Oh, Freddy, that's . . ." She stopped.

  "You weren't going to say . . . ?"

  "No, not because I'm a girl and you're a boy! Mediators don't fight. Sure, let's both take lessons."

  Terry Kakumi looked hard and round, a little taller than Glenda Ruth but more than half again her weight. When Hecate was racing and all needless mass had been stripped out, he slept in the engine compartment. Now there were bulkheads installed to make a cabin for him just forward of the engine compartment, but he hadn't done much with it.

  "Bare as the engine room," Freddy told Glenda Ruth. "I suppose it makes sense—are you sure about his ancestry?"

  "Want to ask him?"

  "No, I don't think so—"

  "Of course he may not know."

  Freddy tapped on the engine room compartment door.

  It opened. "Aye, aye." Kakumi saw Glenda Ruth, came out into the companionway, closing the door behind him. "Need me to relieve George on watch?"

  "No, we're on course. Wanted to ask you something, Terry. You were Navy, you must have learned how to fight . . . ?"

  Kakumi nodded.

  "Or knew already. Anyway, you knew when we left Sparta we'd be trying to get to the Mote. Well, it might be dangerous. We're wondering if you'll give us some lessons?"

  Kakumi looked at Freddy, then Glenda Ruth, and shook his head slowly. "Wouldn't be a good idea. Four days or so, you'd learn just enough to get in trouble. If there's

  trouble, you talk, I'll fight." He grinned, making small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Better than if I talk and you fight. Jennifer's good at talking, too. Do we know for sure if we're going to the Mote?"

  "Not yet."

  "Too bad."

  "Well. I suppose you're right," Freddy said. "About learning just enough to get killed. All right."

  "Let's go look at the charts," Glenda Ruth said. She took Freddy's hand and led him away. When they reached the bridge, she was laughing.

  "What?"

  "Think about it. Why he closed the door."

  "Huh? Oh. Jennifer."

  "Interesting that he's that sensitive."

  * * *

  "Excellency, greetings!" The lopsided Motie face bubbled with enthusiasm . . . somehow.

  "Salaam. I see that you know me."

  "Of course."

  Face had been a new concept to the Moties. Renner remembered that rigid, twisted smile. Motie faces weren't evolved to send messages. The creature must be signaling with body language and intonation: Glad, glad to see you! How long it has been, how much like coming home!

  Bury's indicators were twitchy but not ominously so. "My Fyunch(click) must be long dead."

  "Oh, yes, but she taught another, and that one taught me. I've been Fyunch(click) to you since my birth, yet we meet for the first time. Please tell me, was the coffee-tasting event a success?"

  For an instant, Bury gaped. Then, "Yes, indeed. Your teacher's teacher was quite right, the Navy had never considered that a man who doesn't drink wine might still teach them something of discrimination."

  "Splendid! But it must seem that I'm talking of some past Dark Age. Let me say in some haste that my task is to persuade you and yours not to fire on us. We come in peace. We carry none of the Warrior class."

  Bury nodded in satisfaction. "Astute of you to say so."

  Renner and Blaine exchanged glances. Chris Blaine grinned slightly.

  "What?" Joyce demanded in a fierce whisper.

  "Warriors," Blaine said. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, Chris raised a palm to cut her off. "Later."

  The Motie continued to project confidence. "Excellency, our first ship, which we have named Gandhi, wishes to carry an ambassador to your nearest peopled world. She is accompanied by a Mediator, of course, one who can speak to your political authorities. Meanwhile, we aboard Phidippedes wish to accompany you and yours into Mote system."

  Bury's passengers stared at their alien communicant. Buckman grinned in anticipation. Joyce scrawled something on her pocket computer. Renner checked again: only Bury was in camera view. "Buckman, cut thrust to half a gee," he said.

  "You sure?"

  "We're not chasing anything anymore, and Horace has to talk, and that was an order."

  Bury ignored the byplay. To the Motie he said, "Me and mine?"

  "I was told to invite any ship I found here to follow me home, but particularly the craft with Horace Hussein Bury aboard."

  Bury's dancing dials had settled; he must feel himself in control of this situation. "And why should we go with you?"

  "Ah. For you, Excellency, to be here at all is to be aware that matters have altered. Until today every ship we sent through the Crazy Eddie point was under sentence of death. We know that none have returned from that alien country. Today new paths between the stars have opened. Your battleships can no longer stand between your systems and ours. Will you not try negotiation instead? Negotiation and trade." The creature didn't rub its hands together when it mentioned trade, but the suggestion was there.

  "Perhaps you should speak to our commodore," Bury said. A tap of the button set the camera and monitor screen turning . . .

  Toward Kevin Renner. Kevin said, "Hi,"

  "Kevin, hi! I don't remember 'commodore.' Are you actually in command of that ship?" Just a bit awestruck, she was, with no intention of showing it. "You've come a long way."

  "Uh-huh. Did another human's Fyunch(click) train you, too, maybe?"

  "I inherit no training from your Fyunch(click), Kevin, but Bury's Mediator observed other humans. You can't ever know too much about the people you deal with."

  "And who did I learn that from?"

  "Exactly. And how are Spacers Jackson and Weiss, if you know, sir?"

  These personality changes were disconcerting. Renner said, "He's Governor Jackson of Maxroy's Purchase, if you please, and just loving every bit of it."

  "All right!"

  And Weiss was dead and they both knew it and neither would ever mention it again.

  Off camera, Chris Blaine made a suggestive throat-cutting gesture. Joyce looked up from her recorder in alarm. "Keep it talking," she mouthed soundlessly.

  Renner studied the lopsided visage a bit longer . . . knowing how little it was gaining him, while the Mediator used these seconds to study his face. He said, "Make up a name for yourself, for my convenience."

  "Eudoxus."

  Bury smiled thinly; Joyce's eyes narrowed, then popped wide. When Renner raised an eyebrow, Bury said, "A classical trader and explorer. Discovered the Golden Wind of the Arabs."

  "Okay. Eudoxus, for the moment I command every Empire ship in this system. I listen to Horace Bury, so you're talking for his benefit, too. Now, you've sent seven ships through from the Mote. Some we've captured, some are running. One has an ambassador aboard, and you want her transported to where she can contact the Empire. Is that about it?"

  "Two ambassadors, Kevin. She and he. An older Keeper to teach the younger, younger to last longer."

  Keepers: sterile Masters. "Prudent. You sent no other classes?"

  "Mediators, of course. And there were working classes aboard some ships for maintenance, until the Curdle collapsed. Then we spaced them. We feared you would feel threatened.
r />   "However, I have an Engineer pilot aboard, and so does Gandhi." The creature's left hand came up in haste. Something must have showed in Renner's face. "She can be spaced if your big ship takes ours in tow."

  "Watchmakers?"

  "Of course. They are very valuable."

  Bury's needles jumped, then settled back.

  "We'll call you back in an hour. Until then . . ." Kevin considered. "Don't do anything drastic. I'm going to free fall. You match course with me and then cut your thrust. Keep station ten thousand klicks away. Can you cause your other ships to gather here?"

  "I can call them, but they will not obey. Three have instructions to hide within this system." The Motie shrugged. The shoulders didn't move. "I tell you nothing you would not expect. Let me repeat my offer. Come with us."

  "I'll call you back." Renner switched off, He closed his eyes tight and heaved a massive sigh. Then, "Talk to me. Horace?"

  Bury laughed. "How did Eudoxus know that we know of their Warriors? Answer: she did not. But we might know, and if she did not say, “We have no Warriors,' no more would be said at all. We would bend every effort to destroying every ship, every Warrior Motie." No laughter now. "An astute analysis, and the correct conclusion, to admit it immediately."

  "Um-humm," Renner said. "I was working on that."

  "Can they know us that well? Already?" Joyce Mei-Ling asked in wonder. "Kevin—Captain Renner, how did it recognize you?"

  "What else?" Renner asked.

  "She still doesn't know how MacArthur died."

  "Yeah, and you could hardly tell her how the Kaffee Klatch ended, could you?" Kevin grinned at Joyce's puzzlement. "All right, Joyce. Eudoxus recognized me because the Moties took pictures of everyone they met. Made extensive records of what we did, too. Memorizing everything they know about every human who ever went to the Mote would be part of Eudoxus's training."

  "Their memories are that good?"

  "At least that good. As to the Kaffee Klatch, the Watchmakers had reworked MacArthur's coffeepot months after we thought we'd cleaned them out. They were loose in the tween decks areas, all over the ship, and when we discovered they were there, they fought us. Before that was over, MacArthur was abandoned and Horace was ready to exterminate the Moties. But his Fyunch(click) never knew any of that."