by Larry Niven
"Sally should be back soon," said Blaine's Motie. "How are you? How goes the ship?"
"Well enough."
"You always sound so cautious when you speak of the ship. Am I stepping on Navy secrets? It-is not the ship that concerns me, Rod. I'm Fyunch(click) to you. It means considerably more than just guide." The Motie gestured oddly. Rod had' seen her do that before, when she was upset or annoyed.
"Just what does Fyunch(click) mean?"
"I am assigned to you. You are a project, a masterwork. I am to learn as much about you as there is to know. I am to become an expert on you, My Lord Roderick Blaine, and you are to become a field of study to me. It-is not your gigantic, rigid, badly designed ship that interest-ss me, it-ss your attitudes toward that ship and the humans aboard, your degree of control over them, your interess-t in their welfare, et cetera."
How would Kutuzov handle this? Break contact? Hell. "Nobody likes being watched. Anyone would feel a bit uncomfortable being studied like that."
"We guessed you would take it that way. But, Rod, you're here to study us, are-unt you? Surely we are, entitled to study you back."
"You have that right." Rod's voice was stiff despite himself. "But if someone becomes embarrassed while you're talking to him, that's probably the reason."
"God damn it to hell," said Blaine's Motie. "You are the first intelligent beings we've ever met who are-unt relatives. Why should you expect to be comfortable with us?" She rubbed the flat center of her face ‘with her upper right forefinger, then dropped her hand as if embarrassed. It was the same gesture she'd used a moment before.
There were noises off screen. Blaine's Motie said, "Hang on a moment. Okay, it-ss Sally and Whitbread." Her voice rose. "Sally? The Captain's on screen." She slid out of the chair. Sally Fowler slid in. Her smile seemed forced as she said, "Hello, Captain. What's new?"
"Business as usual. How goes it at your end?"
"Rod, you look flustered. It's a strange experience, isn't it? Don't worry, she can't hear us now."
"Good. I'm not sure I like an alien reading my mind that way. I don't suppose they really read minds."
"They say not. And they guess wrong sometimes." She ran a hand through her hair, which was in disarray, perhaps because she had just doffed a pressure suit helmet. "Wildly wrong. Commander Sinclair's Fyunch(dick) wouldn't talk to him at first. They thought he was a Brown; you know, an idiot carpenter type. How are you doing with the miniatures?"
That was a subject they'd both learned to avoid. Rod wondered why she'd brought it up. "The loose ones are still loose. No sign of them. They might even have died somewhere we wouldn't find them. We've still got the one that stayed behind. I think you'd better have a look at her, Sally, next time you're over. She may be sick."
Sally nodded. "I'll come over tomorrow. Rod, have you been watching the alien work party?"
"Not particularly. The air lock seems almost finished already."
"Yes... Rod, they've been using trained miniatures to do part of the work."
Rod stared stupidly.
Sally's eyes shifted uneasily. "Trained miniatures. In pressure suits. We didn't know there were any aboard. I suppose they must be shy; they must hide when humans are aboard. But they're only animals, after all. We asked."
"Animals." Oh my God. What would Kutuzov say?
"Sally, this is important. Can you come over tonight and brief me? You and anyone else who knows anything about this."
"All right. Commander Sinclair is watching them now. Rod, it's really fantastic how well the little beasts are trained. And they can get into places where you'd have to use jointed tools and spy eyes."
"I can imagine. Sally, tell me the truth. Is there the slightest chance the miniatures are intelligent?"
"No. They're just trained."
"Just trained." And if there were any alive aboard MacArthur they'd have explored the ship from stem to stern. "Sally, is there the slightest chance that any of the aliens can hear me now?"
"No. I'm using the earphone, and we haven't allowed them to work on our equipment."
"So far as you know. Now listen carefully, then I want to talk privately to everyone else on that cutter, one at a time. Has anyone said anything-anything at all-about there being miniatures loose aboard MacArthur?"
"No-oo. You told us not to, remember? Rod, what's wrong?"
What's wrong? "For God's sake, don't say anything about the loose miniatures. I'll tell the others as you put them on. And I want to see all of you, everyone except the cutter's regular crew, tonight. It's time we pooled our knowledge about Moties, because I'm going to have to report to the Admiral tomorrow morning." He looked almost pale. "I guess I can wait that long."
"Well, of course you can," she said. She smiled enchantingly, but it didn't come off very well. She didn't think she'd ever seen Rod so concerned, and it upset her. "We'll be over in an hour. Now here's Mr. Whitbread, and please, Rod, stop worrying."
24 Brownies
MacArthur's wardroom was crowded. All the seats at the main table were taken by officers and scientists and there were others around the periphery. At one bulkhead the communications people had installed a large screen while the mess stewards got in the artificers' way as they delivered coffee to the assembled company. Everyone chattered, carefree, except Sally. She remembered Rod Blaine's worried face, and she couldn't join in the happy reunion.
Officers and ratings stood as Rod came into the wardroom. Some of the civilians stood likewise; others pretended not to see the Captain; and a few looked at him, then looked away, exploiting their civilian status. As Rod took his place at the head of the table he muttered, "At ease," then sat carefully. Sally thought he looked even more worried than before.
"Kelley."
"Sir!"
"Is this room secure?"
"As near as we can make it, sir. Four files outside and I looked into the duct works."
"What is this?" Horvath demanded. "Just who do you think you are guarding against?"
"Everyone-and every thing-not here, Doctor." Rod looked at the Science Minister with eyes that showed both command and pleading. "I must tell you that everything discussed here will be classified Top Secret. Do each and all of you waive the reading of the Imperial Regulations on disclosure of classified information?"
There was muttered assent. The cheery mood of the group had suddenly vanished.
"Any dissents? Let the record show there were none. Dr. Horvath, I am given to understand that three hours ago you discovered that the miniatures are highly trained animals capable of technical work performed under command. Is that correct?"
"Yes. Certainly. It was quite a surprise, I can tell you! The implications are enormous-if we can learn to direct them, they would be fabulous additions to our capabilities."
Rod nodded absently. "Is there any chance that we could have known that earlier? Did anyone know it? Anyone at all?"
There was a confused ‘babble but no one answered. Rod said, carefully and clearly, "Let the record show there was no one."
"What is this record you keep speaking of?" Horvath demanded. "And why are you concerned about it?"
"Dr. Horvath, this conversation will be recorded and duly witnessed because it may be evidence in a court martial. Quite possibly mine. Is that clear enough?"
"What- Good heavens!" Sally gasped. "Court-martial? You? Why?"
"The charge would be high treason," Rod said. "I see most of my officers aren't surprised. My lady, gentlemen, we have strict orders from the Viceroy himself to do nothing to compromise any Imperial military technology, and in particular to protect the Langston Field and Alderson Drive from Motie inspection. In the past weeks animals capable of learning that technology and quite possibly of passing it on to other Moties have roamed my ship at will. Now do you understand?"
"I see." Horvath showed no signs of alarm, but his face grew thoughtful. "And you have secured this room- Do you really believe the miniatures can understand what we say?"
Rod shrugged. "I
think it possible they can memorize conversations and repeat them. But are the miniatures still alive? Kelley?"
"Sir, there haven't been any signs of them for weeks. No raids on food stores. Ferrets haven't turned up a thing but a bloody lot of mice. I think the beasties are dead, Captain."
Blaine rubbed his nose, then quickly drew his hand away. "Gunner, have you ever heard of ‘Brownies' aboard this ship?"
Kelley's face showed no surprise. In fact it showed nothing. "Brownies, Captain?"
"Rod, have you lost your mind?" Sally blurted. Everyone was looking at her, and some of them didn't seem friendly. Oh boy, she thought, I've stuck my foot in it. Some of them know what he's talking about. Oh boy.
"I said Brownies, Gunner. Have you ever heard of them?"
"Well, not officially, Captain. I will say some of the spacers seem lately to believe in the Little People. Couldn't see any harm in it meself." But Kelley looked confused. He had heard of this and he hadn't reported it, and now the Captain, his Captain, might be in trouble over it.
"Anyone else?" Rod demanded.
"Uh-sir?"
Rod had to strain to see who was speaking. Midshipman Potter was near the far wall, almost hidden by two biologists. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Some of the men in my watch section, Captain-they say that if ye leave some food-grain, cereals, mess leftovers, anything at all-in the corridors or under your bunk along with something that needs fixing, it gets fixed." Potter looked uncomfortable. It was obvious he thought he was reporting nonsense. "One of the men called them ‘Brownies.' I thought it a joke."
Once Potter had spoken there were a dozen others, even some of the scientists. Microscopes with smoother focusing operations than the best things ever made by Leica Optical. A handmade lamp in the biology section. Boots and shoes customized to individual feet. Rod looked up at that one.
"Kelley. How many of your troops have sidearms individualized like yours and Mr. Renner's?"
"Uh-I don't know, sir."
"I can see one from here. You, man, Polizawsky, how did you come by that weapon?"
The Marine stammered. He wasn't used to speaking to officers, certainly not the Captain, and most certainly not the Captain in an ugly mood. "Uh, well, sir, I leaves my weapon and a bag o' popcorn by my bunk and next morning it's done, sir. Like the others said, Captain."
"And you didn't think this unusual enough to report to Gunner Kelley?"
"Uh-sir-uh, some of the others, we thought maybe, uh, well, the Surgeon's been talking about hallucinations in space, Captain, and we, uh-"
"Besides, if you reported it I might stop the whole thing," Rod finished for him. Oh, God damn it to hell! How was he going to explain all this? Busy, too busy arbitrating squabbles with the scientists- But the fact stood out. He'd neglected his naval duties, and with what outcome?
"Aren't you taking all this too seriously?" Horvath asked. "After all, Captain, the Viceroy's orders were given before we knew much about Moties. Now, surely, we can see they aren't dangerous, and they certainly aren't hostile."
"Are you suggesting, Doctor, that we put ourselves in the position of countermanding an Imperial Directive?"
Horvath looked amused. His grin spread slowly across his face. "Oh no," he said. "I don't even imply, it. I only suggest that if and when-when, really, it's inevitable- that policy is changed, all this will seem a trifle silly, Captain Blaine. Childish in fact."
"Be damned to you!" Sinclair exploded. "That's nae way to talk to the Captain, mon!"
"Gently, Sandy," First Lieutenant Cargill interjected. "Dr. Horvath, I take it you've never been involved in military intelligence? No, of course not. But you see, in intelligence work we have to go by capabilities, not by intentions. If a potential enemy can do something to you, you have to prepare for it, without regard to what you think he wants to do."
"Exactly," Rod said. He was glad of the interruptions. Sinclair was still fuming at his end of the table, and it wouldn't take much to make him explode again. "So first we have to find out what the potential of the miniatures is. From what rye seen of the air-lock construction, plus what we gather about the ‘Brownies,' that's quite high."
"But they're only animals," Sally insisted. She looked at the fuming Sinclair, the sardonically smiling Horvath and Rod's worried face. "You don't understand. This business with tools-well, yes, they're good with tools, but it's not intelligence. Their heads are too small. The more brain tissue they use for this instinct to make tools work; the more they have to give up. They've virtually no sense of smell or taste. They're very nearsighted. They've less sense of language than a chimpanzee. Their space perception is good, and they can be trained, but they don't make tools, they only fix or change things. Intelligence!" She exploded. "What intelligent being would have custom formed the grip on Mr. Battson's toothbrush?"
"As for spying on us, how could they? Nobody could have trained them for it. They were randomly selected the first place." She looked around at their faces, trying to judge if she was getting through.
"You're really sure the escaped miniatures are alive? The voice was hearty, tinged with New Scot accent. Rod looked across to Dr. Blevins, a colonial veterinarian drafted into the expedition. "My own miniature is dying Captain. Nothing I can do about it. Internal poisoning, glandular deterioration-the symptoms seem to be similar to old age."
Blaine shook his head slowly. "I wish I could think so Doc, but there are too many Brownie stories in this ship. Before this meeting I talked to some of the other chiefs and it's the same on the lower decks. Nobody wanted report it because first, we'd think they were crazy, and second, the Brownies were too useful to risk losing. No for all of Gunner Kelley's Irish folk tales, there have never been any Little People on Navy ships-it has to be the miniatures."
There was a long silence. "What harm are they doing anyway?" Horvath asked. "I'd think some Brownies would be an asset, Captain."
"Hah." That didn't need comment in Rod's opinion. "Harm or good, immediately after this meeting we will sterilize this ship. Sinclair, have you arranged to evacuate hangar deck?"
"Aye, Captain."
"Then do it. Open it to space, and see all the compartments in there are opened to space. I want that hangar deck dead. Commander Cargill, see that the essential watch crew are in battle armor. Alone in their battle armor, Number One. The rest of you give some thought to whatever equipment you have that can't stand hard vacuum. When hangar deck's done, Kelley's Marines will help you get that into hangar deck; then we depressurize the rest of the ship. We're going to put an end to Brownies once and for all."
"But"-"Hey, that's silly"-"My cultures will die"- "Goddamn regular Navy bastards are always"-"Can he do that?"-"Aye aye, Captain"-"What the hell does he think he's-"
"Tenn-shut!" Kelley's roar cut through the babble.
"Captain, do you really have to be so vicious about it?" Sally asked.
He shrugged. "I think they're cute too. So what? If I don't order it done, the Admiral will anyway. Now, are we all agreed that the miniatures aren't spies?"
"Not deliberate ones," Renner said. "But, Captain, do you know about the incident with the pocket computer?"
"No."
"The big Motie took Miss Fowler's pocket computer apart. And put it back together again. It works."
"Uh." Rod made a sour face. "But that was the big brown Motie."
"Which can talk to the little Moties. It made the miniatures give Mr. Bury his watch back," Renner said.
"I've got the crew alerted, Captain," Cargill reported. He was standing by the wardroom intercom. "I didn't tell anyone anything. The crew thinks it's a drill."
"Good thinking, Jack. Seriously, everyone, what's the objection to killing off these vermin? The big Motie did the same thing, and if, as you say, they're only animals, there must be plenty more of them. We won't be upsetting the big Moties one whit. Will we?"
"Well, no-oo," said Sally. "But-"
Rod shook his head decisively. "There are plenty of
reasons for killing them, and I haven't heard any for keeping them around. We can take that as settled, then."
Horvath shook his head. "But it's all so drastic, Captain. Just what do we think we're protecting?"
"The Alderson Drive, directly. Indirectly, the whole Empire, but mainly the Drive," Cargill said seriously "And don't ask me why I think the Empire needs protecting from Moties. I don't know, but-I think it does."
"You won't save the Drive. They've already got that,' Renner announced. He gave them all a lopsided smile as everyone in the room swiveled toward him.
"What?!" Rod demanded. "How?"
"Who's the bloody traitor?" Sinclair demanded. "Name the scum!"
"Whoa! Hold it! Stop already!" Renner insisted. "They already had the Drive, Captain. I only learned an hour ago. It's all recorded, let me show you." He stood and went to the big screen. Images flashed across it until Renner found the place he wanted. He turned to the watchful group.
"It's nice to be the center of attention-" Renner cut off at the sight of Rod's glare. "This is a conversation between, uh, my Motie and myself. I'll use split screens to show you both sides of it." He touched the controls and the screen sprang to life: Renner on MacArthur's bridge, his Fyunch(click) in the Motie embassy ship. Renner ran it at high speed until he found precisely what he wanted.
"You might have come from anywhere," said Renner's Motie. "Though it seems more likely that you came from a nearby star, such as-well, I can point to it." Stellar images showed on a screen behind the Motie; screen within screens. She pointed with the upper right arm. The star was New Caledonia. "We know that you have an instantaneous drive, because of where you appeared."
Renner's image sat forward. "Where we appeared?"
"Yes. You appeared precisely in the..." Renner's Motie seemed to search for a word. Visibly, she gave up "Renner, I must tell you of a creature of legend."
"Say on." Renner's image dialed for coffee. Coffee and stories, they went together.
"We will call him Crazy Eddie, if you like. He is a... he is like me, sometimes, and he is a Brown, an idiot savant tinker, sometimes. Always he does the wrong things for excellent reasons. He does the same things over and over, and they always bring disaster, and he never learns."