The Mote In God's Eye

by Larry Niven

  There were small sounds of whispering in MacArthur's wardroom. Renner's image said, "For instance?"

  Renner's Motie's image paused to think. It said, "When a city has grown so overlarge and crowded that it is in immediate danger of collapse... when food and clean water flow into the city at a rate just sufficient to feed every mouth, and every hand must work constantly to keep it that way... when all transportation is involved in moving vital supplies, and none is left over to move people out of the city should the need arise... then it is that Crazy Eddie leads the movers of garbage out on strike for better working conditions."

  There was considerable laughter in the wardroom. Renner's image grinned and said, "I think I know the gentleman. Go on."

  "There is the Crazy Eddie Drive. It makes ships vanish."

  "Great."

  "Theoretically, it should be an instantaneous drive, a key to throw the universe wide open. In practice it makes ships vanish forever. The drive has been discovered and built and tested many times, and always it makes ships vanish forever with everyone aboard, but only if you use it right, mind. The ship must be in just the right place, a place difficult to locate exactly, with the machinery doing just what the theoreticians postulate it must, or nothing will happen at all."

  Both Renners were laughing now. "I see. And we appeared in this point, the Crazy Eddie point. From which you deduce that we have solved the secret of the Crazy Eddie Drive."

  "You got it."

  "And what does that make us?"

  The alien parted its lips in a smile disturbingly shark like, disturbingly human... Renner gave them a good look at that smile before he turned it off.

  There was a long silence, then Sinclair spoke. "Well, that's plain enough, is it not? They ken the Alderson Drive but not the Langston Field."

  "Why do you say that, Commander Sinclair?" Horvath asked. Everyone tried to explain it to him at once, but the Chief Engineer's burr easily carried through the babble.

  "Yon beasties' ships vanish, but only at the correct place, aye? So they ken the Drive. But they never see the ships back home, because they coom into normal space in yon red star. ‘Tis plain as a pikestaff."

  "Oh." Horvath nodded sadly. "With nothing to protect them. After all, it is the inside of a star, isn't it?"

  Sally shuddered. "And your Motie said they'd tried it often." She shuddered again. Then: "But, Mr. Renner- none of the other Moties ever talk about astrogation or anything like that. Mine told me about ‘Crazy Eddie' as if he were around only in primitive times-a lost legend."

  "And mine spoke of Crazy Eddie as an engineer always using tomorrow's capital to fix today's problems," Sinclair blurted.

  "Anyone else?" Rod prompted.

  "Well-" Chaplain David Hardy looked embarrassed. His plump face was almost beet-red. "My Motie says Crazy Eddie founds religions. Weird, very logical, and singularly inappropriate religions."

  "Enough," Rod protested. "I seem to be the only one whose Motie has never mentioned Crazy Eddie." He looked thoughtful. "We can all agree that the Moties do have the Drive, but not the Field?"

  They all nodded. Horvath scratched his ear for a moment, then' said, "Now that I remember the history of Langston's discovery, it's no surprise that the Moties don't have the Field. I'm amazed they have the Drive itself, although its principles can be deduced from astrophysical research. The Field, though, was a purely accidental invention."

  "Given that they know it exists, then what?" Rod asked.

  "Then- I don't know," Horvath said.

  There was complete silence in the room. An ominous silence. Finally the bubble burst. Sally was laughing.

  "You all look so deadly serious," she protested. "Suppose they have both Drive and Field? There's only the one planet full of Moties. They aren't hostile, but even if they were, do you really think they would be a threat to the Empire? Captain, what could Lenin do to the Mote planet right now, all by itself, if Admiral Kutuzov gave the order?"

  The tension broke. Everyone smiled. She was right, of course. The Moties didn't even have warships. They didn't have the Field, and if they invented it, how would they learn space-war tactics? Poor peaceful Moties, what challenge could they be to the Empire of Man?

  Everyone except Cargill. He wasn't smiling at all as he said, quite seriously, "I just don't know, my lady. And I really wish I did."

  Horace Bury was not invited to the conference, although he knew of it. Now, while it was still going on, a Marine guard came to his cabin and politely, but very firmly, ushered him out of it. The guard would not say where he was taking Bury, and after a while it was obvious he did not know.

  "The Gunner, he says to stay with you and be ready to take you to where the rest of them is, Mr. Bury."

  Bury slyly examined the man. What would this one do for a hundred thousand crowns? But then, it wasn't necessary. Not at the moment. Surely Blaine wasn't going to have him shot. For a moment Bury was frightened. Could they have made Stone talk, back on New Chicago?

  By Allah, no one was safe. Absurd. Even if Stone had told everything, there were and could be no messages to MacArthur from the Empire. They were as effectively sealed off as the Moties.

  "You are to stay with me. Does your officer say where I am to go?"

  "Not right now, Mr. Bury."

  "Then take me to Dr. Buckman's laboratory. Why not? We will both be more comfortable."

  The private thought about, it. "OK, come on."

  Bury found his friend in an ugly mood. "Pack everything that can't stand hard vacuum," Buckman was muttering. "Get everything that can ready for it. No reason. Just do it." He poked at gadgetry. He had already packed a good deal in boxes and big plastic bags.

  Bury's own tension may have showed. Senseless orders, a guard outside the door... he was feeling like a prisoner again. It took him quite a while to calm Buckman down. Finally the astrophysicist slumped into a chair and lifted a cup of coffee. "Haven't seen you much," he said. "Been busy?"

  "There is really very little for me to do in this ship. Few tell me anything," Bury said equably-and that took self-control. "Why must you be ready for hard vacuum here?"

  "Hah! I don't know. Just do it. Try to call the Captain, he's in conference. Try to complain to Horvath, and he's in conference. If they aren't available when you need them, just what use are they, anyway?"

  Sounds came through from the corridor outside: heavy things were being moved. What could it be about? Sometimes they evacuated ships to get rid of rats...

  That was it! They were killing off the miniatures! Allah be praised, he had acted in time. Bury smiled widely in relief. He had a better idea of the value of the miniatures since the night he had left a box of baklava next to the open faceplate of his personal pressure suit. He'd almost lost it all.

  To Buckman he said, "How did you make out in the Trojan point asteroids?"

  Buckman looked startled. Then he laughed. "Bury, I haven't thought about that problem in a month. We've been studying the Coal Sack."

  "We've found a mass in there... probably a protostar. And an infrared source. The flow patterns in the Coal Sack are fantastic. As if the gas and dust were viscous. Of course it's the magnetic fields that make it act like that. We're learning wonderful things about the dynamics of a dust cloud. When I think of the time I wasted on those Trojan point rocks....hen the whole problem was so trivial!"

  "Well, go on, Buckman. Don't leave me hanging."

  "Uh? Oh, I'll show you." Buckman went to the intercom and read out a string of numbers.

  Nothing happened.

  "That's funny. Some idiot must have put a RESTRICTED on it." Buckman closed his eyes, recited another string of numbers. Photographs appeared on the screen. "Ah. There!"

  Asteroids tumbled on the screen, the pictures blurred and jumpy. Some were lopsided, some almost spherical, many marked with craters.

  "Sorry about the quality. The near Trojans are a good distance away...but all it took was time and MacArthur's telescopes. Do you see
what we found?"

  "Not really. Unless..." All of them had craters. At least one crater. Three long, narrow asteroids in succession, and each had a deep crater at one end. One rock twisted almost into a cashew shape; and the crater was at the inside of the curve. Each asteroid in the sequence had a big deep Crater in it; and always a line through the center would have gone through the rock's center of mass.

  Bury felt fear and laughter rising in him. "Yes, I see. You found that every one of those asteroids had been moved into place artificially. Therefore you lost interest."

  "Naturally. When I think that I was expecting to find some new cosmic principle-" Buckman shrugged. He swallowed some coffee.

  "I don't suppose you told anyone?"

  "I told Dr. Horvath. Why, do you suppose he put the RESTRICTED designation on it?"

  "It may be. Buckman, how much energy do you think it would take to move such a mass of rocks around?"

  "Why, I don't know. A good deal, I think. In fact..." Buckman's eyes glowed. "An interesting problem. I'll let you know after this idiocy is over." He turned back to his gear.

  Bury sat where he was, staring at nothing. Presently he began to shiver.

  25 The Captain's Motie

  "I appreciate your concern for the safety of the Empire, Admiral," Horvath said. He nodded sagely at the glowering figure on MacArthur's bridge screen. "Indeed I do. The fact remains, however, that we either accept the Moties' invitation or we might as well go home. There's nothing more to learn out here."

  "You, Blaine. You agree with that?" Admiral Kutuzov's expression was unchanged.

  Rod shrugged. "Sir, I have to take the advice of the scientists. They say that we've got about all we're going to get from this distance."

  "You want to take MacArthur into orbit around the Mote planet, then? That is what you recommend? For the record?"

  "Yes, sir. Either that or go home, and I don't think we know enough about the Moties simply to leave."

  Kutuzov took a long, slow breath. His lips tightened.

  "Admiral, you have your job, I have mine," Horvath reminded him. "It's all very well to protect the Empire against whatever improbable threat the Moties pose, but I must exploit what we can learn from Motie science and technology. That, I assure you, isn't trivial. They're so far advanced, in some respects that I-well, I haven't any words to describe it, that's all."

  "Exactly." Kutuzov emphasized the word by pounding the arm of the command chair with his closed fists. "They have technology, beyond ours. They speak our language and you say we will never speak theirs. They know the Alderson effect, and now they know Langston Fields exist. Perhaps, Dr. Horvath, we should go home. Now."

  "But-" Horvath began.

  "And yet," Kutuzov continued. "I would not like to fight war with these Moties without knowing more about them. What are planetary defense? Who governs Moties? I notice for all your work you cannot answer that question. You do not even know who is commanding that ship of theirs."

  "True." Horvath nodded vigorously. "It's a very strange situation. Sometimes I honestly think they don't have a commander, but on the other hand they do seem to refer back to their ship for instructions sometimes....nd then

  There's the sex matter."

  "You play games with me, Doctor?"

  "No, no," Horvath said with irritation. "It's quite straightforward. All of the Brown-and-whites have been female' since their arrival. In addition, the brown female has become pregnant and has given birth to a brown-and-white pup. Now it's a male."

  "I know of sex changes in aliens. Perhaps one Brown-and-white was male until shortly before embassy ship arrived?"

  "We thought of that. But it seems more likely that the Brown-and-whites haven't been breeding because of population pressure. They all stay female-they may even be mules, since a Brown is mother of one. Crossbreed between the Brown and something else? That would point to a something else aboard the embassy ship."

  "They got an admiral aboard their ship," Kutuzov said positively. "Just as we do. I knew it. What do you tell them when they ask of me?"

  Rod heard a snort behind him and guessed that Kevin Renner was strangling. "As little as possible, sir," Rod said. "Only that we're subject to Orders from Lenin. I don't think they know your name, or if there's one man or a council aboard."

  "Just so." The Admiral almost smiled. "Just what you know about their command, da? You watch, they got an admiral aboard that ship, and he's decided he wants you closer to their planet. Now my problem is, do I learn more by letting you go than he learns by getting you there?"

  Horvath turned away from the screen and sent a pleading look to Heaven, Its Wonders, and All the Saints. How could he deal with a man like that, the look asked.

  "Any sign of little Moties?" Kutuzov asked. "Have you still Brownies aboard His Imperial Majesty's General Class battle cruiser MacArthur?"

  Rod shuddered at the heavy sarcasm. "No, sir. I've evacuated the hangar deck and opened everything in it space. Then I put all MacArthur's passengers and crew into hangar deck and opened up the ship. We fumigated the plant rooms with ciphogene, poured carbon monoxide through all the vents, opened to space again, and after we came back from hangar deck we did the same thing there. The miniatures are dead, Admiral. We have the bodies. Twenty-four of them, to be exact, although we didn't find one of them until yesterday. It was pretty ripe after three weeks..."

  "And there are no signs of Brownies? Or of mice?"

  "No, sir. Rats, mice, and Moties-all dead. The other miniature, the one we had caged-it's dead too, sir. The vet thinks it was old age."

  Kutuzov nodded. "So that problem is solved. What adult alien you have aboard?"

  "It's sick," Blaine said. "Same symptoms as the miniature had."

  "Yes, that's another thing," Horvath said quickly. I want to ask the Moties what to do for the sick miner, but Blaine won't let me without your permission."

  The Admiral reached somewhere off screen. When he faced them again he held a glass of tea, which he blew on noisily. "The others know you have this miner aboard?"

  "Yes," Horvath said. When Kutuzov glared, the Science Minister continued quickly, "They seem to have always known it. None of us told them, I'm sure of that."

  "So they know. Have they asked for the miner? Or to see it?"

  "No." Horvath frowned deeply again. His voice was incredulous. "No, they haven't. In fact, they haven't shown the least concern about the miner; no more than they might have for the miniatures-you'll have seen the pictures of the Moties evacuating their ship, Admiral? They have to kill off the little beasts too. The things must breed like hive rats." Horvath paused, his brow wrinkled even more deeply. Then, abruptly, "Anyway, I want to ask the others what to do for the sick miner. We can't just let it die."

  "That might be best for all," Kutuzov mused. "Oh, very well, Doctor. Ask them. It is hardly admitting anything important about Empire to tell them we do not know proper diet for Moties. But if you ask and they insist on seeing that miner, Blaine, you will refuse. If necessary, miner will die-tragically and suddenly, by accident, but die. Is that clearly understood? It will not talk to other Moties, not now and not ever."

  "Aye aye, sir." Rod sat impassively in his command chair. Now, do I agree with that? he thought. I should be shocked, but-

  "Do you still wish to ask under those circumstances, Doctor?" Kutuzov asked.

  "Yes. I expected nothing else from you anyway." Horvath's lips were pressed tightly against his teeth. "We now have the main question: the Moties have invited us to take orbit around their planet. Why they- have done so is a matter for interpretation. I think it is because they genuinely want to develop trade and diplomatic relations with us, and this is the logical way we should go about it. There is no evidence for any other view. You, of course, have your own theories..."

  Kutuzov laughed. It was a deep, hearty laugh. "Actually, Doctor, I may believe same as you. What has that to do with anything? Is my task to keep Empire safe. What I believe has no imp
ortance." The Admiral stared coldly into the screens. "Very well. Captain, I give you discretion to act in this situation. However, you will first arm torpedo-destruct systems for your ship. You understand that MacArthur cannot be allowed to fall into Motie hands?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well. You may go, Captain. We will follow in Lenin. You will transmit records of all information you obtain every hour-and you understand that if there is threat to your ship, I will not attempt to rescue you if there is any possibility of danger to Lenin? That my first duty is to return with information including, if this is so, how you were killed?" The Admiral turned so that he gazed directly at Horvath. "Well, Doctor, do you still want to go to Mote Prime?"

  "Of course."

  Kutuzov shrugged. "Carry on, Captain Blaine. Carry on."

  MacArthur's towboats had retrieved an oil-drum-shape cylinder half the size of the Motie embassy ship. It was very simple: a hard, thick shell of some foamed material heavy with liquid hydrogen, spinning slowly, with a bleeder valve at the axis. Now it was strapped to the embassy ship aft the toroidal living spaces. The slender spine meant to guide the plasma flow for the fusion drive had beer altered too, bent far to the side to direct the thrust through the new center of mass. The embassy ship was tilted far back on her drive, like a smaller but very pregnant woman trying to walk.

  Moties-Brown-and-whites, guided by one of the Browns-were at work disassembling the air-lock bridge melting it down, and reshaping the material into ring shaped support platforms for the fragile toroids. Others worked within the ship, and three small brown-and-white shapes played among them. Again the interior changed like dreams. Free-fall furniture was reshaped. Floors were slanted, vertical to the new line of thrust.

  There were no Moties aboard the cutter now; they were all at work; but contact was maintained. Some of the midshipmen took their turns doing simple muscle work aboard the embassy ship.

  Whitbread and Potter were working in the acceleration chamber, moving the bunks to leave room for three smaller bunks. It was a simple rewelding job, but it took muscle. Perspiration collected in beads inside their filter helmets, and soaked their armpits.