The Mote In God's Eye

"But I insist you marry us," Sally said quickly. "We'll have to wait for you!"

"Thank you." Hardy was going to say something else, but Kelley came purposefully across the wardroom and saluted.

"Cap'n, I've got your gear sent off to Hermes, and Lady Sally's as well, and them orders did say ‘soonest.'"

"My conscience," Rod laughed. "But he's right. Sally, we'd better get ready." He groaned. "It's going to be tough facing three gravs after that di

"I must leave also," Kutuzov said. "I have dispatches to put aboard Hermes." He smiled awkwardly. "Farewell, my lady. And you also, Captain. Godspeed. You have been good officer."

"Why-Thank you, sir." Rod looked around the wardroom and spotted Bury across the compartment. "Kelley, the Admiral's assuming responsibility for His Excellency-"

"With your permission I will continue Gu

"Certainly, sir. Kelley, be damn careful when we get to New Scotland. He may or may not fly to escape. I don't have any idea of what he's got to face when we get there, but the orders are plain enough, we're to keep him in custody. He may try to bribe one of your men-"

Kelley snorted. "He'd better not."

"Yeah. Well, so long, Kelley. Don't let Nabil put a dagger in your ribs. I'll want you with me on New Scotland."

"Yes, sir, you be careful, Captain. The Marquis will kill me if something happens to you. Told me that before we left Crucis Court."

Kutuzov cleared his throat loudly. "Our guests must leave immediately," he a

Rod and Sally left the wardroom to a chorus of shouts, some overloud. The party seemed destined to last a long time.

The message sloop Hermes was a tiny affair. Her living space was no larger than MacArthur's cutter, although overall she was much bigger. Mt of the life-support systems she was tankage and engines and little else but access crawlways. They were hardly aboard before they were under way.

There was little to do in the tiny ship, and the heavy acceleration made real work impossible anyway. The surgeon's mate examined his passengers at eight-hour intervals to be sure they were able to take Hermes' three gees, and approved Rod's request that they get it over with sooner and boost up to 3.5 grays. Under that weight it was better to sleep as much as possible and confine mental activities to light conversation.

Murcheson's Eye was enormous behind them when they reached the Alderson Point. An instant later, the Eye was only a bright red star against the Coal Sack. It had a small yellow mote.

48 Civilian

They were rushed aboard a landing craft the instant Hermes made orbit around New Scotland, Sally barely had time to say her farewells to the sloop's crew, then they were strapped in.

"VISITORS CLEAR LANDING BOAT. PASSENGERS SECURE FOR REENTRY."

There were clunks as the air locks were closed. "Ready, sir?" the pilot called.

"Yeah-"

The retros fired. It wasn't a smooth reentry at all; the pilot was in too much of a hurry, They dropped low over New Scotland's craggy rocks and spouting geysers. When they arrived at the city they still had too much speed and the pilot had -to circle twice; then the boat came in slowly, hovered, and settled on the roof landing port of Admiralty House.

"There's Uncle Ben!" Sally shouted. She rushed forward to fling herself into his arms.

Benjamin Bright Fowler was eighty standard years old, and looked it; before regeneration therapy men would have guessed he was fifty and in his prime intellectual years. They would have been right about the latter guess.

He stood 174 cm and massed ninety kilos: a portly, short man, nearly bald, with a fringe of dark hair graying around a shiny dome. He never wore a hat except in the coldest weather, and usually forgot it then.

Senator Fowler was dressed outlandishly in baggy trousers flaring over soft, polished leather boots. A knee length and very battered camel's-hair coat covered his upper body. His clothes were very expensive and never properly cared for. His dreamy eyes that tended to water and his rumpled appearance did not make him an impressive figure, and his political enemies had more than once made the mistake of taking his looks as a sign of his abilities. Sometimes, when the occasion was important enough, he'd let his valet choose his clothes and dress him properly, and then, for a few hours at least, he looked appropriate; he was, after all, one of the most powerful men in the Empire. Usually, though, he put on the first thing he found in his wardrobe, and since he would never let his servants throw out anything he'd once liked, he often wore old clothes.

He grasped Sally in a bear hug while she kissed his forehead. Sally was taller than her uncle and was tempted to plant a kiss on the top of his head, but she knew better. Benjamin Fowler neglected his appearance and became angry if anyone reminded him of that, but actually he was a little sensitive about his baldness. He also absolutely refused to allow cosmetic physicians to do anything for it.

"Uncle Ben, I'm glad to see you!" Sally pushed herself away before he crushed a rib. Then, with mock anger: "You've been rearranging my life! Did you know that radiogram would make Rod propose to me?

Senator Fowler looked puzzled. "You mean he hadn't already?" He pretended to examine Rod with microscopic care. "He looks normal enough. Must be internal damage. How are you, Rod? You look good, boy." He enfolded Rod's hand in his own. His grip was strong enough to hurt. With his left hand Fowler extracted his pocket computer from beneath the disreputable folds of his thick coat. "Sorry to rush kids, but we're late. Come on, come on-" He turned and darted for the elevator, leaving them to follow helplessly.

They went down twelve floors and Fowler led them around twists of corridors. Marines stood guard outside a door. "Inside, inside," the Senator urged. "Can't keep all those admirals and captains waiting. Come on, Rod!"

The Marines saluted and Rod absently responded. He entered in bewilderment: a large room, paneled in dark wood, with an enormous marble table across its length.

Five captains and two admirals were seated at the table. A legal officer sat at a smaller desk, and there were places for a recorder and clerks. As soon as Rod entered someone intoned, "This Court of Inquiry is now in session. Step forward and be sworn. State your name."

"Your name, Captain," the Admiral at the center of the table snapped. Rod didn't recognize him; he knew only half the officers in the room. "You do know your name, don't you?"

"Yes, sir- Admiral, I -wasn't told I was coming directly to a Court of Inquiry."

"You know it now. Please state your name,"

"Roderick Harold, Lord Blaine, Captain, Imperial Space Navy; formerly master aboard INS MacArthur."

"Thank you."

They shot questions at him. "Captain, when did you first learn-that the miniature aliens were capable of using tools and performing useful work?"

"Captain, please describe the sterilization procedures you employed."

"Captain, in your judgment, did the aliens outside the ship ever know you had miniatures loose aboard your vessel?"

He answered as best he could. Sometimes one officer would ask a question, only to have another say, "That's in the report, damn it. Didn't you listen to the tapes?"

The inquiry moved at blinding speed. Suddenly it was over. "You may retire for the moment, Captain," the presiding Admiral said.

Sally and Senator Fowler were waiting in the hail. There was a young woman in kilts with a businesslike brief case standing with them.

"Miss McPherson. My new social secretary," Sally introduced her.

"Very pleased to meet you, my lord. My lady, I had best be-"

"Certainly. Thank you." McPherson left with a click of heels on marble floors, She had a nice walk. "Rod," Sally said. "Rod, do you know how many parties we've got to go to?"