The Mote In God's Eye

Fowler finished the message. He followed the Motie gaze without turning his head. "The gentlemen of the press," he murmured, "We'll try to keep them from bothering you." Then he held up the parchment to show the Imperial Seal, and presented it to the Moties.

"They obviously expect a reply. This is one of the ‘formal' events Hardy warned us of. I have no idea what to say. Have you?"

Jock: "No. But we must say something."

The Master spoke. "What have they said to us?"

"I could translate but it would be meaningless. They have welcomed us in the name of their Emperor, who appears to be an over-Master. The short, round one is Mediator to this Emperor."

"Ah. We have at last found one who can communicate. Speak to her."

"But he has said nothing!"

"Say nothing in return."

"We are very grateful for your Emperor's welcome. We believe this first meeting between intelligent races will be a historic occasion, perhaps the most important event in all our histories. We are eager to begin trade and the mutual enrichment of Modes and Mankind."

"You sound like Horvath."

"Of course. Those were his words. He used them often before the humans destroyed their lesser ship. We must know why they did that."

"You will not ask until we know more of humans."

The Moties stood blinking in a silence that stretched embarrassingly. They obviously had no more to say.

"Doubtless you are tired from your journey," Merrill said. "You will want to rest in your quarters before the parade begins." When the Moties did not reply, Merrill waved his hand slightly. The band struck up a march and the Moties were ushered toward an elevator.

"We'll get you away from the goddamn press corps," Fowler muttered. "Can't do anything in a goldfish bowl." He turned to smile for the cameras. So did the others, and they were still smiling as the elevator door closed in the faces of the reporters who had rushed forward when they saw that the Moties were leaving.

There were no obvious spy eyes in the rooms, and the doors had inside locks. There were many rooms, all with very high ceilings. There were three rooms with what the humans thought were beds for Moties, and each of those rooms was adjoined by a room with waste disposal and washing facilities. In another room were a refrigerator, flame and microwave stoves, large stocks of food including the stores brought by the Moties, implements for eating, and equipment they did not recognize. Still another room, the largest of all, held a big polished wood table and both Motie and human chairs.

They wandered through the vast spaces.

"A tri-v screen," Jock exclaimed. He turned the controls, and a picture appeared. It was a tape of themselves listening to the message from the Emperor. Other cha

A big man in loose clothing was shouting. His tones and gestures indicated rage. "Devils! They must be destroyed! The Legions of Him will go forth against the Legions of Hell!"

The shouting man was cut off and replaced by another man, also in loose clothing, but this one did not shout. He spoke calmly. "You have heard the man who calls himself the Voice of Him. It is of course not necessary for me to say it, but speaking for the Church I can assure you that the Moties are neither angels nor devils; merely intelligent beings much like us. If they are a threat to humanity it is not a spiritual one, and His Majesty's servants will certainly be more than adequate to deal with them."

"Cardinal Randolph, has the Church determined the, ah, status of- Modes? That is, their place in the theology of-"

"Of course not. But I can say they are hardly supernatural beings." Cardinal Randolph laughed and so did the commentator. There was no sign of the man who had been screaming in rage.

"Come," the Master said. "You will have time for this later." They went into the large room and sat at the table. Charlie brought grain from their food supply.

"You have smelled the air," Jock said. "No industrial development. The planet must be nearly empty! Room for a billion Masters and all their dependents."

"Too much of this sunlight would make us blind. The gravity would shorten our lives." Charlie inhaled deeply. "But there is room and food and metal. The gravity be cursed with the sunlight. We'll take it."

"I must have missed hearing the offer." Jock gestured amusement. "I do not believe the three of us will take it by force."

"These humans drive me to thoughts of Crazy Eddie! Did you see? Did you hear? The Mediator for the Emperor detests the operators of the tri-v cameras, yet he makes expression of pleasure for them and implies that he may not have the power to prevent them from a

"They have given us a tri-v," the Master said.

"And it is obviously what the humans watch. There were spokesmen for many Masters. You saw." Jock indicated pleasure. "I will have many opportunities to discover how humans are ruled and how they live."

"They have given us a source of information which they do not control;' the Master said. "What does this mean?"

The Mediators were silent.

"Yes," said Ivan. "If we are not successful in our mission, we will not be permuted to return." He indicated indifference. "We knew this before we left. Now it is more vital than ever that we establish trade with humans as quickly as possible; or determine that intercourse with humans is undesirable and find a way to prevent it. You must act quickly."

They knew. The Mediators who proposed their mission and the Masters who consented had recognized the time limits before they left Mote Prime. There were two: the life span of a Mediator was not long, and the Master would die at nearly the same time. The massive hormone imbalance which made him sterile and permanently male would kill him. But only mules and a sterile Keeper could be sent, for no Master would entrust any but a Keeper with this task; and only a Keeper could survive without breeding.

The span of the second time limit was not so predictable, but it was no less sure: Civilization was again doomed on the Mote. Another Cycle was turning, and despite the inevitable Crazy Eddies there would be no halting it. After the collapse the humans would see Moties in savagery. The Race would be helpless, or nearly so; and what would the humans do then?

No one knew and no Master would risk it.

"The humans have promised discussions of trade. I presume the Mediator will be their instrument. Also perhaps Mr. Bury or another like him." Jock left his chair and examined the paneled walls. There were buttons concealed in filigree and he pressed one. A panel slid open to reveal another tri-v and Jock operated it.

"What is there to discuss?" the Master demanded. "We need food and land, or we must be left alone with the Cycles. We must conceal the urgency of our needs and their reasons. We have little to trade but ideas; there are no resources to expand. If humans wish durable goods they must bring us the metals to make them from."

Any drain of resources from the Mote would prolong the next collapse; and that must not be.

"The Navy's keeping it a big hush-hush, but I can tell you this, they've got technology beyond anything the First Empire ever had," a Commentator on the view screen said. He seemed awed.

"The humans no longer possess much of what they had," said Jock. "Once, during the period they call the First Empire, they had food-conversion machinery of amazing efficiency. It required only power and organic matter, garbage, weeds, even deceased animals and humans. Poisons were removed or converted."

"Do you know the principles? Or how widespread was its use? Or why they no longer possess it?" the Master demanded.

"No. The human would not speak of it."

"I heard," Charlie added. "He was a rating named Dubcek, and he was attempting to conceal the obvious fact that humans have Cycles. They all do."