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"The time for lies is finished. My Master thought, so from the begi
"Faction fight, eh?" Fowler said. "Pity we didn't meet your boss. A bit late now, isn't it?"
"Perhaps. But I will now represent him. You may call him King Peter if you like; the midshipmen did."
"What?" Rod stood at his seat, and the chair fell backward to crash to the floor. "When?"
"Just before they were killed by Warriors," Charlie said. "Attacking me will gain you no' information, my lord; and it was not my Master's Warriors who killed them. Those who did were ordered to take them alive, but the midshipmen would not surrender."
Rod carefully retrieved his chair and sat. "No. Horst wouldn't," he muttered.
"Nor would Whitbread. Nor Potter. You may be as proud of them as you wish, Lord Blaine. Their last moments were in the finest traditions of the Imperial Service." There was no trace of irony in the alien voice.
"And just why did you murder those boys?" Sally demanded. "Rod, I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry, that's all."
"It wasn't your fault. The lady asked you a question, Charlie."
"They had discovered the truth about us. Their landing boats took them to a museum. Not one of the places of amusement that we allowed you to visit. This one has a more serious purpose." Charlie spoke on, in a low voice. She described the museum and the battle there; the flight across Mote Prime, the begi
"My own Warriors lost," she finished. "Had they won, King Peter would have sent the midshipmen back to you. But once they were dead-it seemed better to attempt to deceive you."
"Lord God," Rod whispered. "So that's your secret. And we had all the clues, but-"
Someone was murmuring across the room. Chaplain Hardy. "Requiem aeternam donum est, Domine, et jux perpetuae
"Just how the hell do you think telling us this will help you?" Senator Fowler asked.
Charlie shrugged. "If you're going to exterminate us, you may as well know why. I'm trying to explain that the Masters will not surrender. King Peter might, but he doesn't control Mote Prime, much less the asteroid civilization. Someone will fight."
"As I predicted, my lords," Kutuzov said heavily. "And men and ships sent to accept surrender will be doomed. Perhaps Fleet as well. If we enter Mote System, it must be in full attack."
"Oh, boy," Senator Fowler muttered. "Yeah. I see your plan. You think we can't order an unprovoked attack, and maybe we won't send in a suicide mission first. Well, you read us wrong, Charlie. It'll mean my head, maybe, but all you've convinced me of is to give the Admiral his way. Sorry, Father, but that's the way I see it,"
The Senator's voice crackled across the room. "Admiral Kutuzov. You will hold your fleet in readiness, and it will accept no communications from any source without my prior approval. And I mean any source. Understood?"
"Aye aye, Senator." Kutuzov raised a communicator to his 11ps. "Mikhailov. Da." He spoke fluid syllables. "It is done, Senator."
"I have not finished," Charlie said. "You have another alternative."
"And what's that?" Fowler demanded,
"Blockade."
57 All the Skills of Treason
They stood for a long time on the balcony outside, Rod's suite. Faint sounds of a city after dark floated up to them. The Hooded Man rose high in the sky, his baleful red eye watching them with indifference: two human lovers, who would send squadrons of ships into the Eye itself and keep them there, until they too passed away....
"It doesn't look very big," Sally murmured. She moved her head against his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her. "Just a fleck of yellow in Murcheson's Eye. Rod, will it work?"
"The blockade? Sure. We worked out the plan at Fleet Battle Ops. Jack Cargill set it up: a squadron inside the Eye itself to take advantage of the Jump shock. The Moties don't know about that, and their ships won't be under command for minutes at best. If they try to send them through on automatic it just makes it worse."
She shivered against him. "That wasn't really what I meant. The whole plan-will it work?"
"What choices have we?"
"None. And I'm glad you agree. I couldn't live with you if- I couldn't, that's all."
"Yeah." And that makes me grateful to the Moties for thinking up this, scheme, because we can't let the Moties get out. A galactic plague-and there are only two remedies for that kind of plague. Quarantine and extermination. At least we've got a choice.
"They're-" She stopped and looked up at him. "I'm afraid to talk to you about it. Rod, I couldn't live with myself if we had to-if the blockade won't work."
He didn't say anything. There was a shouted laugh from somewhere beyond the Palace grounds. It sounded like children.
"They'll get past that squadron in the star," Sally said. Her voice was tightly controlled.
"Sure. And past the mines Sandy Sinclair's designing too. But where can they go, Sally? There's only one exit from the Eye system, they don't know where it is, and there'll be a battle group waiting for them when they find it. Meanwhile they've been inside a star. No place to dissipate energy. Probably damaged. There's nothing you can think of that we haven't considered. That blockade's tight. I wouldn't approve it otherwise."
She relaxed again and leaned against his chest His arms encircled her. They watched the Hooded Man and his imperfect eye.
"They won't come out," Rod said.
"And they're still trapped. After a million years what will we be like in a million years?" she wondered. "Like them? There's something basic we don't understand about Moties. A fatalistic streak I can't even comprehend. After a few failures they may even just-give up."
He shrugged. "We'll keep the blockade anyway. Then, in about fifty years, we'll go in and see what things are like. If they've collapsed as thoroughly as Charlie predicts, we can take them into the Empire."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. We'll have to think of something."
"Yes." She drew away from him and turned excitedly. "I know! Rod, we have to really look at the problem. For the Moties. We can help them."
He looked at her wonderingly. "I think the best brains in the Empire are likely to be working on it."
"Yes, but for the Empire. Not for the Modes. We need-an Institute. Something controlled by people who know the Moties. Something outside of politics. And we can do it. We're rich enough. .
"Eh?"
"We can't spend half of what we have between us." She dashed past him and into his suite, then through it and across the corridor to her own. Rod followed to see her burrowing among the stacks of wedding gifts that littered the large rose-teak table in her entry hail. She grunted in satisfaction when she found her pocket computer.
Now should I be irritated? Rod thought. I think I'd better learn to be happy when she's -like this. I'll have a long time to do it. "The Modes have been working - on their problem awhile," he reminded her.
She looked up with faint irritation. "Pooh. They don't see things the way we do. Fatalism, remember? And they've had nobody to force them into adopting any solutions they do think up." She went back to scribbling notes. "We'll need Horowitz, of course. And he says there's a good man on Sparta, we'll have to send for him. Dr. Hardy. We'll want him."
He regarded her with awe and wonder. "When you get going, you move." And I better move with you if I'm going to have you around all my life. Wonder what it's like to live with a whirlwind? "You'll have Father Hardy if you want him. The Cardinal's assigned him to the Mote problem-and I think His Eminence has something bigger in store. Hardy could have been a bishop long ago but he doesn't have the normal share of miterosis. Now I don't think he's got much choice: First apostolic delegate to an alien race, or something."