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"Are you so sure he'd be wrong?" Jack Cargill asked. "From what I've heard, every one of those givers of orders has a self-sufficient fortress. Roof gardens. Brownies to fix all the machinery-too bad we can't tame some of them to help Sinclair." Cargill noted his captain's -black look and hurriedly added, "Anyway, the agriculturist might have a better chance in a fight, but both those places sound like forts. So do all the other residential palaces I've heard about."
Dr. Horvath had been struggling to control himself, while Sally Fowler attempted without success to hide - her amusement. Finally she laughed. "Commander Cargill, the Moties have had space travel and fusion power for centuries. If their buildings still have a fortress look, it must be traditional -there's no possible purpose! You're the military expert, just how would building your house that way help you against modern weapons?"
Cargill was silenced, but his expression showed he wasn't convinced.
"You say they try to make their houses self-sufficient?" Rod asked. "Even in the city? But that is silly. They'd still have to bring in water."
"It rained a lot," said Re
"It took me half an hour to notice," Whitbread laughed. "The new Motie behaved just like Jackson's old one. He must have been briefed."
"Left-handed," said Rod. "Why not?" At least they'd changed the subject. The stewards brought in lunch and everyone fell to. When they finished it was time to leave for the Mote.
"A word with you, Mr. Re
"Yes, sir," Re
"If you had to shoot a man or a Motie, could you do it?"
"Yes, sir."
"You answered that very quickly, Mr. Re
"I thought it over very slowly, some time past, when I knew I was joining the Navy. If I had decided I was incapable of shooting anyone, I'd have had to make damned sure the Captain knew it."
Elaine nodded. "Next question. Can you recognize the need for military action in time to do something? Even if what you do is hopeless?"
"I think so. Captain, can I bring up something else? I do want to go back, and-"
"Speak your piece, Mr. Re
"Captain, your Fyunch(click) went mad."
"I'm aware of that," Captain Elaine said coldly.
"I think the Tsar's hypothetical Fyunch (click) would go mad much faster. What you want is the one officer aboard this ship who is least inclined to the military way of thinking."
"Get aboard, Mr. Re
"Aye aye, sir." Re
"He'll do, Captain," Cargill said.
"I hope so, Number One. Jack, do you think it was our military ma
"No, sir." Cargill seemed positive.
"Then what did?"
"Captain, I don't know. I don't know a lot of things about those bug-eyed monsters. There's only one thing I am sure of, and that is they're learning more about us than we are about them."
"Oh, come on, Number One. They take our people anywhere they ask to go. Sally says they're bending over backwards-well, for them, that isn't so hard to do-but anyway, she says they're very cooperative. Not hiding a thing. You've always been scared of the Moties, haven't you? Any idea why?"
"No, Captain." Cargill looked closely at Blaine and decided that his boss wasn't accusing him of funk. "I just don't like the feel of this." He glanced at his pocket computer to note the time. "I've got to hurry, Skipper. I'm supposed to help Mr. Bury with that coffee business."
"Bury- Jack, I've been meaning to speak to you about him. His Motie lives on the~ embassy ship now. Bury's moved to the cutter. What do they talk about?"
"Sir? They're supposed to be negotiating trade deals-"
"Sure, but Bury knows a lot about the Empire. Economy, industry, general size of the Fleet, how many outies we've got to deal with, you name it and he'd probably know it."
Cargill gri
"Now how did you do that?"
"I told him we'd bugged every inch of the cutter, sir." Cargill's grin broadened. "Sure, he knows we can't listen to every one of those bugs every time, but-"
Rod returned the grin. "I expect that'll work. OK, you'd better move along to the Kaffee Klatsch-you sure you don't mind helping with this?"
"Hell, Skipper, it was my idea. If Bury can show the cooks how to make better coffee during combat alerts, I might even change my opinion of him. Just why is he being kept a prisoner on this ship, anyway?"
"Prisoner? Commander Cargill?"
"Skipper, everybody in the crew knows there's something fu
"Somebody's doing a lot of talking, Jack. Anyway, I can't say anything about it."
"Sure. You've got your orders, Skipper. But I notice you aren't trying to deny it. Well, it figures. Your old man is richer than Bury-I wonder how many Navy people might be for sale? It scares me, having a guy who could buy a whole planet as our prisoner." Cargill moved quickly through the companionway to the main crew kitchen.
The night before, the di
It had been an excellent ending to an excellent di
"But the basic secret is to keep the equipment truly clean," he had said. "The bitter oils of yesterday's coffee will accumulate in the works, especially in percolators."
It had ended with Bury's offer to inspect MacArthur's coffee-making facilities the next day. Cargill, who thought coffee - as vital to a fighting- ship as torpedoes, accepted happily. Now he watched as the bearded Trader examined the large percolator and gingerly drew a cup.
"The machine is certainly well kept," he said. "Very well kept. Absolutely clean, and the brew is not reheated too often. For standard coffee, this is excellent, Commander."
Puzzled, lack Cargill drew a cup and tasted it. "Why, that's better than the stuff the wardroom gets."
There were sidelong glances among the cooks. Cargill noticed them. He noticed something else, too. He ran a finger along the side of the percolator and brought it away with a brown oilstain.
Bury repeated the gesture, sniffed at his finger, and touched the tip of his tongue to it. Cargill tasted the oil in his hand. It was like all the bad coffee he had ever swallowed for fear of falling asleep on duty. He looked again at the percolator and stared at the spigot handle.