The Mote In God's Eye

Whitbread and Potter walked across the highway.

Staley loaded the last round into the rocket launcher, but saved it. Nothing was coming through the gap yet. He stepped out into the street and began to walk. Traffic whizzed past. The urge to run and dodge was overwhelming, but he moved slowly, at constant speed. A truck whipped past in a momentary hurricane. Then others.

After a lifetime he reached the other side, alive.

No sidewalks. They were still in traffic, huddled against a grayish concrete-like wall.

Whitbread's Motie stepped into the street and gave a curious three-armed gesture. A long rectangular truck stopped with screeching brakes. She twittered to the drivers and the Browns immediately got out, went to the back of the truck, and began removing boxes from the cargo compartment. The traffic streamed past without slowing at all.

"That ought to do it," Whitbread's Mode said briskly. "The Warriors will be coming to investigate the hole in the wall-"

•The• humans got in quickly. The Brown who'd followed them patiently from the museum climbed• into the right-hand driver's seat. Whitbread's Mode started for the other driver's seat, but Charlie twittered at her. The two Brown-and-whites whistled and chirped, and Charlie gestured vehemently. Finally Whitbread's Mode climbed into the cargo compartment and closed the doors. As she did the humans saw the original drivers walking slowly down the street away from the truck.

"Where are they going?" Staley asked.

"Better than that, what was the argument about?" Whitbread demanded.

"One at a time, gentlemen," Whitbread's Mode began. The truck started. It jolted hard, and there was humming from the motors and the tires. Sounds of myriads of other vehicles filtered in.

Whitbread was jammed between hard plastic boxes, with about as much room as a coffin. It reminded him unpleasantly of his situation. The others had no more room, and Jonathon wondered if they had thought of the analogy. His nose was only centimeters from the roof.

"The Browns will go to a transport pool and report that their vehicle was commandeered by a Mediator," Whitbread's Mode said. "And the argument was over who'd stay up front with the Brown. I lost."

"Why was it an argument?" Staley demanded. "Don't you trust each other?"

"I trust Charlie. She doesn't really trust me-I mean, how could she? I've walked out on my own Master. As far as she's concerned, I'm Crazy Eddie. Best to see to things herself."

"But where are we going?" Staley asked.

"To King Peter's territory. Best available way."

"We can't stay in this vehicle long," Staley said. "Once those Browns report, they'll be looking for it-you must have police. Some way to trace a stolen truck. You do have crime, don't you?"

"Not the way you think of it. There aren't really any laws-but there are givers of orders who have jurisdiction over missing property. They'll find the truck for a price. It'll take tithe, for my Master to negotiate with them, though. First she'll have to show that I've gone insane."

"I don't suppose there's a space port here?" Whitbread asked.

"We couldn't use it anyway," Staley said flatly.

They listened to the hum of traffic for awhile. Potter said, "I thought of that too. A spacecraft is conspicuous. If a message would bring an attack on Lenin, ‘tis certain we'd nae be allowed to return ourselves."

"And how are we going to get home?" Whitbread wondered aloud, He wished he hadn't asked.

"'Tis a twice-told tale," Potter said unhappily, "We know aye more than can be allowed. And what we ken is more important than our lives, is it nae so, Mr. Staley?"

"Right."

"You never know when to give up, do you?" Whitbread's voice said from the dark. It took a moment for them to realize it was the Motie speaking. "King Peter may let you live, He may let you return to Lenin. If he's convinced that's best, he can arrange it. But there's no way you will send a message to that battleship without his help."

"The hell we won't," Staley said. His voice rose. "Get this through your ear flap. You've been square with us-I think. I'll be honest with you. If there's a way to get a message out I'm going to send it."

"And after that, ‘tis as God wills," Potter added,

They listened to the humming of the traffic. "You won't have the chance, Horst," Whitbread's voice said.

"There's no threat you can make that would get Charlie or me to have a Brown build you the equipment you'd need. You can't use our transmitters if you could find one-even I couldn't use strange gear without a Brown to help. There might not even be the proper communications devices on this planet, for that matter."

"Come off it," Staley said. "You've got to have space communications, and there are only so many bands in the electromagnetic spectrum."

"Sure. But nothing stays idle here. If we need something, the Browns put it together. When it's not needed any more, they build something else out of the parts. And you want something that'll reach Lenin without letting anyone know you've done that"

"I'll take the chance. If we can broadcast a warning to the Admiral, he'll get the ship home." Horst was positive. Lenin might be only one ship, but President Class battlewagons had defeated whole fleets before. Against Modes without the Field she'd be invincible. He wondered why he'd ever believed anything else. Back at the museum there'd been electronics parts, and they could have put together a transmitter of some kind. Now it was too late; why had he listened to the Motie?

They drove on for nearly an hour. The midshipmen were cramped, jammed between hard boxes, in the dark. Staley felt his throat tighten and was afraid to talk any more. There might be a catch in his voice, something to communicate his fears to the others, and he couldn't let them know he was as afraid as they were. He wished for something to happen, a fight, anything- There were starts and stops. The truck jerked and turned, then came to a halt. They waited. The sliding door opened and Charlie stood framed in light.

"Don't move," she said. There were Warriors behind her, weapons ready. At least four.

Horst Staley growled in hatred. Betrayed! He reached for his pistol, but the cramped position prevented him from drawing it.

"No, Horst!" Whitbread's Mode shouted. She twittered. Charlie hummed and clacked in reply. "Don't do anything," Whitbread's Mode said. "Charlie has commandeered an aircraft. The Warriors belong to its owner. They won't interfere as long as we go straight from here to the plane."

"But who are they?" Staley demanded. He kept his grip on the pistol. The odds looked impossible-the Warriors were poised and ready, and they looked deadly and efficient.

"I told you," Whitbread's Mode said. "They're a bodyguard. All Masters have them. Nearly all, anyway. Now get out, slowly, and keep your hands off your weapons. Don't make them think you might try to attack their Master. If they get that idea, we're all dead."

Staley estimated his chances. Not good. If he had Kelley and another Marine instead of Whitbread and Potter- "OK," he said. "Do as she says." He climbed slowly out of the van.

They were in a luggage-handling area. The Warriors stood in easy postures, leaning slightly forward on the balls of their wide, horned feet. It looked, Staley thought, like a karate stance. He caught a glimpse of motion near the wall. There were at least two more Warriors over there, under cover. Good thing he hadn't tried to fight.

The Warriors watched them carefully, falling in behind the strange procession of a Mediator, three humans, another Mediator, and a Brown. Their weapons were held at the ready, not quite pointing at anyone, and they fa

"Will nae yon decision maker call your Master when we are gone?" Potter asked.