The Mote In God's Eye

"If you're not planning war with the Empire," Staley said, "why are the three of us under death sentence?"

"Four. My Master wants my head as much as yours well, maybe not. You'll be wanted for dissection."

Nobody showed surprise.

"You're under death sentence because you now have enough information to have worked this out yourselves, you and MacArthur's biologists. A lot of the other Masters support the decision to kill you. They're afraid that if you escape now, your government will see us as a spreading plague, expanding through the Galaxy, eventually wiping out the Empire."

"And King Peter? He doesn't want us killed?" Staley asked. "Why not?"

The Moties twittered again. Whitbread's Mode spoke for the other one. "He may decide to kill you. I have to be honest about that. But he wants to put the djinn back in the bottle-if there's any way that humans and Moties can go back to where we were before you found our Crazy Eddie probe, he'll try it. The Cycles are better than-a whole Galaxy of Cycles!"

"And you?" Whitbread asked. "How do you see the situation?"

"As you do," the Motie said carefully. "I am qualified to judge my species dispassionately. I am not a traitor." There was a plea in the alien voice. "I am a judge. I judge that association between our species could only result in mutual envy, you for your birth control pills, us for our superior intelligence. Did you say something?"

"No."

"I judge that spreading my species across space would involve ridiculous risks and would not end the pattern of the Cycles. It would only make each collapse more terrible. We would breed faster than we could spread, until collapse came for hundreds of planets at a stroke, routinely..."

"But," said Potter, "ye've reached your dispassionate judgment by adopting our viewpoint-or rather, Whitbread's. You act so much like Jonathon the rest of us have to keep counting your arms. What will happen when you give up the human viewpoint? Might not your judgment- Ugh!"

The alien's left arm closed on the front of Potter's uniform, painfully tight, and drew him down until his nose was an inch from the Motie's sketched-in face. She said, "Never say that. Never think that. The survival of our civilization, any civilization, depends entirely on the justice of my class. We understand all viewpoints, and judge between them, If other Mediators come to a different conclusion from mine, that is their affair, It may be that their facts are incomplete, or their aims different. I judge on the evidence."

She released him, Potter stumbled backward. With the fingers of a right hand the Motie picked Staley's gunpoint out of her ear.

"That wasna' necessary," said Potter.

"It got your attention, didn't it? Come on, we're wasting time."

"Just a minute." Staley spoke quietly, but they all heard him easily in the night silence. "We're going to find this King Peter, who may or may not let us report to Lenin. That's not good enough. We've got to tell the Captain what we know."

"And how will you do that?" Whitbread's Motie asked. "I tell you, we won't help you, and you can't do it without us. I hope you don't have something stupid in mind, like threatening us with death? If that scared me, do you think I'd be here?"

"But-"

"Horst, get it through that military mind of yours that the only thing keeping Lenin alive is that my Master and King Peter agree on letting it live! My Master wants Lenin to go back with Dr Horvath and Mr. Bury aboard. If we've analyzed you right, they'll be very persuasive. They'll argue for free trade and peaceful relationships with us-"

"Aye," Potter said thoughtfully. "And wi'out our message, there'll be nae opposition ... why does this King Peter no call Lenin himself?"

Charlie and Whitbread's Motie twittered. Charlie answered. "He is not sure that the Empire will not come in strength to destroy the Mote worlds once you know the truth. And until he is sure.. ."

"How in God's name can he be sure of anything like that from talking to us?" Staley demanded. "I'm not sure myself. If His Majesty asked me, right now, I don't know what I'd advise-for God's sake, we're only three midshipmen from one battle cruiser. We can't speak for the Empire."

"Could we do it?" Whitbread asked. "I'm beginning to wonder if the Empire would be able to wipe you out."

"Jesus, Whitbread," Staley protested.

"I mean it. By the time Lenin gets back and reports to Sparta, they'll have the Field. Won't you?"

Both Modes shrugged. The gestures were exactly alike-and exactly like Whitbread's shrug. "The Engineers will work on it now that they know it exists," Whitbread's Mode said. "Even without it, we've got some experience in space wars. Now come on. God's teeth, you don't know how close to war we are right now! If my Master thinks you've told all this to Lenin she'll order an attack on the ship. If King Peter isn't convinced there's a way to make you leave us alone, he might order it."