The Mote In God's Eye

The first night after the Jump, Kutuzov held a dinner party. It was formal, and most of the guests did not enjoy themselves much; the Admiral's table talk was confined to professional matters. However, he left early, and a much wilder party developed.

Rod and Sally stayed for three hours. Everyone wanted to talk about Modes, and Rod was surprised to find himself discussing them with only a hint of the dull pain that had formerly come over him when he thought of the aliens. Sally's enthusiasm was enough in itself-and besides, she seemed as worried about him as about the aliens. She had even spent hours remaking Mikhailov's extra dress uniform so that it almost fit.

When they left the party, neither Modes nor the Mote were mentioned during the hours they were together before going to their separate cabins.

The ship moved outward. Eventually the yellow beyond the Field turned to orange, then brick-red, and Lenin's probes reported her Field hotter than the photosphere around her. Scientists and crew alike eagerly watched the screen, and when stars appeared against a red-black background everyone had a drink in celebration. Even the Admiral joined them, his features a broad and heavy smile.

Shortly afterward the communications officer established contact with a waiting tanker. There was also a small message sloop, fast, manned by young crewmen in perfect physical condition. Kutuzov dictated his report and sent it with two of his midshipmen, and the sloop accelerated at three gravities, racing for the Alderson point where it would Jump to the New Caledonia System and deliver the report of mankind's first contact with an alien civilization.

The tanker carried mail and nearly a year's worth of news. There had been more revolts in the sector. A former colony had allied with an armed outie system and defied the empire. New Chicago was occupied by the Army, and although the economy was working again much of the population was resentful of Imperial paternalism. The inflation of the crown was under control. Her Imperial Majesty had given birth to a boy, Alexander, and Crown Prince Lysander was no longer the only insurance of the present imperial line. That news was worth another celebration on Lenin, and it got so big that Mikhailov had to borrow MacArthur crewmen to man his ship.

The sloop returned with more messages masered even before the message ship could rendezvous. The Sector Capital was wild with enthusiasm, and the Viceroy was planning a gala reception for the Mode ambassadors. War Minister Armstrong sent a muted "well done" and a thousand questions.

There was also a message for Rod Blaine. He learned of it when he was summoned to Kutuzov's cabin by the Admiral's Marine orderly.

"This is probably it," Rod told Sally. "Put Blaine under arrest until he can be tried by court-martial,"

"Don't be silly." She smiled encouragement. "I'll wait for you here."

"If they ever let me come back to my cabin." He turned to the Marine. "Lead on, Ivanov."

When he was let into the Admiral's cabin it was a shock. Rod had expected a bare room, functional and cold; instead it was a bewildering variety of colors, oriental carpets, tapestries on the walls, the inevitable icon and portrait of the Emperor but much more. There were even leather-bound books in a shelf above Kutuzov's desk. The Admiral indicated a Spartan rose teak chair. "Will you have tea?" he asked.

"Well-thank you, sir."

"Two glasses tea, Keemun." The steward drew them from a silver thermos shaped like an ancient Russian samovar, and served the tea in crystal cups.

"You may go. Captain Blaine, I have orders concerning you."

"Yes, sir." Rod said. He might at least have waited until I'd enjoyed the tea.

"You will be leaving this ship. As soon as the sloop makes rendezvous you are to go aboard for return to New Caledonia at maximum acceleration flight surgeon will approve."

"Yes, sir-are they that eager to haul me in front of a court-martial?"

Kutuzov looked puzzled. "Court-martial? I do not think so, Captain. There must be formal court of inquiry, certainly. That is in regulations. But I would be surprised if court of inquiry made charges against you."

Kutuzov turned to his elaborately carved desk. There was a message tape on the polished wood surface. "This is for you. It is marked ‘personal and urgent' and doubtless it will explain."

Rod took the tape and examined it curiously.

"It is in commanding-officer code, of course," the Admiral said. "My flag secretary will assist you if you like."

"Thank you."

The Admiral used the intercom to summon a lieutenant, who fed decoding tapes into the code machine. It clattered out a thin form.

"Will that be all, Admiral?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Yes. Captain, I leave you to read your message. Good morning." Admiral and lieutenant left the cabin as the code machine continued to chatter. The message flimsy wormed out of the machine's innards.

Rod tore it off and read in growing wonder.