The Mote In God's Eye

"Admiral Kutuzov is convinced the Modes are a threat," the War Minister said. "He says they are very persuasive. Give them a chance to speak to whom they will and there is no telling what they might do. They could make political trouble for us, Your Highness, and we do no need that."

"But you have to agree that three Moties aren't any military threat," Sally insisted.

Benjamin Fowler sighed heavily. "We've been over this before. It isn't the military threat I worry about! If we turn the Moties loose they will make deals. Bury's report convinces me of that. The Moties can get interest groups formed to support them. Negotiate trade agreements."

"The Commission has a veto on any agreement, Uncle Ben."

"Harder to kill a deal than see one isn't made to begin with. Look, if the Modes are everything Horvath - thinks they are: peaceful, anxious to sell or give us new technology, no competition for living space-and how in hell can he know that?-no military threat, never going to ally with the outies . .

Admiral Cranston growled deep in his throat.

"And all the rest of it, even if they're all that and more, they are still problems. For one thing, their technology's going to shake up the whole Empire. We can't just turn all that loose without some plans for readjustment."

"Labor people are on to that," Merrill said dryly. "President of IF of L was in here not an hour ago demanding that we bottle up the Moties until his staff can study unemployment problems. Not against new technology, but wants us to be cautious. Can't say I blame him."

"The ITA isn't solid any more either," Rod added. "At Lady Malcolm's last night a couple of Traders told me they've got second thoughts about Moties." Rod fingered the lapels of his brightly colored knit tunic. Civilian clothes fit better and should have been more comfortable than Navy uniform, but they didn't seem more comfortable. "Damn it, I don't know what to say! I've been so busy with meaningless speeches and conferences and these goddamn parties I haven't had a chance to do any constructive thinking."

"Course, of course," Merrill soothed. "Still and all, my lord, my orders from HM are clear. I have to take the advice of your Commission. And I am still waiting for that advice. Lady Sandra-"

"Sally. Please." She'd never liked her given name, for no reason she could have told anyone.

"Lady Sally has at least offered us something. Senator, you and Blaine have to do more than protest that you don't know enough I"

"There is the small matter of my fleet," Armstrong put in. "I must know if Cranston's battleships can go back to chasing outies, or must they stand by in this corner of the sector? We'll have more revolts if we do no show the flag in the distant provinces..."

"Same demands?' Rod asked.

"Aye. They want ships o' their own. More say in Imperial policy too, but mostly the ships. ‘Tis enough to drive me mad! They hae control o' their internal affairs. They do no pay more taxes than we. When the outies stir about they shout for the Navy and we come. But these are no your problems, my lord. If we need ships to defend mankind from alien monsters I'll find them for you if I hae to work in MacPherson's yards myself."

"Would almost be worthwhile if the Moties were hostile," Merrill said thoughtfully. "A real threat to the Empire would consolidate the provinces-Wonder if we could sell that story to the barons?"

"Your Highness!" Sally protested.

"Just a thought, just a thought."

"Dazzle ‘em with footwork," Fowler growled. They all turned to stare at him. "It's obvious. Let the press corps have a field day. When Lenin gets in, we'll put on a show like New Scotland's never seen. Big reception for the Moties. Full honors. Lots of formalities, parades, reviews, tours. Conferences with the Foreign Office people. Nobody can object if the Motie public appearances are ceremonial and the Foreign Office monopolizes the rest of their time. Meanwhile, we get to work. Your Highness, we'll have advice for you as soon as possible, but Leoni-His Majesty did not send me out here to make snap judgments. Until I know more, we'll just have to make do."

49 Parades

The landing boat settled on the roof of the Palace with a high-pitched whine of jets dying to a low rumble, then silence. A long roll of drums began outside. The martial sound filtered into the cabin, then blared as the entryway was opened.

David Hardy blinked into morning sunlight bright on the varicolored stones of the Palace. He sniffed fresh air with no smell of ships and men and filters, and felt the warmth of New Cal. His feet sensed solid rock below. Home!

"HONOR GUARD, ATTENTION!"

Oh, Lord, they're going all out, David thought. He squared his shoulders and moved down the ramp as cameramen focused their zoom lenses. Other naval officers and civilians followed. Dr. Horvath was the last, and when he appeared David nodded to the officer in charge.