The Mote in God's Eye

At a distance the small black beasts were indistinguishable from rats. Hardy snapped a picture of a swarm that was scrambling for cover. He hoped to develop a blowup later. There was a large, flattish beast, almost invisible until they were right in front of it. It was the color and pattern of the brick it was clinging to.

“Like a chameleon,” Sally said. Then she had to explain chameleons.

“There’s another,” Sally’s Motie said. She pointed out a concrete-colored animal clinging to a gray wall. “Don’t try to disturb it. It has teeth.”

“Where do they get their food?”

“Roof gardens. Though they can eat meat. And there’s an insectivore…” She led them to a “rooftop” two meters above street level. There were grain and fruit trees gone riot, and a small, armless biped that fired a coiled tongue over a meter long. It looked as if it had a mouthful of walnuts.

Bitter cold met them on the sixth floor. The sky was leaden gray. Snow blew in flurries across an infinity of icy tundra. Hardy wanted to stay, for there was considerable life in that cold hell; bushes and tiny trees growing through the ice, a large, placid thing that ignored them, a furry, hopping snowshoe rabbit with dish-shaped ears and no front legs. They almost had to use force to get Hardy out; but he would have frozen in there.

Dinner was waiting for them at the Castle: ship’s stores, and slices of a flat green Motie cactus 75 cm across and 3 thick. The red jelly inside tasted almost meaty. Renner liked it, but the others couldn’t eat it at all. The rest they ate like starved men, talking animatedly between mouthfuls. It must have been the extra-long day that made them so hungry.

Renner’s Motie said, “We have some idea what a tourist wants to see in a strange city, at least we know what you show in your travel films. Museums. The place of government. Monuments. Unique architecture. Perhaps the shops and night clubs. Above all, the way of life of the native.” She gestured deprecatingly. “We’ve had to omit some of this. We don’t have any night clubs. Too little alcohol doesn’t do anything to us. Too much kills. You’ll get a chance to hear our music, but frankly, you won’t like it.”

“Government is Mediators meeting to talk. It might be anywhere. The decision makers live where they like, and they generally consider themselves bound by the agreements of their Mediators. You’ll see some of our monuments. As for our way of life, you’ve been studying that for some time.”

“What about the way of life of a White?” Hardy asked. Then his mouth opened in a bone-cracking yawn.

“He’s right,” Hardy’s Motie broke in. “We should be able to see a giver of orders’ family residence at work. It may be that we can get permission—” The alien broke into a high gabble.

The Moties considered. Sally’s Motie said, “It should be possible. We’ll see. In the meantime, let’s call it a day.”

For the time change had caught the humans. Doctors Horvath and Hardy yawned, blinked, looked surprised, made their excuses, and departed. Bury was still going strong. Renner wondered what rotation his planet had. He himself had had enough spacegoing training to adapt to any schedule.

But the party was breaking up. Sally said her good nights and went upstairs, swaying noticeably. Renner suggested folk singing, got no response, and quit.

A spiral stair ran up the tower. Renner turned off into a corridor, following his curiosity. When he reached an air lock he realized that it must lead to the balcony, the flat ring that circled the tower. He did not care to try the Mote Prime air. He wondered if the balcony was meant to be used at all… and then thought of a ring encircling a slender tower, and wondered if the Moties were playing games with Freudian symbolism.

Probably they were. He continued to his room.

Renner thought at first he was in the wrong room. The color scheme was striking: orange and black, quite different from the muted pale browns of this morning. But the pressure suit on the wall was his, his design and rank markings on the chest. He looked about him, trying to decide whether he liked the change.

It was the only change—no, the room was warmer. It had been too cold last night. On a hunch, he crossed the room and checked the Moties’ sleeping alcove. Yes, it was chilly in there.

Renner’s Motie leaned against the doorjamb, watching him with the usual slight smile. Renner grinned shamefacedly. Then he continued his inspection.

The bathroom—the toilet was different. Just as he had sketched it. Wrong; there wasn’t any water in it. And no flush.

What the hell, there was only one way to test a toilet.

When he looked, the bowl was sparkling clean. He poured a glass of water into it and watched it run away without leaving a drop. The bowl was a frictionless surface.

Have to mention this to Bury, he thought. There were bases on airless moons, and worlds where water, or energy for recycling it, was scarce. Tomorrow. He was too sleepy now.