The Mote in God's Eye

“But what do I tell them, sir?” Renner asked.

“You will tell them Admiral Kutuzov is a paranoid fool, Mr. Renner. Now carry out your orders.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The screen went blank. Renner looked pale. “Now he’s reading minds—”

“Kevin, what’s going on here?” Sally demanded. “Get us up in the middle of the night, rush us up here— Now Rod won’t answer us, and the Admiral wants us to risk our lives and offend the Moties.” She sounded very much like Senator Fowler’s niece; an Imperial lady who had tried to cooperate with the Navy and now had had enough.

Dr. Horvath was even more indignant. “I will not be a party to this, Mr. Renner. I have no intention of putting on a pressure suit.”

“Lenin’s moving alongside MacArthur,” Whitbread said casually. He stared out the view port. “The Admiral has her ringed with boats—I think somebody’s carrying a line over.”

Everyone turned to the view ports. Lafferty focused the cutter’s telescope and flashed the results on the ship’s bridge screens. After a while figures in space suits began moving along lines toward Lenin’s boats, which then moved away to let others take their places.

“They’re abandoning MacArthur,” Staley said wonderingly. He looked up, his angular face contorted. “And one of Lenin’s boats is headed this way. My lady, you’ll have to hurry. I don’t think there’s much time.”

“But I told you, I am not going,” Dr. Horvath insisted.

Staley fingered his pistol. The cabin grew tense.

“Doctor, do you remember the orders Viceroy Merrill gave Admiral Kutuzov?” Renner asked carefully. “As I recall, he was to destroy MacArthur rather than let the Moties obtain any important information.” Renner’s voice was cool, almost bantering.

Horvath tried to say something else. He seemed to be having difficulty controlling his features. Finally he turned to the pressure suit locker without a word. After a moment, Sally followed him.

Horace Bury had gone to his cabin after the coffee demonstration. He liked to work late at night and sleep after lunch, and although there wasn’t anything to work on at the moment, he’d kept the habit.

The ship’s alarms woke him. Somebody was ordering the Marines into combat uniform. He waited, but nothing else happened for a long time. Then came the stench. It choked him horribly, and there was nothing like it in any of his memories. Distilled quintessence of machines and body odor—and it was growing stronger.

More alarms sounded. “PREPARE FOR HARD VACUUM. ALL PERSONNEL WILL DON PRESSURE SUITS. ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL WILL DON BATTLE ARMOR. PREPARE FOR HARD VACUUM.”

Nabil was crying in panic. “Fool! Your suit!” Bury screamed and ran for his own. Only after he was breathing normal ship’s air did he listen for the alarms again.

The voices didn’t sound right. They weren’t coming through the intercom, they were shouted through the corridors. “CIVILIANS WILL ABANDON SHIP. ALL CIVILIAN PERSONNEL, PREPARE TO ABANDON SHIP.”

Really. Bury almost smiled. This was a first time—was it a drill? There were more sounds of confusion. A squad of Marines in battle armor, weapons clutched at the ready, tramped past. The smile slipped and Bury looked about to guess what possessions he might save.

There was more shouting, An officer appeared in the corridor outside and began shouting in an unnecessarily loud voice. Civilians would be leaving MacArthur

on a line. They could take one bag each, but would require one hand free.

Beard of the Prophet! What could cause this? Had they saved the golden asteroid metal, the superconductor of heat? Certainly they would not save the precious selfcleaning percolator. What should he try to save?

The ship’s gravity lessened noticeably. Flywheels inside her were rotating to take off her spin. Bury worked quickly to throw together items needed by any traveler without regard to their price. Luxuries he could buy again, but— The miniatures. He’d have to get that air tank from D air lock. Suppose he were assigned to a different air lock?

He packed in frenzy. Two suitcases, one for Nabil to carry. Nabil moved fast enough now that he had orders. There was more confused shouting outside, and several times squads of Navy men and Marines floated past the stateroom door. They all carried weapons and wore armor.

His suit began to inflate. The ship was losing pressure, and all thought of drill or exercise left him. Some of the scientific equipment couldn’t stand hard vacuum—and nobody had once come into the cabin to check his pressure suit. The Navy wouldn’t risk civilian lives in drills.

An officer moved into the corridor. Bury heard the harsh voice speaking in deadly calm tones. Nabil stood uncertainly and Bury motioned to him to turn on his suit communications.