The Mote in God's Eye

“My apologies. You will doubtless have heard of my encounter with miniatures.” He glanced at Blaine and envied his external calm. Miniatures could be no less unpleasant to the commander of MacArthur. “I am pleased to hear that the Empire recognizes the dangers.”

“Yeah. We’re going to blockade the Moties. Bottle ‘em up in their own system.”

“Would it not be better to exterminate them while we can?” Bury asked quietly. The voice was calm, but his dark eyes blazed.

“How?”

Bury nodded. “There would be political difficulties, of course. But I could find men to take an expedition to Mote Prime, and given the proper orders—”

Fowler gestured dismissal. “I’ve got my own agents provocateurs if I need ‘em.”

“Mine would be considerably less valuable.” Bury looked pointedly at Blaine.

“Yeah.” Fowler said nothing more for a moment, and Blaine stiffened visibly. Then the Senator continued: “Better or worse, Trader, we’ve decided on the blockade. Government’s shaky enough without being accused of genocide. Besides, I don’t know as I like the idea of unprovoked attack on intelligent beings. We’ll do it this way.”

“But the threat!” Bury leaned forward, unmindful of the fanatical gleam in his eyes. He knew he was close to madness, but he no longer cared. “Do you think you have locked the djinn away because the cork is back in the bottle? What if another another generation does not see the Moties as we do? What if they let the djinn loose again? Glory of Allah! Picture swarms of their ships. They pour into the Empire, each commanded by things that looked like that and think like Admiral Kutuzov! Specialized Warriors more than the equals of Sauron Death’s-heads! And you will let them live? I tell you they must be destroyed…”

No! Men are never persuaded simply because they must believe. They will not listen when— Visibly he relaxed. “I see that you have decided. How may I be of assistance?” Or do you wish anything of me at all? Is

this a game?

“I think you already have,” Blaine said. He lifted his coffee and sipped. “And I thank you for the gift.”

“Blockade’s about the most expensive kind of naval action there is,” Fowler mused. “Never very popular either.”

“Ah.” Bury felt the tension die within him. They held his life, but they needed him—perhaps he could keep far more than his life. “You are concerned about the Imperial Traders’ Association.”

“Exactly.” There was no reading Fowler’s expression.

Relief. For this I will build a mosque. It would make my father gloriously happy, and who knows? Perhaps Allah exists after all. That bubbling laugh was still there in his throat, but he knew that if he began he would never stop. “I have already pointed out to my colleagues the disadvantages of unrestricted trade with Moties. I have my share of success, although too many traders are like the neighbor who followed Aladdin into the magician’s cave. Incalculable wealth glitters more brightly than the dangers.”

“Yeah. But can you hold ‘em? Find out who intends to sabotage us and squash their schemes?”

Bury shrugged. “With some assistance. It will be very expensive. I assume I will have the use of secret funds…”

Fowler grinned evilly. “Rod, what else was it Stone said? Something about—”

“It will not be necessary to bring up that man’s ravings,” Bury protested. “I believe I have sufficient wealth.” He shuddered. What would he have when this was done? Fowler wouldn’t care if he bled Bury to death. “If there is something that requires resources beyond mine—”

“We’ll discuss it then,” Fowler said. “There will be, too. For instance, this blockade’s going to suck up a lot of resources Merrill thought he’d have for the unification of Trans-Coalsack. Now it seems to me a smart Trader might just have a few contacts among the rebels. Might even be able to persuade ‘em to our point of view. I don’t know how that would work, of course.”

“I see.”

Fowler nodded. “Thought you might. Rod, take that tape and see it’s put in a good safe place, will you? I doubt if we’ll be needing it again.”

“Yes, sir.” Rod did things to his pocket computer. The machine hummed: a tiny whine that signaled a new kind of life for Horace Bury.

There will be no evasions, Bury thought. Fowler will accept only results, not excuses; and my life will be at stake in this game. It will not be easy to be this man’s political agent. Yet what choice is there? On Levant I could only wait in fear. At least this way I will know how they are dealing with the Moties… and perhaps change their policies as well.

“One more thing,” the senator said. He gestured and Rod Blaine went to the office door. Kevin Renner entered.

It was the first time any of them had seen the Sailing Master in civilian clothing. Renner had chosen bright plaid trousers and an even brighter tunic. His sash was some silklike material that looked natural but probably was synthetic. Soft boots, jewelry; in short, he looked like most of Bury’s successful merchant captains. Trader and shipmaster eyed each other wonderingly.