The Mote in God's Eye

“But we may not have the time,” Armstrong said softly. “Consider. One hundred and thirteen years ago, as best our records show, the Mote glowed so brightly that it outshone Murcheson’s Eye. Then one day it went out. That would no doubt be when the probe was ready to turn end for end and begin deceleration into our system. The lasers that launched that thing had been on a long time. The builders have had a hundred and fifty years at least to develop new technology. Think of that, my lords. In a hundred and fifty years, men on Earth went from windpowered warships to a landing on Earth’s Moon. From gunpowder to hydrogen fusion. To a level of technology which might have built that probe—and in no more than a hundred and fifty years after that, had the Alderson Drive, the Field, ten interstellar colonies, and the CoDominium. Fifty years later the fleet left Earth to found the First Empire. That is what a hundred and fifty years can be to a growing race, my lords. And that’s what we’re faced with, else they’d have been here before.

“I say we can’t afford to wait!” The old man’s voice lashed out to fill the chamber. “Wait for word from Sparta? With all respect to His Majesty’s advisers, what can they tell us that we won’t know better than they? By the time they can reply we’ll have sent more reports. Perhaps things will have changed here and their instructions will make no sense. God’s teeth, it’s better to make our own mistakes!”

“Your recommendation?” the Council President asked dryly.

“I have already ordered Admiral Cranston to assemble all the warships we can spare from occupation and patrol duties. I have sent to His Majesty a most urgent request that additional forces be assigned to this sector. Now I propose that a naval expedition go to the Mote and find out what’s happening there while the Yards convert enough vessels to be sure that we can destroy the alien home worlds if necessary.”

There were gasps in the chamber. One of the Council members rose hurriedly to demand recognition.

“Dr. Anthony Horvath, Minister of Science,” the President announced.

“Your Highness, my lords, I am speechless,” Horvath began.

“Would to God you were,” Admiral Cranston muttered at his seat to Rod’s left.

Horvath was an elderly, carefully dressed man with precise gestures and every word spoken just so, as if he intended to say just that and no more. He spoke quietly but every word carried through the room perfectly. “My lords, there is nothing threatening about this probe. It carried only one passenger, and it has had no opportunity to report to those who sent it.” Horvath looked significantly at Admiral Cranston. “We have seen absolutely no signs that the aliens have faster-than-light technology, nor the slightest hint of danger, yet My Lord Armstrong speaks of assembling the Fleet. He acts as if all humanity were threatened by one dead alien and a light sail! Now I ask you, is this reasonable?”

“What is your proposal, Dr. Horvath?” the President asked.

“Send an expedition, yes. I agree with Minister Armstrong that it would be pointless to expect the Throne to issue detailed instructions from that great distance in time. Send a Navy ship if it makes everyone more comfortable. But staff it with scientists, foreign office personnel, representatives of the merchant class. Go in peace as they came in peace, don’t treat these aliens as if they were outie pirates! There won’t ever be an opportunity like this again, my lords. The first contact between humans and intelligent aliens. Oh, we’ll find other sentient species, but we’ll never find a first one again. What we do here will be in our history forever. Do not make a blot on that page!”

“Thank you, Dr. Horvath,” the President said. “Are there other comments?”

There were. Everyone spoke at once until order was established at last. “Gentlemen, we must have a decision,” Duke Bonin said. “What is the advice you wish to offer His Highness? Do we send an expedition to the Mote or no?”

That was settled quickly. The military and science groups easily outnumbered Sir Traffin’s supporters. Ships would be sent as soon as feasible.

“Excellent.” Bonin nodded. “And perhaps the character of the expedition? Shall it be naval or civil?”

The major-domo struck the stage with his staff. Every head turned toward the high throne where Merrill had sat impassively through the debate. “I thank the Council, but I shall need no advice concerning this final matter,” the Viceroy said. “Since the question concerns the safety of the Realm there can be no problem of sector prerogatives involved.” The stately address was spoiled as Merrill ran his fingers through his hair. He dropped his hand hurriedly to his lap as he realized what he was doing. A thin smile came to his face. “Although I suspect the Council’s advice might be the same as my own. Sir Traffin, would your group favor a purely scientific expedition?”

“No, Your Highness.”