The Mote in God's Eye

Whitbread shrugged. By now he was sorry he’d raised the subject.

“It’s hard to see the contours. It always is.” Absently Rod carried his coffee and Irish Mist over to the intercom screen. Officially he didn’t know where the Irish Mist came from. Kelley and his Marines always saw that the Captain had plenty, though. Cziller had liked slivovitz, and that had strained Maloney’s ingenuity to the breaking point.

Blaine traced the outline of a small sea. “You can’t tell land from sea, but the clouds always look like permanent formations…” He traced it again. “That sea’s almost a circle.”

“Yah. So’s this one.” Renner traced a faint ring of islands, much larger than the sea Blaine had studied. “And this—you can only see part of the arc.” This was on land, an arc of low hills.

“They’re all

circles,” Blaine announced. “Just like Mars. That’s it. Mars has been circling through Sol’s asteroid belt for four billion years. But there aren’t that many asteroids in this system, and they’re all in the Trojan points.”

“Sir, aren’t most of the circles a bit small for that?” Potter asked.

“So they are, Mr. Potter. So they are.”

“But what would it mean?” Whitbread said aloud. He meant it mostly for himself.

“Another mystery for Buckman,” Blaine said. “He’ll love it. Now, let’s use the time more constructively. I’m glad you brought the young gentlemen, Mr. Renner. I don’t suppose you both play bridge?”

They did, as it happened, but Whitbread had a string of bad luck. He lost nearly a full day’s pay.

The game was ended by the return of the cutter. Cargill came immediately to the Captain’s quarters to tell about the expedition. He had brought information, a pair of incomprehensible Motie mechanisms now being offloaded in hangar deck, and a torn sheet of gold-metallic stuff which he carried himself with thick gloves. Blaine thanked Renner and the middies for the game and they took the thinly veiled hint, although Whitbread would have liked to stay.

“I’m for my bunk,” Potter announced. “Unless—”

“Yes?” Whitbread prompted.

“Would it nae be a bonny sight if Mr. Crawford were to see his stateroom now?” Potter asked mischievously.

A slow grin spread across Jonathon Whitbread’s plump features. “It would indeed, Mr. Potter. It would indeed. Let’s hurry!”

It was worth it. The midshipmen weren’t alone in the debriefing rooms off hangar deck when a signal rating, prompted by Whitbread, tuned in the stateroom.

Crawford didn’t disappoint them. He would have committed xenocide, the first such crime in human history, if he hadn’t been restrained by his friends. He raved so much that the Captain heard about it, and as a result Crawford went directly from patrol to standing the next watch.

Buckman collected Potter and scurried to the astronomy lab, sure that the young middie had created chaos. He was pleasantly surprised at the work accomplished. He was also pleased with the coffee waiting for him. That flask was always full, and Buckman had come to expect it. He knew that it was somehow the work of Horace Bury.

Within half an hour of the cutter’s arrival, Bury knew of the sheet of golden metal. Now that was something odd—and potentially quite valuable. The ancient-looking Motie machines might be equally so— If he could only get access to the cutter’s computer! But Nabil’s skills didn’t include that one.

Ultimately there would be coffee and conversation with Buckman, but that could wait, that could wait. And tomorrow the Motie ship would arrive. No question about it, this was going to be a very valuable expedition—and the Navy thought they were punishing him by keeping him away from his business! True, there would be no growth without Bury to supervise it and drive his underlings on, but it wouldn’t suffer much either; and now, with what he would learn here, Imperial Autonetics might become the most powerful firm in the Imperial Traders’ Association. If the Navy thought the ITA made trouble for them now, wait until it was controlled by Horace Bury! He smiled slyly to himself. Nabil, seeing his master’s smile, hunched nervously and tried to be inconspicuous.

Below in hangar deck Whitbread was put to work along with everyone else who had wandered there. Cargill had brought back a number of items from the Stone Beehive, and they had to be uncrated. Whitbread was ingenious enough to volunteer to assist Sally before Cargill gave him another job.

They unloaded skeletons and mummies for the anthropology lab. There were doll-sized miniatures, very fragile, that matched the live miniatures in the petty officers’ lounge. Other skeletons, which Staley said were very numerous in the Beehive, matched the Motie miner now bunked in Crawford’s stateroom.

“Hah!” cried Sally. They were unpacking still another mummy.

“Uh?” Wlhitbread asked.