The Mote in God's Eye

“I can’t help that.”

“I know.” With a touch of complacence the alien added, “I startled a rating.”

“God’s teeth, you startled me. Who’s around?”

“Coxswain Lafferty. All the other humans are absent. They have gone to look at the tunnel. When it is finished the ratings will not have to go with them when they wish to visit the other ship. Can I pass on a message?”

“No, thanks, I’ll call back.”

“Sally should be back soon,” said Blaine’s Motie. “How are you? How goes the ship?”

“Well enough.”

“You always sound so cautious when you speak of the ship. Am I stepping on Navy secrets? It-ss not the ship that concerns me, Rod. I’m Fyunch(click) to you. It means considerably more than just guide.” The Motie gestured oddly. Rod had seen her do that before, when she was upset or annoyed.

“Just what does Fyunch(click) mean?”

“I am assigned to you. You are a project, a masterwork. I am to learn as much about you as there is to know. I am to become an expert on you, My Lord Roderick Blaine, and you are to become a field of study to me. It-ss not your gigantic, rigid, badly designed ship that interest-ss me, it-ss your attitudes toward that ship and the humans aboard, your degree of control over them, your interess-t in their welfare, et cetera.”

How would Kutuzov handle this? Break contact? Hell. “Nobody likes being watched. Anyone would feel a bit uncomfortable being studied like that.”

“We guessed you would take it that way. But, Rod, you’re here to study us, are-unt you? Surely we are entitled to study you back.”

“You have that right.” Rod’s voice was stiff despite himself. “But if someone becomes embarrassed while you’re talking to him, that’s probably the reason.”

“God damn it to hell,” said Blaine’s Motie. “You are the first intelligent beings we’ve ever met who are-unt relatives. Why should you expect to be comfortable with us?” She rubbed the flat center of her face with her upper right forefinger, then dropped her hand as if embarrassed. It was the same gesture she’d used a moment before.

There were noises off screen. Blaine’s Motie said, “Hang on a moment. Okay, it-ss Sally and Whitbread.” Her voice rose. “Sally? The Captain’s on screen.” She slid out of the chair. Sally Fowler slid in. Her smile seemed forced as she said, “Hello, Captain. What’s new?”

“Business as usual. How goes it at your end?”

“Rod, you look flustered. It’s a strange experience, isn’t it? Don’t worry, she can’t hear us now.”

“Good. I’m not sure I like an alien reading my mind that way. I don’t suppose they really read minds.”

“They say not. And they guess wrong sometimes.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was in disarray, perhaps because she had just doffed a pressure suit helmet. “Wildly wrong. Commander Sinclair’s Fyunch(click) wouldn’t talk to him at first. They thought he was a Brown; you know, an idiot carpenter type. How are you doing with the miniatures?”

That was a subject they’d both learned to avoid. Rod wondered why she’d brought it up. “The loose ones are still loose. No sign of them. They might even have died somewhere we wouldn’t find them. We’ve still got the one that stayed behind. I think you’d better have a look at her, Sally, next time you’re over. She may be sick.”

Sally nodded. “I’ll come over tomorrow. Rod, have you been watching the alien work party?”

“Not particularly. The air lock seems almost finished already.”

“Yes… Rod, they’ve been using trained miniatures to do part of the work.”

Rod stared stupidly.

Sally’s eyes shifted uneasily. “Trained miniatures. In pressure suits. We didn’t know there were any aboard. I suppose they must be shy; they must hide when humans are aboard. But they’re only animals, after all. We asked.”

“Animals.” Oh my God. What would Kutuzov say?

“Sally, this is important. Can you come over tonight and brief me? You and anyone else who knows anything about this.”

“All right. Commander Sinclair is watching them now. Rod, it’s really fantastic how well the little beasts are trained. And they can get into places where you’d have to use jointed tools and spy eyes.”

“I can imagine. Sally, tell me the truth. Is there the slightest chance the miniatures are intelligent?”

“No. They’re just trained.”

“Just trained.” And if there were any alive aboard MacArthur they’d have explored the ship from stem to stern. “Sally, is there the slightest chance that any of the aliens can hear me now?”

“No. I’m using the earphone, and we haven’t allowed them to work on our equipment.”

“So far as you know. Now listen carefully, then. I want to talk privately to everyone else on that cutter, one at a time. Has anyone said anything—anything at all—about there being miniatures loose aboard MacArthur?”

“No-oo. You told us not to, remember? Rod, what’s wrong?”