The Mote In God's Eye

by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle

  "But the war killed off most of the higher life on the planet," Horowitz finished. "After a long time the planet was repopulated by Moties who'd adapted to space."

  "But a very long time ago," Dr. Horvath protested. "The asteroid craters are cold and the orbits are stable. All this happened long ago."

  Horvath didn't seem very comfortable with his conclusions, and Rod scratched a note. Not good enough, Rod thought. But—there must be some explanation . . .

  "But they could still fight with asteroids," Horvath continued. "If they wanted to. It would take more energy, but as long as they're in the system they can be moved. We've no evidence of recent wars, and what has all this to do with us anyway? They used to fight, they evolved the Mediators to stop it, and it worked. Now they don't fight any more."

  "Maybe," Senator Fowler grunted. "And maybe not."

  "They didn't fight us," Horvath insisted.

  "Battle cruiser got destroyed," Fowler said. "OK, spare me the explanations. There's the midshipmen, and yeah, I've heard all the stories about them. The fact is, Dr. Horvath, if Moties fight each other you know damn well one faction's going to pick up allies among the outies and rebels. Hell, they might even encourage revolts, and by God's teeth we don't need that! There's another thing bothers me, too—have they got a planetary government?"

  There was more silence.

  "Well, Sally?" the Senator demanded. "It's your field."

  "They— Well, they have a kind of planetary government, Jurisdiction. A Master or a group of them takes jurisdiction over something and the rest go along."

  Ben Fowler scowled at his niece. "Hell, we don't even let humans wander around the universe until they've got planetary governments. Can't you just see some Motie colony deciding to help a faction back home on Mote Prime?" He looked around the table and scowled again. "Damn it, don't all of you look at me like that. You'd think I wanted to shoot Father Christmas! I want trade with the Moties, but let's not forget the Prime Directive of the Empire."

  "We need more time," Horvath protested. "You can't decide anything right now!"

  "We don't have the time," Rod said quietly. "You must be aware of the pressures, Doctor. You helped create them. Every interest group in this sector is demanding immediate action." Rod had been getting daily calls from the Humanity League, and he was certain that Minister Horvath had been feeding information to the group.

  "What's bothering you is the potential birth rate," Horvath said. "I'm sure you realize that they must be able to control their population. They'd not have survived this long if they couldn't."

  "But they may not want to," Fowler said. "Could we make them do it? Rod, has your Commander Cargill done any more work on that threat estimate?"

  "Refinements only, Senator. His original calculations hold up pretty well."

  "So it'd take a big fleet operation to compel the Moties—and that's with their present resources. What kind of problems are we handing our grandchildren if we help 'em get colonies?"

  "You can't prevent them from getting out now," Horvath protested. "Capt—My Lord Blaine's analysis proved that. They'll eventually get the Langston Field, and they'll come out. We must have friendly relations with them before then. I say let's start trading with them right now and work out our problems as they come up. We can't solve everything at once."

  "That's your recommendation?" Fowler asked.

  "Yes, sir. Mine, the Humanity League's, the Imperial Traders—"

  "Not all of 'em," Rod interrupted. "Their local council's divided. A sizable minority wants nothing to do with Moties."

  "So they're in industries that will be ruined by Motie technology," Horvath said with a shrug. "We can handle that problem. Senator, the Moties will inevitably develop something that gets them out of their system. We should get them so bound to the Empire that their interests are ours before it happens."

  "Or take 'em into the Empire and be done with it," Fowler muttered. "I thought of that one last night. If they can't control their population, we can do it for them—"

  "But we know they can," Horvath protested. “We've proved they've been civilized a long time in one system. They've learned—" He stopped for a moment, then continued excitedly. "Has it occurred to you that they may have population allotments? The Moties on that expedition ship may have been required to have their children at a certain time, or not at all. So they had them aboard ship."

  "Hmm," Fowler said. His scowl vanished. "Maybe you've got something there. We'll—I'll—ask the Moties when they come in. Dr. Hardy, you've been sitting there like a man about to be hanged in low gravity. What's got you upset?"

  "Rats," the Chaplain said carefully.

  Horvath looked around quickly, then nodded in submission. "They disturbed you also, David?"

  "Of course. Can you find the file, or must I?"

  "I have it," Horvath sighed. He scrawled numbers on the face of his pocket computer. It hummed and the wall screens lit. . .

  ... a Motie city, struck by disaster. Cars overturned and rusted through littered broken streets. Crashed aircraft were imbedded in the ruins of fire-scorched buildings. Weeds grew from cracks in the pavement. In the center of the picture was a sloping mound of rubble, and a hundred small black shapes darted and swarmed over it.

  "It's not what it looks like. It's one floor of the Motie zoo," Horvath explained. He touched his controls and the image zoomed closer to focus on a single black shape which grew until the outlines were fuzzy: a pointed, ratlike face, with wicked teeth. But it was not a rat.

  It had one membranous ear, and five limbs. The foremost limb on the right side was not a fifth paw; it was a long and agile arm, tipped with claws like hooked daggers.

  "Ah," Horowitz exclaimed. He looked accusingly at Horvath. "You didn't show me this one . . . more wars, eh? One of the wars must have wiped out so much life that ecological niches were left empty. But this— Did you get a specimen?"

  "Unfortunately no."

  “What did it degenerate from?" Horowitz asked wonderingly. "A long step from the intelligent Motie to—to that. Is there a Motie caste you have not shown me? Something similar to that?"

  "No, of course not," Sally said.

  "No one would breed selectively for those things," Horowitz mused. "It must have been natural selection—" He smiled in satisfaction. "More proof, if it were needed. One of their wars almost depopulated their planet. And for a very long time, too."

  "Yah," Renner said quickly. "So while these things took over Mote Prime the civilized Moties were out in the asteroids. They must have bred out there for generations, Whites and Browns and Watchmakers and maybe some things we didn't see because we didn't get to the asteroid civilization."

  "But a long time ago, again," said Horvath. "Very long— Dr. Buckman's work on asteroid orbits—well. Perhaps the Mediators were evolved in space before they resettled the planet. You can see they were needed."

  "Which makes the Whites as warlike now as then," Senator Fowler pointed out.

  "Now they have Mediators, Uncle Ben," Sally reminded him.

  "Yeah. And maybe they've solved their population pressure—Doctor, get that goddamn thing off the screen! It gives me the willies. Why the hell would anyone put a ruined city in a zoo anyway?"

  The feral image vanished and everyone seemed relieved. "They explained that." Horvath seemed almost cheerful again. "Some of their forms evolved for cities. A thorough zoo would have to include them."

  "Ruined cities?"

  "Maybe to remind them of what happens when they don't listen to the Mediators," Sally said quietly. "A horrible example to keep them scared of war."

  "It'd do it, too," Renner said. He shuddered slightly.

  "Let's sum this up. The Moties are due in a few minutes," Senator Fowler said. "One. The potential reproductive rate is enormous, and the Moties are willing to have kids in places we wouldn't.

  "Two. The Moties lied in a way that concealed their high birth-rate potential.

  "Three. Mot
ies have had wars. At least three big ones. Maybe more.

  "Four. They've been around a long time. Really long. That argues that they've got their population under control. We don't know how they do it, but it might tie in to why they have kids on dangerous missions. We have to ask. OK so far?"

  There was a chorus of muttered assents. "Now to options. First, we could take Dr. Horvath's advice and negotiate trade agreements. The Moties have asked for permanent stations, and the right to look for and settle on uncolonized worlds inside the Empire and beyond. They don't insist on the interior space, but they'd like stuff we don't use, such as asteroids and terraformable rocks. They offer a lot in exchange."

  He paused for comments, but there weren't any. Everyone was content to let the Senator do the summation for the record.

  "Now that course of action means turning the Moties loose. Once they have bases where we don't control access to them, outies and rebels are certain to dicker with the Moties. We have to outdicker, and it's possible that being generous now will get their gratitude later. Immediate agreement has the support of Commissioner Sandra Bright Fowler. We still OK so far?"

  There were more nods and yeses. A few of the scientists looked curiously at Sally. Dr. Horvath gave her an encouraging smile.

  "Second option. We take the Moties into the Empire. Install a governor general, at least on any Motie colony, possibly on Mote Prime itself. This would be expensive, and we don't know what happens if the Moties try to resist. Their military potential is damn high."

  "I think that would be terribly unwise," Anthony Horvath said. "I can't believe the Moties would submit easily, and—"

  "Yeah. I'm trying to lay out the possibilities, Doctor. Now that you've entered your objection I may as well state that this plan has the tentative approval of the War Ministry and most of the Colonial Office people. No Commissioners yet, but I intend to put it to the Moties as a possibility. Hell, they might want in."

  "Well, if they voluntarily enter the Empire, I'd support the action," Horvath said.

  "So would I," Sally added.

  Ben Fowler screwed his heavy features into a mask of contemplation. "Me, I don't think it would work," he mused. "We generally govern through locals. Now just what reward can we promise for cooperation with us against a conspiracy by their whole race? But we'll ask them."

  Fowler straightened in his chair. The amused, thoughtful smile vanished. "Possibility three. The hoof-and-mouth disease remedy."

  There were gasps. Horvath's lips were tightly drawn and he took a deep breath. "Does that mean what I think, Senator?"

  "Yeah. If there isn't any hoof-and-mouth disease, there won't be any. If there aren't any Moties, there won't be a Motie problem."

  David Hardy's voice was low but very firm. "The Church would object to that very strongly, Senator. With every means we have."

  "I'm aware of that, Father. I'm aware of the Humanity League's feeling too. As a matter of fact, unprovoked extermination isn't a real alternative. Not that we can't physically do it, but politically, no. Unless the Moties are a direct and immediate threat to the Empire."

  "Which they aren't," Horvath said positively. "They're an opportunity. I wish I could make you see that."

  "Doc, I may see things as well as you do. Ever think of that? Now those are the possibilities. Are we ready for the Moties, or has anybody got something else to bring up?"

  Rod took a deep breath and glanced at Sally. She's not going to like this— "Senator, have we forgotten Sally's dig? Where she found a primitive civilization not more than a thousand years old? How were the Moties primitive so recently?"

  More silence. "Had to he wars, didn't it?" Rod asked.

  "No," Sally said. "I've thought about that—the Moties have zoos, right? Couldn't I have found—well, a reservation for primitives? We have them all over the Empire, cultural preserves for people who don't want to be part of technological civilization—"

  "After a million years of civilization?" Renner asked. "Lady Sally, do you really believe that?"

  She shrugged. "They're aliens."

  "I hadn't forgotten it," Ben Fowler said. "OK, let's discuss it. Sally, your notion's silly. You know what happened, they moved the asteroids around so long ago the pits are cold. Then, about the time of the Co-Dominium, they blasted themselves into a new Stone Age. Doesn't argue too strong they've learned not to fight, does it?"

  "We did the same thing then," Sally said. "Or would have, if we'd been trapped in a single system."

  "Yeah," Fowler answered. "And if I was a Commissioner for a Motie Empire, I wouldn't let humans wander around space without a keeper. Anything else?"

  "Yes, sir," Rod told him. "Sally, I don't like this, but-"

  "Get on with it," Fowler growled.

  "Yes, sir." Am I losing her because of Moties? But I can't just forget it. "Dr. Horvath, you seemed very uncomfortable after we agreed that the Moties have been civilized for millennia. Why?"

  "Well—no reason, actually—except—well, I need to do more checking, that's all."

  "As Science Minister, you're responsible for technological forecasts, aren't you?" Rod asked.

  "Yes," Horvath admitted unhappily.

  “Where do we stand with respect to the First Empire?"

  “We haven't caught up with them yet. We'll get there in another century."

  "And where would we be if there hadn't been the Secession Wars? If the old Empire'd been going along without interruption?"

  Horvath shrugged. "You're probably right, my lord. Yes. It bothered me also. Senator, what Commissioner Blaine implies is that the Moties aren't advanced enough to have had civilization for a million years. Or even ten thousand. Possibly not for a thousand."

  "Yet we know they moved those asteroids at least ten thousand years ago," Renner exclaimed. His voice showed excitement and wonder. "They must have recolonized the Mote about the same time the Alderson Drive was developed on Earth! The Moties aren't really much older than we are!"

  "There's another explanation," Father Hardy pointed out. "They recolonized much earlier than that—and they have a new set of wars every millennium."

  "Or even more often," Senator Fowler added softly. "And if that's the case, we know how they control their population, don't we? Well, Dr. Horvath? What's your advice now?"

  "I—I don't know," the Science Minister stammered unhappily. He picked at his nails, realized he was doing it, and laid his hands on the table where they wandered like small wounded animals. "I think we have to be sure."

  "So do I," the Senator told him. "But it wouldn't hurt to—Rod, tomorrow you'll work with the Admiralty."

  "I remind you, Senator, that the Church will forbid any member to take part in the extermination of the Moties," Hardy said carefully.

  "That's pretty close to treason, Father."

  "Perhaps. It's also true."

  "Anyway, it wasn't what I had in mind. Maybe we have to take the Moties into the Empire. Whether they like it or not. Maybe they'll submit without a fight if we go in there with a big enough fleet."

  "And if they don't?" Hardy asked.

  Senator Fowler didn't answer.

  Rod looked at Sally, then around the table, finally at the paneled walls.

  It's such an ordinary room, he thought. There's nothing special about the people in it either. And right here, in this stupid little conference room on a barely habitable planet, we've got to decide the fate of a race that may be a million years older than we are.

  The Moties aren't going to surrender. If they're what we think they are, they won't be beaten either. But there's only the one planet and some asteroids. If they're gone. . .

  "Kelley, you can bring the Moties in now," Senator Fowler said.

  The last of New Cal's dying rays fell into the room. The Palace grounds outside turned purple in shadow.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  The Djinn

  They were following their escorts through the Palace corridors. As they walked, Jock spoke t
o the Ambassador.

  "Something has changed. This Marine who summoned us looks at us differently. As might a Warrior at another Warrior."

  They entered the conference room. A sea of human faces— "Yes," Jock said. "Much is different. We must be on guard."

  "What may they know?" Ivan demanded.

  Jock indicated lack of knowledge. "Some fear us. Others pity us. All try to hide their changed emotional state."

  The Marine conducted them to badly designed couches at one end of a large conference table. "Humans are addicted to these tables," Charlie twittered. "Sometimes the shape of them is very important, for reasons I have been unable to know."

  There were the meaningless greetings the humans called "formalities": insincere inquiries into the state of health, nebulous benedictions and hopes for past well-being; all compensations for the lack of human Mediators. Charlie attended to these as Jock continued to speak to the Master.

  "The human at the opposite end of the table is an unimportant clerk. On our two-hand side at the center is the power. The Emperor's Mediator has reached some decision. Lord Blaine reluctantly shares it. Sally disagrees, very much, but is unable to argue. She wishes for reasons to object. We may need to find them for her. Opposite the Emperor's Mediator are the scientists, and they share Sally's emotions. They do not feel as involved in the decision as she. The others are of no importance except the priest. I am still unable to determine his importance, but it has increased since last we saw him. He may be more dangerous to us than all the rest—"

  "Can he understand our language?" Ivan demanded.

  "Not if we speak rapidly and with formal grammar. He detects elementary emotional content, and is aware that we are exchanging much information in a short time."

  "Find out what disturbs the humans." Ivan curled on his couch and surveyed the room with distaste. Keepers sometimes spoke directly with Mediators from many Masters, but it was never a pleasant experience. All negotiation with humans was painfully slow. Their language was slow, their thoughts crept like liquid helium, and often they had no conception of their own interests.