"Atropos here, sir. Locked on. Stand by for—"
"I'm here," said Rawlins.
"Right. Commander, we can figure that anything said here is monitored by the Moties. I want you to keep testing this circuit. Be sure we have communications."
"Yes, sir. And if we don't?"
"Try to reestablish, but the instant you're out of touch with Sinbad, you're in command. Do what you think best. You'll recall the last orders you got from Balasingham. Of course you'll stay at full-alert status unless I tell you to stand down."
"Yes, sir. Understood. Do you expect real trouble, Captain Renner?"
"Not from here. I think the Moties here will be perfect
hosts. Of course they told us they had a major readjustment of their relationship with the East India Company. That sounded sticky."
"Yes, sir."
"And I'll try to find out what that involved. I'll leave the circuits open on standby." Renner touched switches. "And that's done. Horace, I think it's time. Joyce, do you really want to carry—"
"It only masses eight kilograms." Joyce hefted the gyro-stabilized pickup camera. It wriggled within its sleeve like a thing alive.
Renner touched indicators: inner lock, override, outer lock. Sinbad's air-lock doors swung in and out . . . on a corridor decorated in Moorish abstracts, and good air with a trace of chemicals in it.
* * *
Chris Blaine waited impatiently as Eudoxus explained to Horace Bury. "We really don't have room for your Warriors to accompany us," she said. "Of course you don't expect to be escorted by Warriors any more than I do, but a Master of your importance would. My Master will have his Warriors present when you meet."
"It is no matter." Bury waved to indicate Blaine, Cynthia, Nabil, and Joyce. "My friends will have to substitute. In future years we will find new customs for meetings between humans and Moties."
"Thank you." Eudoxus paused. "There's another small matter. We're hoping you won't need your travel chair, Excellency. But we can rebuild the corridors if we must."
Bury smiled. "You are gracious hosts. Thank you, but for the moment Nabil can carry a portable medical unit that will suffice for my needs. Lead on."
"All right. Kevin . . . ?"
"I'd better stay in contact with Atropos," Renner said. He was captain; he could not leave his ship.
The corridors bustled with activity. There were Engineers and Watchmakers everywhere. Blaine glanced over Nabil's shoulder at Bury's medical readouts. Calm. Total calm. Perhaps even frighteningly calm.
They entered a dome, a flattened sphere. Through a forest of vines they looked out on the surface. White snow, pastel domes, lines in primary colors. And—Joyce looked behind her, then dashed that way and pointed her pickup camera between two masses of dark greenery.
The Mosque was magnificent. Joyce held for a moment, then zoomed on Sinbad, its single minaret, the piece that made it an artistic whole. She said, "We'll want to go out."
"No problem," Eudoxus said. "Your viewers would feel cheated if they couldn't see it all. Sensory deprivation?"
Joyce only nodded. An instant later she stumbled . . . as she saw how much she was telling Eudoxus about herself. Chris let his grin show through.
Now the corridor dipped beneath the ice. Branches ran off to the sides and up. Here and there were discreet vertical slits, like arrow notches in an ancient keep. Narrower tubes crossed the corridor above head height. Moties popped through these like leaves in a storm.
Down they went, deep into the interior of Base Six.
The corridor opened into a large chamber. Two grotesque shapes stood by a door at the far end. Chris saw Eudoxus's tension as they passed inside. He looked behind him and was not terribly surprised to see two more of the spiky horrors.
"Warriors," Joyce muttered. "Frightening efficiency, almost beautiful." She waved her pickup.
Nabil and Cynthia were on hair triggers.
One of the Warrior shapes moved to open the door. They were escorted into another large chamber. A white Motie nursed a pup at the far end. To that one's left stood two Warriors, and to their left was another white and a brown-and-white.
Eudoxus spoke rapidly in a language the humans didn't understand. The other Mediator instantly interrupted with splayed arms and an angry bark.
“Hracht! Our Masters spoke that this talk will speak in Anglic," that one said. He seemed unaware that he had the full, dangerous attention of every Warrior in the room. "Then we speak these same thoughts in the trade language. Need is sorrowful, but given recent change in levels, we demand. Else East India Trading Company will not act for you or with you."
Eudoxus gave the impression of bowing. "Very well. I have the honor to present His Excellency Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, Magnate of the Empire, director of the Imperial Traders Association. Your Excellency, my Master, Admiral Mustapha Pasha. Our associate Master of the East India Company, Lord Cornwallis. The young mediator who speaks for Lord Cornwallis may be called Wordsworth." Eudoxus gestured to his master.
Mustapha spoke slowly and carefully.
"Excellency, welcome to Inner Base Six," Eudoxus translated. "In the name of the Caliph Almohad, who sends her greetings. This is your house."
"Thank you," Bury said. "You are gracious hosts." He bowed slightly to both Motie masters, then nodded to Chris Blaine.
"I will speak for His Excellency," Blaine said. "We wish again to thank you for your hospitality, and to assure you we understand that the need for haste was the cause of our coming here with less than full understanding."
Joyce moved to one side so that she could see everyone. Her pickup wriggled in her hands and made a tiny whirring sound. One of the Warriors started a rapid movement that was halted by a short bark from Admiral Mustapha.
Chris Blaine turned to the other Mediator. “Wordsworth, please assure Lord Cornwallis that we are pleased to meet him."
"Her," Wordsworth said. "Medina speakers tell humans are usually hurrying. Is true?"
"Often," Blaine said.
"Then forgive me if we talk important things now," Wordsworth said. "Do you know what your hosts do to us? We were guests, and betrayed. The half of us are dead, torn by flying bits of metal, ripped apart by no air—"
"You were not guests by any choice of ours," Eudoxus said. "As all here are well aware. You forced yourselves into an alliance, and you did not do your part. Your incompetence has brought the Empire here. I will demonstrate." Eudoxus turned to Blaine. "Tell us how your Empire knew to come to Crazy Eddie's Sister when you did."
"The token ships. Mere shells," Blaine said. "They could have but one purpose."
"Exactly," Eudoxus said. "Had East India sent substantial ships, the Empire would not have guessed, and our ships would be well into Imperial space."
"Where are the ships now?" Wordsworth asked. "Our embassy to humans, do they live or die? I ask the humans to answer."
"No Motie ships have been destroyed," Blaine said. "One hides in the asteroids of the red dwarf. The others wait with an Imperial cruiser for escort by the main battle fleet."
"And East India's representative?"
"You will forgive us, but until this moment we did not know that East India had representatives aboard those ships," Blaine said.
Eudoxus spoke slowly in a language of emphatic consonants: like popcorn popping. Her white-furred Master listened carefully, then spoke in the same language.
"Admiral Mustapha says that both the East India Mediators are safe. There would be no reason to harm them. The Mediators aboard our ships had orders to keep contact with the Empire to a minimum until they could speak with someone in high authority. At that time the East India Mediators will be given the rights we agreed on."
Wordsworth looked to Chris Blaine. "Does he tell true? No powerful Empire person was there, far side of Sister?"
"Captain Renner and His Excellency were the highest authorities present."
"Thank you. I must ask now, what have you agreed with Medina?"
/>
Blaine looked to Bury, then back. "We agreed to come with them. I think it is no secret that we expected to be taken to Mote Prime. Before we could find our balance"— he had almost said footing—"one of our ships and the Sister had both been lost to the Crimean Tartars. Medina has agreed to assist in rescuing the crew and passengers of Hecate. This seems fair. Their duplicity caused our loss."
"Can you speak for your Empire?"
"No, but if all of us here are agreed, that will have great influence. I am Kevin Christian Blaine, son of Lord Roderick Blaine. Commodore Renner has influence with the Navy. His Excellency controls the directors of the Imperial Traders Association. Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo speaks for the news services, Empire-wide. What we agree to will be heard at all levels of the Empire."
Wordsworth asked, "How do we stand, measured along Medina Trading? Have Medina told you? Is there agreement about us, you and Medina Trading?"
"No. We were told that you were partners with Medina, and that a readjustment of status was being negotiated."
"I do not understand."
"That you and Medina are partners now talking about changes in agreements."
"That is spoke with massive delicacy," Wordsworth said. He spoke slowly to his Master and received a lengthy reply. "We can agree to readjustment," Wordsworth said. "We know we do not have equals with Medina, but we insist we be heard in all discussions."
"You are not in a position to insist," Eudoxus said.
Wordsworth gave the Motie equivalent of a shrug. "For us has been worse. Crimean Tartars flee from their former ganglords. They need to know. They need friends. How if they come to us for refuge? If they carry to us human guests and gripping hand on the Sister to trade? We—"
"You could not."
"Medina lost the Crazy Eddie point because too many Masters, too little wealth, move in awkward orbits." Resources badly handled, Chris translated . . . tentatively. "Was bad mistake. Do not do it again. East India yet has wealth like yours in mass. Crimean Tartars do not know value of what they took. East India can work with Crimean Tartars and humans, or we can work with humans, or we can work with humans and Medina. What do you wish?"
The silence that followed was not empty. Warriors and Mediators and Masters shifted constantly: handholds and footholds, positions, flickering fingers and arms. Chris let it run for several seconds; but he couldn't read the silence, so he broke it.
"What is it you're dividing? Do you know?"
"Access to the Empire and the stars beyond our own," Eudoxus said instantly.
"Your Fyunch(click)'s student's third student tells us Empire would agree with all Moties," Wordsworth said. "All, never less. A stepping . . . a hierarchy of sorts would look good to you, yes? So, we speak, we mediate, we argue for command over Mote system, too. Some Motie families will control Mote system. We wish will be part of families."
"The highest possible stakes," said Eudoxus. Before Chris or anyone could answer—if he had had an answer—both Mediators had turned to talk to their respective Masters.
Joyce whispered, "At least they agree on that."
Blaine nodded. He was more interested in getting Horace Bury's reaction. Bury caught the query (eyebrow lift, tilt of head) and said, "There's motive here for an arbitrarily large number of murders."
Eudoxus's head and shoulders suddenly snapped around to face Joyce Trujillo. "What do you know of our breeding habits?"
Chris considered throwing his arm across her face. Too bloody late . . . and it would have told the Mediators what he knew. Eudoxus didn't even wait for her answer, only for the emotions that chased across her face. "So. You would deal with the Moties united. How can you expect us to stay united? Our histories tell that we've tried to unite before, and failed always."
"Neither problems nor opportunities last forever," Bury said. "And what neither Moties nor humans can do, Moties and humans together may accomplish. Allah is merciful."
"King Peter's ambassadors must have told you much," Eudoxus said. "What happened to them?"
"They were well treated," Joyce said. "One was still alive a few years ago, as I remember. At the Blaine Institute. Lieutenant Blaine could tell you more."
"As His Excellency says, everything has changed," Blaine said. "When there was one point to blockade, and that one easily defended, blockade was an effective way to gain time. Now there are two paths to block. There must be a better way, better for humans and Moties. If not . . ."
"Your battle fleets will come," Eudoxus said. "War in the Mote system, and you to exterminate us. Bloody hands forever, but else we escape to the rest of the universe. That is your terror." She had spoken truth; she must have seen it in their faces. "Our numbers increase. Our domains. In a thousand years we enclose you. Yes, we must seek a better answer."
1
The Tartars
Knowledge is valuable when charity informs it.
—St. Augustine, City of God
Through the windows they could see the beheaded corpse of Hecate.
A scar gaped along half its length: the gap where Hecate's cabin had been. The rest of the hull had been mounted alongside a silver sausage, one of their captors' ships. It flew three hundred meters distant, keeping pace with their own captor. A slender spine projected aft. The drive flame was a faint violet-white glow running along the spine.
Hecate's severed cabin rode the flank of another such sausage. From inside they could see almost nothing of that: just a silver membrane bulging with fluid, centimeters away, and a rigid cabin forward.
But they saw Hecate's host ship well enough. Freddy had set their remaining telescope to following it. The sausage was banded with color-coded lines and chains of handholds and catwalks, and Moties. The maze ran round Hecate, too. Moties in pressure suits moved over the hull like lice.
They found the lightsail, Freddy's spinnaker. In minutes they had spread several acres of silver film to inflate ahead of the nose.
"That won't add much to the thrust," Jennifer said. "Why . . . ?"
"Why not? It's there," Terry Kakumi said. "Blink and
it's a signal device, blink again and it's heat shielding. They do love to fiddle."
"It'll heat their cabin some," Freddy said.
Hecate rotted before their eyes. Engineers and tiny Watchmakers stripped away sections of hull and plated them over their own ship. They found automated cameras at nose and tail and amidships, an officially approved model, all identical, which the Moties seemed to find confusing. Hecate's fuel tank they studied and then left intact. They worked inside the cut end until the Engineer was able to pull loose a glass tank festooned with tubing—
"Dammit. That's our sewage recycling system," Freddy said. "We'll starve."
"We have the goodies locker," Jennifer said. "A week's supplies, maybe."
"It's a double time limit. Will the sewage crowd us out before we starve for lack of basic protocarb? Stay tuned."
The men were edgy, talking to distract themselves. But Jennifer was calm, even happy, cradling a six-kilogram alien who clung to her with three arms, watching her face intently, sometimes trying to imitate the sounds she made. And Glenda Ruth . . . was frightened when she thought about it, and frustrated, and uncomfortable; and alive as never before, playing a game she'd begun learning in the cradle.
She worked on Freddy's back, running her thumbs along basic shoulder muscles, probing deep. Freddy subsided with a grunt of unwilling satisfaction. He asked, "Do you suppose they'll keep the data cubes? I've got some good recordings of the battle."
Hecate dwindled. They took half the hull to make a curved mirror to relay light from the lightsail. Kilometers of wiring went into the nose of the captor craft. A small craft arrived from somewhere else; some of the wiring, four cameras, and all of Hecate's little attitude jets went aboard; the Engineer pilot traded places with a replacement, and away it went.
The Moties exposed Hecate's drive; moved it aft; set it to firing. Then they were all over it, tuning, testing. Presently t
heir own drive went off, leaving Hecate's running.
"Something of a compliment," Glenda Ruth said. Freddy nodded.
Jennifer asked, "Does it bother you? Hecate . . ."
Freddy's shoulders set hard. He said, "Not all that much. A racing yacht, we change anything at the slightest excuse. The idea's to win. It's not like"—to Glenda Ruth— "not like your dad losing his battleship, his first command."
"He still flinches if you mention MacArthur." Glenda Ruth resumed trying to soften the knots in Freddy's shoulders.
They could hear the rustling. Engineers and Watchmakers were moving over the surface of their own life bubble. What was happening out there?
"Then again, Hecate is where you and I got together. I do hate—"
"The bed's quite safe."
His tension softened. "We get it back from Balasingham, we can build a ship around it."
The Mediator pup looked into Jennifer's eyes and said, distinctly, "Go eat." Jennifer let go, and the pup pushed off from Jennifer's chest, setting her rotating, sailing unerringly to impact the Engineer.
The cabin was as warm with Moties. The Warrior would remain in place for minutes at a time, then bound about the cabin like a spider on amphetamines, and presently come to rest again. The Engineer and three skinny half-meter Watchmakers, and a slender creature with a harelip and long, delicate fingers and toes, had reshaped the hole in the cabin wall into an oval airlock. The Engineer had found the safe near the cabin's forward cone, tapped at the code readout, then left it alone. Now the Moties had peeled the cabin walls away and were going through the air and water regeneration systems. From time to time there came a whiff of chemical strangeness.
"Too many of them. They'll strain the air changers," Freddy said.
"I think that one's a doctor," Jennifer said. "Look at the fingers. And the Motie nose is in the roof of the mouth. That thing's got enhanced smell and surgeon's fingers. There was a Doctor caste on Mote Prime."
The Gripping Hand Page 28
