The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [102]
“What— Good heavens!” Sally gasped. “Court-martial? You? Why?”
“The charge would be high treason,” Rod said. “I see most of my officers aren’t surprised. My lady, gentlemen, we have strict orders from the Viceroy himself to do nothing to compromise any Imperial military technology, and in particular to protect the Langston Field and Alderson Drive from Motie inspection. In the past weeks animals capable of learning that technology and quite possibly of passing it on to other Moties have roamed my ship at will. Now do you understand?”
“I see.” Horvath showed no signs of alarm, but his face grew thoughtful. “And you have secured this room— Do you really believe the miniatures can understand what we say?”
Rod shrugged. “I think it possible they can memorize conversations and repeat them. But are the miniatures still alive? Kelley?”
“Sir, there haven’t been any signs of them for weeks. No raids on food stores. Ferrets haven’t turned up a thing but a bloody lot of mice. I think the beasties are dead, Captain.”
Blaine rubbed his nose, then quickly drew his hand away. “Gunner, have you ever heard of ‘Brownies’ aboard this ship?”
Kelley’s face showed no surprise. In fact it showed nothing. “Brownies, Captain?”
“Rod, have you lost your mind?” Sally blurted. Everyone was looking at her, and some of them didn’t seem friendly. Oh boy, she thought, I’ve stuck my foot in it. Some of them know what he’s talking about. Oh boy.
“I said Brownies, Gunner. Have you ever heard of them?”
“Well, not officially, Captain. I will say some of the spacers seem lately to believe in the Little People. Couldn’t see any harm in it meself.” But Kelley looked confused. He had heard of this and he hadn’t reported it, and now the Captain, his Captain, might be in trouble over it.
“Anyone else?” Rod demanded.
“Uh—sir?”
Rod had to strain to see who was speaking. Midshipman Potter was near the far wall, almost hidden by two biologists. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”
“Some of the men in my watch section, Captain—they say that if ye leave some food-grain, cereals, mess leftovers, anything at all—in the corridors or under your bunk along with something that needs fixing, it gets fixed.” Potter looked uncomfortable. It was obvious he thought he was reporting nonsense. “One of the men called them ‘Brownies.’ I thought it a joke.”
Once Potter had spoken there were a dozen others, even some of the scientists. Microscopes with smoother focusing operations than the best things ever made by Leica Optical. A handmade lamp in the biology section. Boots and shoes customized to individual feet. Rod looked up at that one.
“Kelley. How many of your troops have sidearms individualized like yours and Mr. Renner’s?”
“Uh—I don’t know, sir.”
“I can see one from here. You, man, Polizawsky, how did you come by that weapon?”
The Marine stammered. He wasn’t used to speaking to officers, certainly not the Captain, and most certainly not the Captain in an ugly mood. “Uh, well, sir, I leaves my weapon and a bag o’ popcorn by my bunk and next morning it’s done, sir. Like the others said, Captain.”
“And you didn’t think this unusual enough to report to Gunner Kelley?”
“Uh—sir—uh, some of the others, we thought maybe, uh, well, the Surgeon’s been talking about hallucinations in space, Captain, and we, uh—”
“Besides, if you reported it I might stop the whole thing,” Rod finished for him. Oh, God damn it to hell! How was he going to explain all this? Busy, too busy arbitrating squabbles with the scientists— But the fact stood out. He’d neglected his naval duties, and with what outcome?
“Aren’t you taking all this too seriously?” Horvath asked. “After all, Captain, the Viceroy’s orders were given before we knew much about Moties. Now, surely, we can see they aren’t dangerous, and they certainly aren’t hostile.”
“Are you suggesting, Doctor, that we put ourselves in the position of countermanding an Imperial Directive?”
Horvath looked amused. His grin spread slowly across his face. “Oh no,” he said. “I don’t even imply, it. I only suggest that if and when—when,