The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [136]
“Yes, sir—”
“Which means civilians aboard your vessel are more important than a battle cruiser.” Kutuzov was calm, but his lips were tight with distaste. “Of second priority are Motie artifacts not yet transferred to Lenin. Captain, you will therefore order all civilians off your vessel. I will have Lenin’s boats outside our protective field. You will have two reliable officers accompany civilians. You will then secure any Motie artifacts you think important for shipment to Lenin. You may attempt to regain control of your vessel in so far as that is consistent with these orders—but you will also act swiftly, Captain, because at first sign of any transmission from your vessel other than through secure circuit direct to me, I will blast MacArthur out of space.”
Blaine nodded coldly. “Aye aye, sir.”
“We understand each other, then.” The Admiral’s expression didn’t change at all. “And Godspeed, Captain Blaine.”
“What about my cutter?” Rod asked. “Sir, I have to talk to the cutter.”
“I will alert the cutter personnel, Captain. No. There will be no transmission from your ship.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Rod looked around his bridge. Everyone was staring wildly about. The Marines’ weapons were drawn, and one of the quartermasters was fussing over a fallen companion.
Jesus, can I trust the intercom? Rod wondered. He shouted orders to a runner and waved three Marines to accompany the man.
“Signal from Mr. Renner, sir,” the bridge talker announced.
“Don’t acknowledge,” Blaine growled.
“Aye aye, sir. Do not acknowledge.”
The battle for MacArthur raged on.
30 Nightmare
There were a dozen humans and two Brown-and-whites aboard the cutter. The other ground party Moties had reported directly to the embassy ship, but Whitbread’s and Sally’s Fyunch(click)s had stayed aboard. “No point,” said Whitbread’s Motie. “We’ve been seeing the decision maker every day.” Perhaps there was a point. The cutter was crowded, and the taxi to MacArthur had not arrived.
“What’s holding them up?” Renner said. “Lafferty, put in a call.” Lafferty, the cutter’s pilot, was largely unemployed these days. He used the communications beam.
“No answer, sir,” he said. He sounded puzzled.
“You’re sure the set’s working?”
“It was an hour ago,” Lafferty said. “Uh—there’s a signal. It’s from Lenin, sir.”
Captain Mikhailov’s face appeared on the screen. “You will please request aliens to leave this vessel,” he said.
Somehow the Moties conveyed amusement, surprise, and a slightly hurt look all at once. They left with a backward look and a signaled query. Whitbread shrugged. Staley didn’t. When the Moties were in the air-lock bridge, Staley closed the door behind them.
Kutuzov appeared. “Mr. Renner, you will send all personnel aboard to Lenin. They will wear pressure suits, and one of my boats will arrive to get them. Civilians will cross on a line and will then obey orders of my boat’s pilot. They must carry sufficient air for one hour in space. Meanwhile, you will make no attempt to communicate with MacArthur. Is this understood?”
Renner gulped. “Aye aye, sir.”
“You will not admit aliens until further notice.”
“But what do I tell them, sir?” Renner asked.
“You will tell them Admiral Kutuzov is a paranoid fool, Mr. Renner. Now carry out your orders.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The screen went blank. Renner looked pale. “Now he’s reading minds—”
“Kevin, what’s going on here?” Sally demanded. “Get us up in the middle of the night, rush us up here— Now Rod won’t answer us, and the Admiral wants us to risk our lives and offend the Moties.” She sounded very much like Senator Fowler’s niece; an Imperial lady who had tried to cooperate with the Navy and now had had enough.
Dr. Horvath was even more indignant. “I will not be a party to this, Mr. Renner. I have no intention of putting on a pressure suit.”
“Lenin’s moving alongside MacArthur,” Whitbread said casually. He stared out the view port. “The Admiral has her ringed with boats—I think somebody’s carrying a line over.”
Everyone turned to the view ports.