The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [225]
“That’s pretty easy.” He bent down to kiss her, desisted when there was no response.
“Rod, I’m so embarrassed . . . how am I ever going to apologize to Kevin?”
“To Kevin? You’re kidding. Have you ever seen Renner apologize to anyone? Just forget it. Talk as if it had never happened next time you see him.”
“But he was right—you knew, didn’t you? You knew it then!”
He started her walking again. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors. Even in the dim lights the rock walls flashed iridescent colors as they moved. Then a wall blocked the smoldering gaze of the Hooded Man, and they were at the stairs.
“I suspected it then. Just from the reports and the brief relationship I had with my Motie. After you left this afternoon I did some checking. They lied to you.”
“But why, Rod? I can’t understand it—” They climbed another flight in silence.
“You aren’t going to like the answer,” Rod said as they reached their floor. “She was a Mediator. Mediators represent Masters. She was ordered to lie to you.”
“But why? What possible reason could they have for concealing that they were mules?”
“I wish I knew.” Or that I didn’t know, he thought. But there was no point in telling Sally until he was sure. “Don’t take it so hard, sweetheart. We lied to them, too.”
They reached his door and he put his hand on the identiplate. The door swung open to reveal Kelley, tunic unfastened, sprawled in an easy chair. The Marine leaped to his feet.
“Good God, Kelley. I’ve told you not to wait up for me. Go to bed.”
“Important message, my lord. Senator Fowler will be here later. He asks you to wait for him. Wanted to be sure you got the message, my lord.”
“Yeah.” Rod’s voice was lemon-sour. “OK. I got the message. Thanks.”
“I’ll stay to serve you.”
“No, you won’t. No sense in everybody staying up all night. Get out of here.” Rod watched the Marine vanish into the corridor. When he was gone Sally giggled loudly. “I don’t see what’s so damned funny,” Rod snapped.
“He was protecting my reputation,” Sally laughed. “What if you hadn’t got the message and Uncle Ben came chargin’ in here and we—”
“Yeah. Want a drink?”
“With Uncle Ben coming in a few minutes? Waste of good liquor. I’m going to bed.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Wench.” He took her shoulders and kissed her. Then again. “I could set the door so he can’t get in—”
“Good night, Rod.”
He watched until she was inside her own suite across the hall from his, then went back inside to the bar. It had been a long dull evening, with only the thought of leaving the party early to look forward to.
“Damn!” he said aloud. He tossed off a brimming glass of New Aberdeen Highland Cream. “God damn it to hell!”
Senator Fowler and a preoccupied Kevin Renner came in after Rod had poured his second drink. “Sorry about the hour, Rod,” Fowler said perfunctorily. “Kevin tells me something interesting happened today—”
“He did, uh? And he suggested this conference, right?” When Benjamin Fowler nodded, Rod turned to his former sailing master. “I’ll fix you for this, you—”
“We haven’t got time for games,” Fowler said. “Got any more of that Scotch?”
“Yeah.” Rod poured for both of them, tossed off his drink, and poured himself another. “Have a seat, Ben. You too, Mr. Renner. I won’t apologize for letting the servants go to bed—”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Renner said. He lapsed back into whatever reverie was consuming him, sank into a chair, then grinned in astonishment. He’d never been in a massage chair before, and obviously enjoyed it.
“OK,” Senator Fowler said. “Tell me what you think happened this afternoon”
“I’ll show it to you.” Rod manipulated his pocket computer and the wall screen came on. The picture was not good; it had been recorded by a small camera built into a decoration on Rod’s tunic, and the viewpoint was limited. The sound was excellent, though.
Fowler watched in silence. “Let’s see that again,” he said. Rod obligingly ran the conference once more. While Fowler and Renner watched he went to the bar, decided against another Scotch, and poured