The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [245]
“Even if it isn’t,” said Renner, “we still have to picture every ship captained and crewed by Admiral Kutuzov.”
“Right. Okay, Jock. You see our situation,” said the Senator.
“Not really.” The Motie was crouched forward and looked very alien.
“I’ll spell it out. We don’t have the resources to fight a million critters evolved for warfare. Maybe we’d win, may be not. If you keep those things around, it’s because you need ‘em; your system’s too crowded to keep useless mouths. If you need ‘em, you fight wars.”
“I see,” Jock said carefully.
“No, you don’t,” the Senator growled. “You know something about the Sauron System, but not enough. Jock, if you Moties breed Warrior castes, our people are goin’ to identify you with Saurons, and I don’t think you appreciate just how much the Empire hated them and their superman ideas.”
“What will you do?” Jock asked.
“Take a look at your system. A real look.”
“And if you find Warriors?”
“We don’t need to look, do we?” Senator Fowler demanded. “You know we’ll find ‘em.” He sighed heavily. His pause for thought was very short—no more than a second. Then he stood and went to the view screen, walking slowly, like a juggernaut—
“What will we do? Can we not stop him?” Jock wailed.
Ivan remained calm. “It would do no good, and you could not do it. That Marine is no Warrior, but he is armed and his hand is on his weapon. He fears us.”
“But—”
“Listen.”
“Conference call,” Fowler told the Palace operator. “I want Prince Merrill and War Minister Armstrong. Personally, and I don’t give a damn where they are. I want ‘em now.”
“Yes, Senator.” The girl was young, and frightened by the Senator’s manner. She fumbled with her equipment, and the room was still for a time.
Minister Armstrong was in his office. His tunic was missing and his shirt unbuttoned. Papers littered his desk. He looked up in irritation, saw who was calling, and muttered, “Aye?”
“A moment,” Fowler said brusquely. “I’m getting the Viceroy on a conference circuit.” There was another long wait.
His Highness came on; the screen showed his face only. He seemed breathless. “Yes, Senator?”
“Your Highness, you have seen my Commission from the Emperor?”
“Yes.”
“You accept my authority in all matters having to do with the aliens?”
“Of course.”
“As representative of His Imperial Majesty I order you to assemble the sector battle fleet as quickly as possible. You will place Admiral Kutuzov in command to await my orders.”
There was more silence on the screens. An irritating babble filled the conference room. Ben gestured imperiously for silence and it cut off.
“As a matter of form, Senator,” Merrill said carefully, “I will require confirmation of that order from another member of the Commission.”
“Yeah. Rod.”
And here it is, Rod thought. He didn’t dare look at Sally. A race of Warriors? Independent Masters? We can’t let them get out into human space. We wouldn’t last a century.
The Moties are frozen stiff. They know what we’ll find. Unrestricted breeding and demons. Every nightmare every kid ever had . . . but I like Moties. No. I like the Mediators. I’ve never known any of the others. And the Mediators don’t control the Mote civilization. Carefully he looked down at Sally. She was as unmoving as the Moties. Rod drew in a deep breath.
“Your Highness, I approve.”
56 Last Hope
Their quarters seemed small now, despite the high ceilings. Nothing had changed. There were all the delicacies the Empire could find to put in their kitchen. A single push on a button would summon a dozen, a hundred servants. The Marines in the corridor outside were polite and respectful.
And they were trapped. Somewhere at the edges of New Cal’s system, at a base called Dagda, the Empire’s warships were summoned; and when they had arrived...
“They will not kill them all,” Charlie gibbered.
“But they will.” Jock’s voice was