The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [251]
Bury listened impassively, his lip curled in contempt for Stone’s weakness. There was no doubt at all: the Navy had more than enough evidence to send him to a traitor’s death. Still the smile did not fade from Bury lips. He would give them no satisfaction. He would not plead.
Eventually the tape ended. Fowler waved again and the rebel leader’s image vanished. “Nobody’s seen that but the three of us, Excellency,” Fowler said carefully.
But no. What do they want? Is there hope after all?
“I don’t know that it needs discussing,” the Senator continued. “Me, I’d rather talk about Moties.”
“Ah,” said Bury. The tiny sound almost stuck in his throat. And do you wish to deal, or do you taunt me with the final horror? He swallowed coffee to moisten his tongue before he spoke. “I am sure that the Senator is aware of my views. I consider Moties the greatest threat humans have ever faced.” He looked at the two men opposite him, but there was nothing to be read in their faces.
“We agree,” Blaine said.
Quickly, while hope rose in Bury’s eyes, Fowler added, “There’s not much question about it. They’re locked into a permanent state of population explosion followed by total war. If they ever get out of their system— Bury, they’ve got a soldier subspecies that puts the Saurons to shame. Hell, you’ve seen them.”
Blaine did things to his pocket computer and another picture appeared: the time-machine sculpture.
“Those? But my Motie said they—” Bury stopped himself in realization. Then he laughed: the laugh of a man who has nothing more to lose. “My Motie.”
“Precisely.” The Senator smiled faintly. “I can’t say we have much trust in your Motie. Bury, even if it were only the miniatures that got loose, we could lose whole worlds. They breed like bacteria. Nothing big enough to see breeds like that. But you know.”
“Yes.” Bury gathered himself with difficulty. His face smoothed, but behind his eyes was a myriad of glittering tiny eyes. Splendor of Allah, I almost brought them out myself! Praise and glory to the One who is merciful...
“Dammit, stop shivering,” Fowler commanded.
“My apologies. You will doubtless have heard of my encounter with miniatures.” He glanced at Blaine and envied his external calm. Miniatures could be no less unpleasant to the commander of MacArthur. “I am pleased to hear that the Empire recognizes the dangers.”
“Yeah. We’re going to blockade the Moties. Bottle ‘em up in their own system.”
“Would it not be better to exterminate them while we can?” Bury asked quietly. The voice was calm, but his dark eyes blazed.
“How?”
Bury nodded. “There would be political difficulties, of course. But I could find men to take an expedition to Mote Prime, and given the proper orders—”
Fowler gestured dismissal. “I’ve got my own agents provocateurs if I need ‘em.”
“Mine would be considerably less valuable.” Bury looked pointedly at Blaine.
“Yeah.” Fowler said nothing more for a moment, and Blaine stiffened visibly. Then the Senator continued: “Better or worse, Trader, we’ve decided on the blockade. Government’s shaky enough without being accused of genocide. Besides, I don’t know as I like the idea of unprovoked attack on intelligent beings. We’ll do it this way.”
“But the threat!” Bury leaned forward, unmindful of the fanatical gleam in his eyes. He knew he was close to madness, but he no longer cared. “Do you think you have locked the djinn away because the cork is back in the bottle? What if another another generation does not see the Moties as we do? What if they let the djinn loose again? Glory of Allah! Picture swarms of their ships. They pour into the Empire, each commanded by things that looked like that and think like Admiral Kutuzov! Specialized Warriors more than the equals of Sauron Death’s-heads! And you will let them live? I tell you