The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [81]
Be it admitted: Whitbread was expecting to find two miniature Moties engaged in sexual congress. A midshipman must find his own entertainment, after all.
He opened the door—and something shot between his feet and out, a flash of yellow and brown. Whitbread’s family had owned dogs. It gave him certain trained reflexes. He jumped back, fast, slammed the door to keep anything else from getting out, then looked down the corridor.
He saw it quite clearly in the instant before it dodged into the crew galley area. One of the miniature Moties; and the shape above its shoulders had to be the pup.
The other adult must still be in the petty officers’ lounge. For a moment Whitbread hesitated. He had caught dogs by moving after them immediately. It was in the galley—but it didn’t know him, wasn’t trained to his voice—and damn it, it wasn’t a dog. Whitbread scowled. This would be no fun at all. He went to an intercom and called the watch officer.
“Jee Zuss Christ,” said Crawford. “All right, you say one of the goddamn things is still in the lounge? Are you sure?”
“No, sir. I haven’t actually looked in there, but I only spotted one.”
“Don’t look in there,” Crawford ordered. “Stay by the door and don’t let anyone in there. I’ll have to call the Captain.” Crawford. scowled. The Captain might well bite his head off, being called out of bed because a pet had got loose, but the standing orders said any activities by aliens must be reported to the Captain immediately.
Blaine was one of those fortunate people who can come awake instantly without transition. He listened to Crawford’s report.
“All right, Crawford, get a couple of Marines to relieve Whitbread and tell the midshipman to stand by. I’ll want his story. Turn out another squad of Marines and wake up the cooks. Have them search the galley.” He closed his eyes to think. “Keep the lounge sealed until Dr. Horvath gets down there.” He switched off the intercom. Have to call Horvath, Rod thought.
And have to call the Admiral. Best to postpone that until he knew what had happened. But it couldn’t be put off long. He pulled on his tunic before calling the Science Minister.
“They got loose? How?” Horvath demanded. The Science Minister was not one of those fortunate people. His eyes were wounds. His thin hair went in all directions at once. He worked his mouth, clearly not satisfied with the taste.
“We don’t know,” Rod explained patiently. “The camera was off. One of my officers went to investigate.” That’ll do for the scientists, anyway. Damned if I’m going to let a bunch of civilians roast the kid. If he’s got lumps coming, I’ll give ‘em myself. “Doctor, we’ll save time if you’ll come down to the lounge area immediately.”
The corridor outside the lounge was crowded. Horvath in a rumpled red-silk dressing gown; four Marines, Leyton, the junior officer of the watch, Whitbread, Sally Fowler dressed in a bulky housecoat but with her face well scrubbed and her hair in a bandana. Two cooks and a petty officer cook, all muttering as they rattled pans in the galley, were searching for the Motie while more Marines looked around helplessly.
Whitbread was saying, “I slammed the door and looked down the corridor. The other one could have gone the other way—”
“But you think he’s still in there.”
“Yessir.”
“All right, let’s see if we can get in there without letting him out.”
“Uh—do they bite, Cap’n?” a Marine corporal asked. “We could issue the men some gauntlets.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Horvath assured them. “They have never bitten anyone.”
“Yessir,” the corporal said. One of his men muttered, “They said that about hive rats, too,” but no one paid any attention. Six men and a woman formed a semicircle around Horvath as he prepared to open the door. They were tense, grim, the armed Marines ready for anything. For the first time Rod felt a wild urge to laugh. He choked it down. But that poor, tiny beast— Horvath went through the door quickly. Nothing came out.
They waited.
“All right,” the Science Minister called. “I can see it. Come on in, one