Larry Niven - The Mote in God's Eye

“Doctor, I may see things as well as you do. Ever think of that? Now those are the possibilities. Are we ready for the Moties, or has anybody got something else to bring up?”

Rod took a deep breath and glanced at Sally. She’s not going to like this— “Senator, have we forgotten Sally’s dig? Where she found a primitive civilization not more than a thousand years old? How were the Moties primitive so recently?”

More silence. “Had to be wars, didn’t it?” Rod asked.

“No!” Sally said. “I’ve thought about that—the Moties have zoos, right? Couldn’t I have found—well, a reservation for primitives? We have them all over the Empire, cultural preserves for people who don’t want to be part of technological civilization—”

“After a million years of civilization?” Renner asked. “Lady Sally, do you really believe that?”

She shrugged. “They’re aliens.”

“I hadn’t forgotten it,” Ben Fowler said. “OK, let’s discuss it. Sally, your notion’s silly. You know what happened, they moved the asteroids around so long ago the pits are cold. Then, about the time of the CoDominium, they blasted themselves into a new Stone Age. Doesn’t argue too strong they’ve learned not to fight, does it?”

“We did the same thing then,” Sally said. “Or would have, if we’d been trapped in a single system,”

“Yeah,” Fowler answered. “And if I was a Commissioner for a Motie Empire, I wouldn’t let humans wander around space without a keeper. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” Rod told him. “Sally, I don’t like this, but—”

“Get on with it,” Fowler growled.

“Yes, sir.” Am I losing her because of Moties? But I can’t just forget it. “Dr. Horvath, you seemed very uncomfortable after we agreed that the Moties have been civilized for millennia. Why?”

“Well—no reason, actually—except—well, I need to do more checking, that’s all.”

“As Science Minister, you’re responsible for technological forecasts, aren’t you?” Rod asked.

“Yes,” Horvath admitted unhappily.

“Where do we stand with respect to the First Empire?”

“We haven’t caught up with them yet. We’ll get there in another century.”

“And where would we be if there hadn’t been the Secession Wars? If the old Empire’d been going along without interruption?”

Horvath shrugged. “You’re probably right, my lord. Yes. It bothered me also. Senator, what Blaine implies is that the Moties aren’t advanced enough to have had civilization for a million years. Or even ten thousand. Possibly not for a thousand.”

“Yet we know they moved those asteroids at least ten thousand years ago,” Renner exclaimed. His voice showed excitement and wonder. “They must have recolonized the Mote about the same time the Alderson Drive was developed on Earth! The Moties aren’t really much older than we are!”

“There’s another explanation,” Father Hardy pointed out. “They recolonized much earlier than that—and they have a new set of wars every millennium.”

“Or even more often,” Senator Fowler added softly. “And if that’s the case, we know how they control their population, don’t we? Well, Dr. Horvath? What’s your advice now?”

“I—I don’t know,” the Science Minister stammered unhappily. He picked at his nails, realized he was doing it, and laid his hands on the table where they wandered like small wounded animals. “I think we have to be sure.”

“So do I,” the Senator told him. “But it wouldn’t hurt to—Rod, tomorrow you’ll work with the Admiralty.”

“I remind you, Senator, that the Church will forbid any member to take part in the extermination of the Moties,” Hardy said carefully.

“That’s pretty close to treason, Father.”

“Perhaps. It’s also true.”

“Anyway, it wasn’t what I had in mind. Maybe we have to take the Moties into the Empire. Whether they like it or not. Maybe they’ll submit without a fight if we go in there with a big enough fleet.”

“And if they don’t?” Hardy asked.

Senator Fowler didn’t answer.

Rod looked at Sally, then around the table, finally at the paneled walls.

It’s such an ordinary room, he thought. There’s nothing special about the people in it either. And right here, in this stupid little conference room on a barely habitable planet, we’ve got to decide the fate of a race that may be a million years older than we are.

The Moties aren’t going to surrender. If they’re what we think they are, they won’t be beaten either. But there’s only the one planet and some asteroids. If they’re gone…

“Kelley, you can bring the Moties in now,” Senator Fowler said.

The last of New Cal’s dying rays fell into the room. The Palace grounds outside turned purple in shadow.

They were following their escorts through the Palace corridors. As they walked, Jock spoke to the Ambassador. “Something has changed. This Marine who summoned us looks at us differently, as might a Warrior at another Warrior.”

They entered the conference room. A sea of human faces. “Yes,” Jock said. “Much is different. We must be on guard.”

“What may they know?” Ivan demanded.

Jock indicated lack of knowledge. “Some fear us. Others pity us. All try to hide their changed emotional state.”

The Marine conducted them to badly designed couches at one end of a large conference table. “Humans are addicted to these tables,” Charlie twittered. “Sometimes the shape of them is very important, for reasons I have been unable to know.”

There were the meaningless greetings the humans called “formalities”: insincere inquiries into the state of health, nebulous benedictions and hopes for past well-being; all compensations for the lack of human Mediators. Charlie attended to these as Jock continued to speak to the Master.

“The human at the opposite end of the table is an unimportant clerk. On our two-hand side at the center is the power. The Emperor’s Mediator has reached some decision. Lord Blaine reluctantly shares it. Sally disagrees, very much, but is unable to argue. She wishes for reasons to object. We may need to find them for her. Opposite the Emperor’s Mediator are the scientists, and they share Sally’s emotions. They do not feel as involved in the decision as she. The others are of no importance except the priest. I am still unable to determine his importance, but it has increased since last we saw him. He may be more dangerous to us than all the rest—”

“Can he understand our language?” Ivan demanded.

“Not if we speak rapidly and with formal grammar. He detects elementary emotional content, and is aware that we are exchanging much information in a short time.”

“Find out what disturbs the humans.” Ivan curled on his couch and surveyed the room with distaste. Keepers sometimes spoke directly with Mediators from many Masters, but it was never a pleasant experience. All negotiation with humans was painfully slow. Their thoughts crept like liquid helium, and often they had no conception of their own interests.

But he could not simply instruct the Mediators. They were unstable, increasingly so. They must be controlled directly. And the Race must be preserved…

“This meeting may be more pleasant than the others,” Charlie said.

Senator Fowler looked startled. “Why do you say that?”

“From your expressions you are determined to achieve decisions at this meeting,” Charlie answered. “You have told us that the meeting will be long, lasting even through dinner. Your tri-v tells us that you are under great pressure to conclude an agreement with us. We are slowly learning your ways, and coming to enjoy them; but our training, our whole reason for existence, is to reach agreements. So far you have been careful to avoid them.”