Larry Niven - The Mote in God's Eye

“Yeah. But can you hold ‘em? Find out who intends to sabotage us and squash their schemes?”

Bury shrugged. “With some assistance. It will be very expensive. I assume I will have the use of secret funds…”

Fowler grinned evilly. “Rod, what else was it Stone said? Something about—”

“It will not be necessary to bring up that man’s ravings,” Bury protested. “I believe I have sufficient wealth.” He shuddered. What would he have when this was done? Fowler wouldn’t care if he bled Bury to death. “If there is something that requires resources beyond mine—”

“We’ll discuss it then,” Fowler said. “There will be, too. For instance, this blockade’s going to suck up a lot of resources Merrill thought he’d have for the unification of Trans-Coalsack. Now it seems to me a smart Trader might just have a few contacts among the rebels. Might even be able to persuade ‘em to our point of view. I don’t know how that would work, of course.”

“I see.”

Fowler nodded. “Thought you might. Rod, take that tape and see it’s put in a good safe place, will you? I doubt if we’ll be needing it again.”

“Yes, sir.” Rod did things to his pocket computer. The machine hummed: a tiny whine that signaled a new kind of life for Horace Bury.

There will be no evasions, Bury thought. Fowler will accept only results, not excuses; and my life will be at stake in this game. It will not be easy to be this man’s political agent. Yet what choice is there? On Levant I could only wait in fear. At least this way I will know how they are dealing with the Moties… and perhaps change their policies as well.

“One more thing,” the senator said. He gestured and Rod Blaine went to the office door. Kevin Renner entered.

It was the first time any of them had seen the Sailing Master in civilian clothing. Renner had chosen bright plaid trousers and an even brighter tunic. His sash was some silklike material that looked natural but probably was synthetic. Soft boots, jewelry; in short, he looked like most of Bury’s successful merchant captains. Trader and shipmaster eyed each other wonderingly.

“Yes, sir?” Renner asked.

“Bit premature, aren’t you, Kevin?” Rod asked. “Your discharge isn’t effective until this afternoon.”

Renner grinned. “Didn’t think the Provost would mind. And it sure feels good. Morning, Excellency.”

“You know Trader Bury, then,” Fowler said. “Good enough, since you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Uh?” Renner’s face took on a wary look.

“The Senator means,” Rod explained, “that he’d like to ask you a favor. Kevin, do you recall the terms of your enlistmnent?”

“Sure.”

“Four years, or the duration of a Class One Imperial emergency, or the duration of a formal war,” Rod said. “Oh, by the way, the Senator has declared the Motie situation a Class One emergency.”

“Now wait a minute!” Renner shouted. “You can’t do that to me!”

“Yes, I can,” said Fowler.

Renner sagged into a chair. “Oh, my God. Well, you are the expert.”

“Haven’t made it public yet,” Senator Fowler said. “Wouldn’t want to panic anybody. But you’ve been officially notified now.” Fowler waited for that to sink in. “Of course, we might have an alternative for you.”

“Bless you.”

“Bitter, aren’t you?” Rod said. He was cheerful. Renner hated him.

“You did us a good piece of work, Renner,” Fowler said. “Empire’s grateful. I’m grateful. You know, I brought a hatful of blank Imperial patents when I came out… how’d you like to be a baron come next Birthday?”

“Oh, no! Not me! I’ve put in my time!”

“But surely you’d find the privileges enjoyable,” Rod said.

“Damn! So I should have waited until morning to bring the Senator to your room. I knew I should have waited. No, sir, you’ll not make any aristocrat out of Kevin Renner! I’ve got too much of the universe to explore! I don’t have time for all the work…”

“It might spoil your carefree life,” Senator Fowler said. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be so easy to arrange. Jealousy and such. But you’re too useful, Mr. Renner, and there is the Class One emergency.”

“But—but…”

“Civilian ship captain,” Fowler said. “With a knighthood. And an understanding of the Motie problem. Yep, you’re just what we need.”

“I haven’t got any knighthood.”

“You will. You can’t turn that down. Mr. Bury’ll insist that his personal pilot have at least the St. Michael and St. George. Won’t you, Excellency?”

Bury winced. It was inevitable that the Empire would assign men to watch him, and they would want a man who could talk to the merchant captains. But this—harlequin? Beard of the Prophet, the man would be intolerable! Horace sighed to the inevitable. At least he was an intelligent harlequin. Perhaps he would even be useful. “I think Sir Kevin would be an admirable man to command my personal ship,” Bury said smoothly. There was only a trace of distaste in the voice. “Welcome to Imperial Autonetics, Sir Kevin.”

“But—” Renner looked around the room for help, but there wasn’t any. Rod Blaine was holding a paper—what was it? Renner’s discharge! As Kevin watched, Blaine tore the document to shreds.

“All right, dammit!” Renner could see no mercy from them . “But as a civilian!”

“Oh, sure,” Fowler agreed. “Well, you’ll hold a commission in Naval Intelligence, but it won’t show.”

“God’s navel.” The phrase gave Bury a start. Renner grinned. “What’s the matter, Excellency? God doesn’t have a navel?”

“I foresee interesting times,” Bury said slowly. “For both of us.”

Bright sunlight sparkled on the Palace roof. Fleecy, impossibly white clouds scudded overhead, but there was only a gentle breeze across the landing deck. The sunlight felt very warm and pleasant.

An admiral and two captains stood at the entryway to a landing boat. They faced a small group of civilians, three aliens wearing dark goggles, and four armed Marines. The Admiral carefully ignored the Moties and their escort as he bowed to the civilians. “Your pardon, my lady. My lord. It appears I will not be present at wedding after all. Not that I will be missed, but I regret taking your friends so soon.” He indicated the two captains and bowed again. “I leave them to make farewells.”

“Good luck, Admiral,” Rod said quietly. “Godspeed.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Kutuzov said. He turned and entered the boat.

“I will never understand that man,” Sally said.

“You are correct.” Jock’s voice was bluntly factual.

Sally looked at the alien in surprise before turning to the other officers. She extended her hand. “Good luck, Jack. Sandy.”

“You too, Sally.” Cargill glanced at the braid on his sleeves. The four rings of a post captain were bright and new. “Thanks for getting me a ship, Rod. I thought I was stuck in BattleOps forever.”

“Thank the Admiral,” Rod answered. “I recommended you but he decided. Sandy’s the one who’ll have to sweat. He’ll be in the flagship.”

Sinclair shrugged. “As Engineer of the Fleet I expect to put in time aboard other ships,” he said. “Best observation point for new tricks’ll be inside the Eye. So I’ll be wi’ this Sassenach, and that’s nae a bad thing. It would no’ do to hae his ship come apart.”

Cargill ignored him. “Sorry to miss the wedding, Sally. I intend to claim a guest’s privilege, though.” He leaned forward to brush Sally’s cheek with his lips. “If you get tired of him, there are other captains in the Navy.”