The Mote in God's Eye by Niven Larry & Pournelle Jerry

Author:Niven, Larry & Pournelle, Jerry [Niven, Larry & Pournelle, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Classics, 026 Top 100 Sci-Fi, Personal, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Retail
ISBN: 9781568650548
Amazon: 156865054X
Goodreads: 100365
Publisher: Spectrum Literary Agency
Published: 1974-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

The night before, the dinner party conversation had somehow turned to coffee, and Bury had lost his usual bored detachment when he spoke at length on the subject. He had told them of the historic Mocha-Java blend still grown in places like Makassar, and the happy combination of pure Java and the grua distilled on Prince Samual's World. He knew the history of Jamaica Blue Mountain although, he'd said, not its taste. As dessert was ending he suggested a "coffee tasting" in the manner of a wine-tasting party.

It had been an excellent ending to an excellent dinner, with Bury and Nabil moving like conjurors among filter cones and boiling water and hand-lettered labels. All the guests were amused, and it made Bury a different man somehow; it had been hard to think of him as a connoisseur of any kind.

"But the basic secret is to keep the equipment truly clean," he had said. "The bitter oils of yesterday's coffee will accumulate in the works, especially in percolators."

It had ended with Bury's offer to inspect MacArthur's coffee-making facilities the next day. Cargill, who thought coffee as vital to a fighting ship as torpedoes, accepted happily. Now he watched as the bearded Trader examined the large percolator and gingerly drew a cup.

"The machine is certainly well kept," he said. "Very well kept. Absolutely clean, and the brew is not reheated too often. For standard coffee, this is excellent, Commander."

Puzzled, Jack Cargill drew a cup and tasted it. "Why, that's better than the stuff the wardroom gets."

There were sidelong glances among the cooks. Cargill noticed them. He noticed something else, too. He ran a finger along the side of the percolator and brought it away with a brown, oil stain.

Bury repeated the gesture, sniffed at his finger, and touched the tip of his tongue to it. Cargill tasted the oil in his hand. It was like all the bad coffee he had ever swallowed for fear of falling asleep on duty. He looked again at the percolator and stared at the spigot handle.

"Miniatures," Cargill growled. "Take that damned thing apart."

They emptied the machine and disassembled it—as far as it would go. Parts made to unscrew were now a fused unit. But the secret of the magic percolator seemed to be selective permeability in the metal shell. It would pass the older oils.

"My company would like to purchase that secret from the Navy," said Bury.

"We'd like to have it to sell. OK, Ziffren, how long has this been going on?"

"Sir?" The petty officer cook seemed to be thinking. "I don't know, sir. Maybe two months."

“Was it this way before we sterilized the ship and killed off the miniatures?" Cargill demanded.

"Uh, yessir," the cook said. But he said it hesitantly, and Cargill left the mess with a frown.

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