The mote in God's eye by Larry Niven; Jerry Pournelle

Author:Larry Niven; Jerry Pournelle [Pournelle, Larry Niven; Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Magic, Fiction / Science Fiction / Space Opera, Juvenile Fiction / Science Fiction, Fiction / Science Fiction / General, Science fiction, Fiction, American, Fantasy, Science / Astronomy, Fiction / Science Fiction / Adventure, Fiction / Science Fiction / Short Stories
ISBN: 9780671491758
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2011-01-30T08:25:06.847550+00:00

29Watchmakers

Cargill made his way to Rod's cabin. "I think we've got Brownies again, Skipper." He told why.

"Have you talked to Sinclair?" Rod asked. "Jesus, Number One, the Admiral will go out of his mind. Are you sure?"

"No, sir. But I intend to find out, Skipper, I'm positive we looked everywhere when we cleaned out the ship. Where could they have hidden?"

"Worry about that when you know we've got them. OK, take the Chief Engineer and go over this ship again, Jack. And make damned sure this time."

"Aye aye, Skipper."

Blaine turned to the intercom screens and punched inputs. Everything known about miniatures flashed across the screen. There was not very much.

The expedition to Mote Prime had seen thousands of the miniatures throughout Castle City. Renner's Motie called them "Watchmakers," and they functioned as assistants to the brown "Engineers." The big Moties insisted the Watchmakers were not intelligent but inherited an ability to tinker with tools and equipment, as well as the typical Motie instinct of obedience to the higher castes. They required training, but the adult Watchmakers took care of most of that. Like other subservient castes they were a form of wealth, and the ability to support a large household of Watchmakers, Engineers, and other lower forms was one measure of the importance of a Master. This last was a conclusion of Chaplain Hardy, and not definitely confirmed.

An hour passed before Cargill called. "We've got 'em, Skipper," the First Lieutenant said grimly. "The B-deck air adsorber-converter-remember that half-melted thing Sandy repaired?"

"Yes."

"Well it doesn't stick out into the corridor any more. Sandy says it can't possibly work, and he's digging into it now-but it's enough for me. We've got 'em."

"Alert the Marines, Number One. I'm going to the bridge."

"Aye aye, sir." Cargill turned back to the air maker. Sinclair had the cover off and was muttering to himself as he examined the exposed machinery.

The guts had changed. The casing had been reshaped. The second filter Sinclair had installed was gone, and the remaining filter had been altered beyond recognition. Goop seeped from one side into a plastic bag that bulged with gas; the goop was highly volatile.

"Aye," Sinclair muttered. "And the other typical signs, Commander Cargill. Screw fastenings fused together. Missing parts and the rest."

"So it's Brownies."

"Aye," Sinclair nodded. "We thought we'd killed the lot months ago-and my records show this was inspected last week. T'was normal then."

"But where did they hide?" Cargill demanded. The chief Engineer was silent. "What now, Sandy?"

Sinclair shrugged. "I'd say we look to hangar deck, sir. 'Tis the place least used aboard this ship."

"Right." Cargill punched the intercom again. "Skipper, we're going to check hangar deck-but I'm afraid there's no question about it. There are live Brownies aboard this ship."

"Do that, Jack. I've got to report to Lenin." Rod took a deep breath and gripped the arms of his command chair as if he were about to enter combat. "Get me the Admiral."

Kutuzov's burly features swam on the screen. Rod reported in a rush of words. "I don't know how many, sir," he finished.

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