by John Dalmas
Rothka did not yield his hostility. "A murderer and usurper," he repeated. "That is fact. The rest is opinion. A murder and usurper whom Kargh will punish in His own good time. And he's made that gentry, that fat Jilsomo, his deputy. If there's another regicide, we're likely to have a commoner as Kalif!"
This was leading nowhere, Agros decided, and moved to the subject he'd come to talk about. "I presume you've given thought to the Klestronu expedition and its discoveries?"
Irritation flashed behind Rothka's eyes. "Not much," he said. "We have concerns more pressing in times like these: the need to lower minimum wages for gentry; to cancel or at least revise the restrictions on off-loading unneeded peasants... Practical matters."
"I suppose you've heard the speculations that the Kalif will ask for a fleet and army to invade the Confederation."
"Confederation?"
"The empire that Rashti's flotilla discovered. They call it a confederation."
"What are you getting at, Agros? Say it, for Kargh's sake!"
Agros's voice became even more bland. "My good Rothka," he said mildly, "your incivility has cost you support on various occasions. If you're really interested in advancing your programs, you'd be better off cultivating your fellow delegates than antagonizing them."
Rothka's jaw clenched, and for a moment he looked as if he might strike the smaller, older man, who ignored it.
"If in fact the Kalif asks us to fund an invasion," Agros went on, "and he gets it, there'll be new and higher taxes to pay. And no doubt other effects that neither of us will care for, like shortages of various kinds. I trust you'll be as steadfast and relentless in resisting any such proposal as you are in your personal dislike of the Kalif."
With that, Agros nodded cordially, then turned and walked away.
* * *
"Good evening, Your Reverence."
The man who spoke looked like no one else at the reception. Lord Roonoa Hamaalo was a mountain of a man, perhaps the tallest there, and massive—powerful-looking, even for a Maolaaro. His hands showed no hair, his shaven jaw was not blue with the usual suppressed beard, and his head was bald. His eyebrows weren't even bushy. The Maolaaru aristocracy had largely held aloof from intermarriage, maintaining not only their essentially unmixed gene pool, but much of their indigenous culture. They hadn't even adopted five-syllable names.
"Good evening, Lord Roonoa. Are you enjoying the reception?"
The Maolaaro grunted. "I'm enjoying the food and drink."
Yes, I've seen you at these affairs before, the Kalif thought. What you drink unaffected would have most men unconscious or puking out their guts. "But not the conversations?" he asked.
"The conversations are part of the job. That's why I'm talking to you."
The Kalif's grin was a brief flash of white. "Thank you, good Roonoa, for the compliment. What do you have in mind?"
"First and foremost an increase in what we're allowed to charge for our fish. Every world here has a worsening population problem—every world but us. Imperial populations have increased ten percent since we've had an increase in fish prices. That's a ten percent increase in demand, with no increase in price. And we are not a wealthy planet."
The Kalif shrugged. "Why not sell ten percent more fish then? Giving you ten percent more income at the present price."
"It wouldn't work that way. For most commercial species, our present catch approximates their sustained yields—their replacement capacities. If we catch more this decade, there'll be fewer and fewer to catch in decades to come."
"Umm. Logical. Your request makes sense, in the context of your own situation. Whether it would make sense to others in the context of their own problems..." He paused, inviting comment.
Again Roonoa grunted. "Their problems reflect their own short-sightedness and their lack of willingness to confront their true need. Thus their populations increase but their food production doesn't. Not substantially. Their domestic food prices have climbed steadily, and they discriminate against us. And each other."
He cocked a brown eye at the Kalif, then spoke with deliberate slowness. "There is one fish we could catch much more of, if we were allowed to export it. Loohio. That would alleviate both our problem and theirs. Yours."
The Kalif's expression stiffened. "Perhaps. On the other hand The Prophet said, 'Be fruitful.' "
"He did indeed. But—" The massive shoulders shrugged.
"But what?"
"The Prophet's wisdom was unusual, and his knowingness unique. But it seems now that he was not infallible."
The Maolaaro had prepared himself to receive the imperial anger, but the Kalif merely shook his head. "I think not, my friend. The fallibility was not The Prophet's. It has been ours, in refusing some of the knowledge he gave us. A failure I intend to correct."
He sighed, a sigh that might have been deliberate, for effect. "I will speak to the College about your request. About the prices allowed, not—the other. There is virtue in your argument—the virtue of fairness.
"But I do not perform miracles. Those belong to The Prophet, not to his successor."
Eighteen
Centrally the kalifal palace was a pentahedron, with attached, semi-disjunct cubes of different sizes, most with roof gardens. Just now the Kalif sat alone in his private roof garden, three stories above his apartment, with which it was connected by lift tube and stairs.
It was night. Ananporu was not a large city, as cities went in the empire; capitals never were. Its population was a little short of half a million, and large illuminated signs and lighting displays were not a part of the imperial culture. As a result, a considerable array of stars was visible.
Switching on a focused reading lamp, he'd turned his attention away from the view to the papers he held—including a report prepared for him several weeks earlier by Alb Tariil, on Tariil's objections to invading the Confederation. He'd studied it before, but hadn't discussed it yet in meeting; it hadn't been time. It still wasn't, but it felt like time to review it, to refresh his memory on what, exactly, Tariil had written, as distinct from what he himself had made of it.
The report was organized under two headings: (A) Arguments Against an Invasion; and (B) Arguments Against Proposing an Invasion to the Diet. Under (A), the exarch had written:
* * *
1. Such an invasion will be extremely expensive. The empire cannot afford it. I cannot think of a counter-argument.
2. Preparing such an invasion will cause severe currency inflation and material shortages. I cannot think of a counter-argument.
3. Preparing such an invasion will cause substantial shortages of skilled labor, and numerous peasants will end up being trained and put to non-peasant work. Then, when the preparations are completed, they will be required to return to peasant labor, which will probably result in civil disorders.
* * *
The Kalif skimmed over a lengthy write-up of the foreseen consequences of alternative three. Again Tariil had not given any counter-arguments. The Kalif did not doubt that the exarch would have written down any he'd recognized. Tariil had missed the obvious solution: shortages of skilled labor could be avoided by working skilled labor overtime as needed, and paying them premium wages for it. After decades of economic decline, the gentry would welcome it.
He read on.
* * *
4. The invasion might fail, with terrible costs in lives, money, and goods. There is no counterargument to this.
* * *
The Kalif grimaced. He had no real argument with that, beyond his feeling that defeat seemed unlikely, based on considerable, if admittedly incomplete information. He continued reading.
* * *
5. If you succeed in conquering the Confederation, you would then have to hold it or else give it up. To give it up after the great cost of conquering it would be unthinkable, while holding it would take a continuing and costly effort, at least until its people had embraced Karghanik. Counter-argument: Holding it would require extensive migrat
ion as well as many large garrisons. While this would require great shipbuilding costs, it would permit the transportation of those undesirables deemed suitable as colonists. (I suspect there would be large numbers of these.)
6. The Confederation has its own ways of thinking and doing things. Its human population numbers in the scores of billions, at least—far, far more than the colonists we might send. Even after they have embraced Karghanik, they will think and act more or less differently than we do. And these folkways will influence the people we send there, particularly as intermarriage proceeds. The colonies will become more and more different from ourselves, even in the face of continuing immigration. And at such a great distance, in a generation or two they will cease to recognize imperial authority. Counter-argument: They will be children of Kargh, and perhaps that should be enough for us. Even if we cease to rule them, we can be pleased to have brought Karghanik to scores of new worlds, and to a hundred billion or more people.
* * *
The Kalif mused on the concept of colonies on those distant planets, and of children born to colonists, children who would never see the sector, the worlds, their parents came from. Children to whom the eleven worlds would be only stories, stories they might not even be interested in at such a far remove.
He also mused on the Confederation's myriads embracing Karghanik. Of intermarriages, and populations that in a few generations would be unlike anything that now existed. A new people. Somehow it both troubled and excited him.
He went on to read Tariil's reasons for not proposing an invasion to the Diet.
* * *
1. The proposal is almost sure to fail in the Diet.
2. The failure of such a major and radical, one might say revolutionary proposal will make the kalifate, and by extension the College, look incompetent, and weaken them in the eyes of the nobility for a long time. It probably would not result directly in civil disturbances, but given conditions in parts of the empire—indeed on parts of Varatos itself—such a political conflict within the Diet can result indirectly in civil unrest.
* * *
The Kalif raised his eyes from the report and gazed thoughtfully across the nightbound city. In the distance, thunderheads pulsed with internal lightning and sent megavolt discharges flickering groundward like bright threads. For a minute or several minutes he half watched, half cogitated.
Civil unrest. What Tariil actually meant was insurrection; civil unrest was always present somewhere in the empire. Serious insurrection occurred only every century or two, growing mainly from conflicts between the two great estates—the Prelacy and the nobility. Or actually between the College and the House of Nobles, which invariably had the interest of the Greater Nobility in mind instead of the nobility in general.
Insurrection could drastically disrupt law, order, and the economy for a decade or longer, and no estate wanted it. But on occasion someone played too close to the brink. Insurrection was always a possibility, but it was hardly a present danger.
He continued reading.
* * *
3. If invasion is proposed to the Diet, nothing will get done this session except arguing. Some of the arguments may become so bitter as to seriously hamper deliberations on any subject for years to come. Counter-argument: At best, much that the Diet does is not very useful. A few years of it getting little done may not seriously harm the empire, so long as a budget of some kind gets passed.
* * *
The Kalif grinned anew. At first reading he'd been surprised at such an observation by Tariil—he still was—and wondered if the exarch found any humor in it.
He laid the report aside and picked up another. On Sixday he'd chair a session of the Diet; he made a point of chairing the last one of each week. He wouldn't drop a bomb on them yet, though; let them wonder. He'd settle for dropping one on his inner council tomorrow.
Nineteen
In council next morning, the Kalif waited till routine business had been completed before dropping his bomb. Alb Tariil had brought up the subject of invasion, but the Kalif had declined to discuss it, saying that he hadn't made up his own mind yet. That when he had, there would be time enough.
"There is other new business I need to bring up just now." He looked them over. Their interest was tepid; they were ready to leave, get to their other duties. "I'm not ready to make it public yet, but I thought you should know." He paused, teasing their attention. "You'll keep it confidential, of course." Another pause. "I plan to be married."
The response was immediate, and as nearly enthusiastic as the inner council ever became. "Splendid!" said Alb Bijnath, beaming. "Good! Good!" said Alb Drova. Even Alb Tariil smiled, broadly. "Well!" he said, "there's hope for you after all!"
Alb Thoga said nothing, didn't smile; his chronic hostility toward the Kalif disallowed such responses. And Alb Jilsomo's smile was not spontaneous; the bride-to-be, it seemed to him, had to be the alien.
"Who's the lucky woman?" Bijnath asked. "I had no idea you'd been negotiating with anyone."
"Her name is Tain Faronya."
Smiles were replaced by frowns. "Faronya? A gentry name, is it?" asked Tariil. "Or Maolaaru? It's not familiar."
"She's the young woman who was brought back as a prisoner by Rashti's expedition."
The moment of silence, the sense of suspended animation, was broken by Thoga's angry response. "You can't! She is not a citizen!"
"I'm not aware that that's a prerequisite."
Alb Tariil spoke then, more quietly than usual. "Your Reverence," he said, "there is one requirement."
Every eye turned to him.
Tariil's eyes were on his hands, folded on the table. He took a deep breath; this was not easy for him. "According to the reports we were given, the young woman has no memory of her life before her captivity. Or more correctly, of her life before an accident on board the Klestronu flagship. So then, apparently no one knows, even she does not know, whether, for example, she was married—or anything."
His eyes raised, met the Kalif's.
"I invariably read the weekly report of kalifal edicts," he went on. "As do some few others, both in the Sreegana and the House of Nobles. One of those edicts was the annulment of a marriage—the marriage of a Klestronu marine colonel." He looked around at the others, and except in Jilsomo and the Kalif, found only puzzlement. "That surprised me. It's not the sort of thing one expects as a kalifal edict. So I called up the accessible information about the colonel."
Tariil's eyes fixed on the Kalif's again, not in antagonism but with unhappy concern. "It seems he had maintained the female prisoner privately in an apartment in Khaloom. He admits, though, to his wife's charge that he was and is impotent, the basis of the annulment. And under ordinary circumstances, people would accept that. Though they might be skeptical, unless in fact the colonel had a reputation for altruism.
"But the circumstances are not ordinary. First, rumor has it that the young woman is remarkably beautiful. Second, the annulment edict was yours, not Rashti's. And now you intend to marry the young woman that couldn't have been his mistress because of his stated impotence."
Alb Tariil shrugged. "Your Reverence, the question will surely arise as to what went on between them in that apartment."
The council room was silent for a moment. Finally the Kalif responded: "Do you have such questions?" he asked, and his eyes were hard.
"Your Reverence, do not try to intimidate me. It will change nothing. And whether I have questions or not is beside the point. Certainly others will, and they will ask them publicly, not here in chamber."
"Your Reverence," Drova broke in, "there is a way of answering such questions. I'm sure the young woman would agree to a medical examination...."
The Kalif's eyes flashed brief anger, but his reply to the old exarch was mild. "What would you have us do? Humiliate her, the kalifa to be, by publicizing that she had been examined and that her hymen was intact? That would be offensive and totally unacceptable, to me if not to her. In fact, this d
iscussion is offensive."
This time Bijnath spoke. "Your Reverence, it need not be publicized. Let her be examined by your own physician. And have him testify to us that she is—intact. Then we will say we accept her as fit, and if anyone wishes to guess at why, that will be only their guess."
The Kalif frowned darkly, fists clenched at his sides, then shook his head. Before he said anything more, though, Jilsomo spoke.
"Your Reverence."
The Kalif turned to him. "Yes?"
"If Alb Bijnath's proposal is not acceptable to you, perhaps Neftha could testify privately to me. Then, assuming the answer is what we hope, and if my fellows of the council would accept my word for it...."
"Your Reverence," said Bijnath, "I, for one, would be happy to accept Jilsomo's word on it."
"And I," said Drova.
The Kalif shot a hard look at his lieutenant, then Tariil added his voice, though without enthusiasm. "I will accept that, Your Reverence, if you will."
Coso Biilathkamoro sat frowning past them for a long moment before saying anything more. Then he looked at Thoga Khaliyamathog. "I have not heard from you, Alb Thoga."
"You will do what you want regardless of me. Probably regardless of any of us, but now that the rest have knuckled under, what I feel is of little consequence."
"Do you accept Jilsomo's proposal, Alb Thoga, or do you not?"
The sour-faced exarch bent his stylus in his fingers. "If the rest accept—then I, too."
"Thank you. Then, Jilsomo, I accept your offer. Stay, and we shall make arrangements. The rest of you—I thank you for your consideration. Council is now adjourned till Fourday."
* * *
The Kalif and Alb Jilsomo walked side by side without talking till they reached the Kalif's apartment.
"I hope Your Reverence will excuse my forwardness in council," Jilsomo said then. "It seemed that something was necessary. Simply to override them is destructive of your overall leadership. And you need them, Your Reverence. The rest of the College tends to follow their lead, and you have difficult months ahead in the Diet."