The Kalif's War

by John Dalmas

  Also, "in the case of armed revolution, or armed attack upon the empire, if the Diet is not in session and cannot be promptly convened, the Kalif may expend or commit such funds as necessary for the current defense until the Diet can in fact and safety be convened."

  Jilsomo had seen no possible way of interpreting this to finance an invasion of the Confederation. And when the Kalif brought it up with the solicitor imperial, the man was vocally indignant at it.

  Still the Kalif remained, if not truly confident, then optimistic, an optimism rooted in the idea that the poorer nobles—a class growing in numbers—and the gentry would push the idea through.

  If it was promoted properly. Toward this end he wrote anonymous analyses of what might follow the conquest of Confederation worlds, proposals which his agents placed with newsfacs all over Varatos and podded to the rest of the empire.

  From the faxes, they spread promptly to the broadcast media. Land fiefs, industrial fiefs, and mercantile fiefs on the conquered worlds should be granted to commissioned nobles in the invasion army who committed to stay there as reserve officers. Commissioned gentry who remained in service there till retirement should be titled, made nobles, and also granted fiefs according to rank attained, to the extent that fiefs were available.

  Other articles were released describing the vast virgin territories on the Confederation trade planet Terfreya, from which the reader might assume such conditions were duplicated on other worlds. An assumption that might or might not prove true.

  In addition, an undefined procedure should be approved whereby noncommissioned gentry, if they remained in the occupation army, might be promoted to brevet warrant officer their last two years, and on retirement titled, thus receiving both the privileges of nobility—basically, full citizenship—and a substantially better pension.

  Another anonymous article discussed the expansion of both army and space forces, should funding be approved. Widespread promotions would be necessary to provide enough officers of higher ranks. The article also included tables showing what this would mean in pay, privileges, and pensions throughout the ranks.

  Other articles had been released by the army and the Ministry of War. One described new training programs which were beginning to prepare commissioned and noncommissioned officers for promotions. Noncoms who completed their program successfully would qualify for bonuses; sergeants first class who completed theirs would qualify for commissions as sublieutenancies became available. Another article told of new training camps being platted, and plans drafted, for quick construction should funds become available, and the number of construction jobs this would create.

  Still another described plans for the swift manufacture, in quantity, of equipment and weapons for all branches, given the funding. These plans would require three work shifts—round the clock operations—at all naval shipyards, and at certain other shipyards where troop and supply ships would be built; at armament plants of every sort; and at numerous widely located industries where other military needs would be met. One result was that unemployment would be greatly reduced or even disappear.

  These articles had stimulated—some said instigated—meetings and resolutions by gentry workers' societies, in support of the invasion. For centuries there'd been gradual economic deterioration of the gentry as a class. To a smaller but troublesome degree this was also true for a majority of the lesser nobles, and the deterioration had accelerated over the last two decades. Now these classes saw a potential for a major reversal of the trend.

  The Land Rights Party denounced the gentry resolutions as insolent, and the articles even more angrily as irresponsible, destructive of the public order, blaming them correctly on the Kalif himself, though without proof. In districts where the party was strong, it held open meetings and issued resolutions of its own.

  These activities of the LRP in turn were criticized in the media, which pointed out that the entrenchment of privileges by a narrow segment of society could not improve conditions for the empire as a whole, but tended to worsen them.

  All in all, except for brief "down" moments, it seemed to the Kalif that matters looked distinctly promising. The principal uncertainty was how long it would be before supportive social and economic forces could take effective shape and force the Diet to vote approval. The House would keep its present membership for this year and the next, and it seemed to him important—almost vital—that he get approval without waiting for a new set of delegates. Because surely the Confederation would not be sitting on its hands arguing.

  Thirty-seven

  The days had been getting shorter, even in the tropics, and it was full night when the Kalif and kalifa began their fruit dessert. If her trust had not recovered its earlier unquestioning level, at least she hadn't remained cool to him, and there had been no hostility or antagonism. So he noticed and felt concern when she was withdrawn at supper one evening.

  "Darling," he said, "we've been sitting here with neither of us saying a word since I thanked Kargh for this food and asked his blessing."

  Tain smiled slightly. "I assumed you had your mind on matters of state."

  "You're right; I did. And this isn't the place for that. What was your mind on? Something, I can tell."

  "I have—news. And questions."

  "Well then. If you'll give me the news first—"

  "Truly, Coso, I think it's better to ask my questions first. May I?"

  He felt a touch of annoyance, but brushed it off. "Of course," he said. "Ask them."

  She looked thoughtfully inward. "In the roof garden? It feels more private there."

  "If you'd like."

  They got up and went side by side to their lift tube. Neither spoke on the way. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen her so preoccupied since before their wedding. In the garden, after seating themselves on comfortable chairs, he put his hand on her leg, palm up. Normally she'd lay her hand in his; tonight she didn't.

  "Dear Coso, I—don't want to make love here tonight," she murmured.

  "Ah. It's your time. I hadn't realized," he said, and withdrew his hand.

  "Not that," she answered, and now her voice was little more than a whisper. "It's—Why are the nobles your enemies?"

  The question truly surprised, even alarmed him. She shouldn't be worrying about things like that. "My enemies?" he said. "A few are—a Kalif expects that—but most aren't. What made you mink they're my enemies?"

  Tain hesitated. "Things I've heard. About the noble delegates in the Diet."

  His eyebrows lifted. But this was not the time to interrogate her on what, exactly, she'd heard, or from whom. Just now she needed an answer to her own question. "Ah," he said, "but only some of them. And most nobles outside the House are friendlier to me than the noble delegates are. I have polls on that. Surveys."

  She examined what he'd said for a moment. "Why do they send men to the Diet who like you less than they do?"

  "The lesser nobles are friendlier to me than the Greater. You've read how the delegates are elected?"

  "Yes. Caucuses elect them."

  "Right. And only members of the Great Families can serve; two or three thousand families on each world. The delegates are chosen from them."

  He paused, feeling his way into an explanation. "A long time ago, there was a revolution on Varatos, and on some of the other worlds. In those days only the Greater Nobles had any voice in government, which had become quite corrupt and very unjust. It governed to favor the Greater Nobles and the emperor, and most of the lesser nobles and the gentry wanted to throw them out and have the Kalif rule.

  "The Greater Nobles had more military support then, but they couldn't rely on it. While the people—the lesser nobles and gentry—were gaining in organization and developing effective leaders. Neither side wanted everything destroyed and more of their members killed, so they sat down together and finally came to an agreement. The emperor was arrested and tried; eventually he was executed. The Kalif was to be the new emperor, but a Diet made up of nob
les and exarchs would control the money. And there'd be more nobles than exarchs in the Diet.

  "But that wasn't all of the agreement. There were so many lesser nobles that if they decided to, they could have packed the Diet with their own people. And the Greater Nobles were afraid they'd be ruined.

  "So they worked out a compromise. Only Greater Nobles could serve, but they'd be elected by caucuses, and the lesser nobles would have more people on the caucuses than the Greater Nobles would. It's complicated, but those are the essentials."

  "What about the gentry?"

  "The gentry never expected to be part of it. They were content, most of them, to have the Kalif as emperor. Most of the Kalifs and sultans have at least pretended to consider the gentry's interests ever since. And many have, though often unsuccessfully."

  There was a long minute of quiet. It was Tain who broke it. "Is it true that some people think I look like an angel of Kargh?"

  The question startled the Kalif. "Yes, that's true. The Prophet said that angels have golden hair. And a holy artist, a pastor named Yogandharaya, painted them as looking like beautiful women, not only with golden hair, but blue eyes as well." He paused, looking softly at her. "Until you, people didn't think humans could look like that. Could be so beautiful."

  "Do you think that angels really look like that?"

  "I suppose they do, at least for the hair. The Prophet said so." He stared at her in the darkness. "What brought this up?"

  "You said—you said that Kargh caused me to look like an angel."

  He frowned, puzzled. "When did I say that?"

  "I saw—Someone left another cube."

  That cube! Realizations rushed in on him. He'd said it to the Diet. Then she saw me kill Nathiir! And heard us talk about the book!

  "I—He caused you to look like pictures of angels."

  There was silence again, that seemed longer than it was.

  "It seemed to me that some of the nobles hate you very much. It frightens me."

  I should have issued some interrogatories, he thought grimly, found out who left that first cube for her. How could I have overlooked that?

  This time her hand found his. "Darling," she said, "I lied to you."

  His guts tightened. What now?

  "I told you someone had left the cube for me. Actually I found them in the library; there are lots of them there. I thought if you knew the truth, you might say something so they wouldn't let me have them."

  He relaxed, the held breath easing out of him.

  "I understand. And—I might have."

  "But I couldn't find the book there—The Kalif's Bride."

  "The Sultan's Bride. It's just as well."

  "Do you have a copy?"

  "I—It's in a hard file. You don't want to see it."

  Again she didn't reply for a moment. Then: "You told the Diet we're too strong to be hurt by it."

  "Ah." It was his turn to have no immediate reply. A man shielded his wife, but Tain—She might not have been a soldier, but she'd been in battle and survived. "If you really want to see it—" he said at last. "If you really want to, I'll get it for you when we go down. It's—very insulting."

  "When we go down," she said after him, then added: "I've asked my questions. I said I had some news, too."

  He'd forgotten. "That's right."

  There was a smile behind her voice. "Poor darling. I've pressed you and troubled you so this evening, you probably expect my news to be bad. It's not." She squeezed his hand. "I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father."

  He didn't react at first, just sat there absorbing the idea. "A father," he said at last, then turned, kissed her very gently, and murmured against her cheek: "That is wonderful news indeed. I love you very much."

  "And Coso?"

  "Yes?"

  "What I said earlier, about not wanting to make love up here tonight—I've changed my mind."

  * * *

  Later, in their room, Tain found herself not sleepy. After her husband was asleep, she got up, had a drink, then picked up her kitten and began to pet it. Suddenly a vision formed in her mind, looking as if it were there before her in the room. A waking, conscious image of a slender young woman, a girl with red hair and green eyes. The vision did nothing, said nothing. Seeing it, Tain felt sure she'd dreamed the girl sometime, had seen her in her sleep.

  And before that, somewhere earlier, had known her in life! When that realization struck her, deep chills passed over Tain, chills that came in waves, intense, almost orgasmic. They continued for perhaps fifteen seconds, then faded. When they were gone, the vision was gone, too.

  Thirty-eight

  The rainy season had started feebly. After producing two strong rains, it had faltered, issuing only ineffectual showers in a dozen days—thunder and wind with mere spatters of raindrops. At last though, it relented. In three days they'd had three storms and seven inches of rain. Seven going on twelve, thought Colonel Veeri Thoglakaveera.

  Veeri had grown up on his family's great landholding on Klestron, and though he'd never taken part in its management, he recognized these rains for what they were: a renewal, a blessing to farms, reservoirs, woodlands, the district water commission. But he'd never liked storms. Typically they rasied in him a black mood with undercurrents of violence.

  This time it seemed he'd be spared that. In fact, he was feeling rather pleased with the world. He'd gotten five greatly desired things the past week: Via pod post there'd been money, credits from Klestron—rents from property assigned to him there. He'd also gotten a vehicle permit and this sporty red hovercar. And Rami, a woman, a cute little thing with more skills in bed than either Leolani or Tain. And finally an invitation to another party at Tagurt Meksorli's.

  He still had more than a month and a half before he was supposed to "recover from his injury," but he'd grown impatient. And if he used reasonable caution, he'd told himself, no one would know who shouldn't. Rami continued to live in her own apartment, and if anything came up, he'd claim they weren't lovers. How could they be, given "his condition?" He'd avoid embassy parties with her, and away from Embassy Avenue, who knew? Seemingly even there not many, while those who presumably did, didn't seem terribly interested.

  This would be the first party he'd taken Rami to. He'd been told there'd be women there this time, a few at least. And Rami was noble and well-raised, even though her family had come on hard times. She'd mix well with the officers' wives and ladies.

  Just now his attention was mainly on his driving. Hover vehicles didn't ride on air cushions; they levitated on an AC proximity field, which not only lifted, but slid them quietly and unwaveringly through the planetary G-field. The deluxe model he drove could lift him as high as ten inches above the local surface and carry him sixty-three miles per hour—actually up to seventy-nine as needed for emergencies, though those speed bursts could be detected and watched by the police.

  The storm wind couldn't deflect Veeri's course, but it did buffet and shake the small car, while sheets of rain deluged his windshield. Veeri preferred to drive by direct vision, but he couldn't see well enough; the rain was too much for his wipers. He could scarcely see the street signs, let alone read them. So he "drove the system." The hover drive was locked into the gravitic continuum, and in the Imperial District was keyed to the Vartosu system of gravitic coordinates. Thus he steered by the moving map that slid slowly down his screen, a map which showed, among other things, his and other vehicles, in real time.

  Actually, within the city's suburban fringe, the speed limit was forty-eight mph, not sixty-three, and monitored by the police, of course, on screens in precinct stations and cruisers, both hovercars and floaters. But given the weather, and the limitations of driving the system, Veeri stayed mostly under forty, and when he reached the hills, with their narrow twisting lanes, their switchbacks and plunging slopes, he slowed further.

  By that time the rain was less violent, and he drove by what his headlights showed him, using the map only to find his way. In pl
aces the grassy lanes resembled mountain streams, and the neighborhood a forest. When he pulled up to Meksorli's, an off-duty corporal, earning extra cash, hurried out to them with a large umbrella.

  Inside, Veeri found a larger group than before—perhaps twenty-five men and a dozen women. Four women sat among the men before the window-wall, where windblown rain beat silently, to sluice down the sound-muffling glass. The rest of the women were talking in an adjacent room, and after he and Rami had drinks in hand, she went to join them. Veeri sat down with the men.

  Before he sat, however, Meksorli gestured toward him. "Gentlemen, ladies, this is Colonel Veeri Thoglakaveera, late of the Klestronu marines. Colonel Veeri's probably the only man on Varatos who's actually seen and fought Confederation troops."

  Veeri smiled briefly and nodded, then sat, pleased with the introduction and attention.

  "D'you plan to go back there, Colonel?" someone asked. "With the invasion force?"

  "Certainly, if there is one." Actually he'd given it no thought, nor had any interest in going back.

  "There'll be one," someone else said.

  "There'd better," said a third, sourly.

  "We were just talking about the prospects," Meksorli said. "We're not entirely agreed."

  "I haven't paid a lot of attention," Veeri answered. "The subject isn't a major one at the Klestronu Embassy. What do you think?"

  Meksorli grinned. "Obviously I hope it comes off. As to the prospects—" He shrugged, still grinning. "Tell him, Alivii."

  Alivii Simnasaveesi, the young captain who'd delivered Veeri's invitation both times, had connections in the Diet, and presumably inside information. "Even money that the Kalif gets the funding for it this year," said Alivii. "If he doesn't, then three to one for next. When he gets it, the preliminary plans have it launching twenty months afterward."

  "That soon?"

  Someone else spoke "The Ministry's already readying the Imperial Shipyard and the Imperial Ordnance Works. They'll be able to start major production within a week of funding. A second shift within two weeks, and a third two weeks after that, or maybe sooner. That's the plan. And the Lamatahasu family's setting up to expand their shipyard; probably others are, too. A lot of people will be surprised at how fast it goes."