by John Dalmas
A major generalcy! Suddenly Veeri was interested. That was something he could stand having! "I'd be a lot more interested if I was as confident of it happening as some of you are. If I knew more about it…"
Two more officers came in then, a subcolonel and a major, commenting loudly on the rain. They were from 1st Corps, 2,100 miles north in the semi-desert near Fashtar. 1st Corps was the only Imperial Army corps actually assembled. Others existed only on paper, their units scattered. Meksorli quickly roped them into the conversation. The officer corps at Fashtar, they asserted, generally favored invasion. But the 1st Corps commander, whom one of them referred to as "His Majesty, Iron Jaw the First," had forbidden talking about it, calling it inflammatory. Still, one heard comments.
Another guest broke in, a lieutenant assigned to the Armed Forces Ministry, with the security detail. Discussion had been banned at the ministry, too, he said, then the ban lifted as impractical. After all, the ministry was up to its neck in paper preparations. Including refining SUMBAA's plans for integrating outer world forces into the invasion force.
Invasion was the only subject anyone seemed interested in talking about, and Veeri was surprised at the vehemence of certain officers. Then someone brought up a published article on the granting of fiefs in the Confederation, and Veeri found his own interest intensifying. He was a younger son of a younger son; he could never have a fief of his own on Klestron, only benefices based on his uncle's fief. Actually he'd never hankered for one; a fief had never seemed within the realm of possibility. Now he could visualize himself as ruling a great tract on some Confederation world!-on a richer, far more developed planet than primitive Terfreya had been.
He needed to follow the news and rumors regarding invasion, he decided. Tune in the newscasts regularly and subscribe to a facservice. As soon as the invasion had imperial funding, he'd resign his position here, return to Klestron, and reactivate his marine commission.
***
At length the gathering broke up, and he and Rami walked to his car. The rain had virtually stopped, and an umbrella escort wasn't necessary. Veeri had some difficulty inserting his security card into the control panel, and realized then that he'd drunk more than he'd intended. But he was basically sober, he told himself; the subject matter had contributed to that.
Once out of the hills, he speeded up. The clouds had broken, the broad gaps glittering with stars. Out there somewhere was his world-not just Klestron, but his new world.
I never expected to wish the Kalif well, he thought. Now I have to, in the matter of invasion. And really, what happened to me was my fault as much as his: He wronged me, but I invited it. I let a pretty face, a pretty ass, turn my head, and so did he. I forgot what I could be, and should be, only thought about getting that yellow-haired witch into bed.
Then the warning panel began flashing red on his screen, and he slowed. PULL TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND STOP. YOU WERE DRIVING 56 MPH
IN A 48 MPH ZONE. A POLICE FLOATER WILL LAND BEHIND YOU.
With a disgusted curse, he obeyed. Two minutes later, a policeman stood beside his car. "Sorry, mlord," the man said, seeing the nobility mark on Veeri's forehead. "But I'll have to take a blood sample. Just a drop or two. It won't hurt a bit."
It didn't, but the results did. Veeri and Rami got into the police floater for a ride to the precinct station, while another officer brought in his new car, riding the system. Rami was questioned and released; Veeri gave her money for the cab. Then he was booked, and led to a small, but clean and reasonably comfortable cell.
"Just till tomorrow, m'lord," he was told. "Your alcohol level is illegal, but low enough that a first offence is a misdemeanor. You'll come before a magistrate in the morning, and when you've paid your fine, you'll be released. If it had been a felony-But I'm sure you'll be more careful the next time."
He'd just lain down when the realization struck him, hard enough that he sat up and slammed his fist into his palm. On Klestron, if a government employee was booked by the police for any infraction, even the most minor, a report was faxed to his supervisor. No doubt it was the same here. And if the report mentioned Rami…
Probably it wouldn't though, he told himself. She wasn't relevant to the infraction.
He lay back down, not fully reassured.
Thirty-nine
The young man heard almost all of it.
He'd come to present a petition to the Kalif's chief aide. Not his own petition; his employer's. He was administrative assistant to the managing editor of The Informer, a newszine charged with infringing on a government copyright, a technical but potentially troublesome charge. After giving his name to the exarch's secretary, the young man had sat down across the small waiting room from another man come to see the exarch.
The petition bearer had a quick and accurate memory, a very useful attribute in his job. A quick memory and a quick mind. Thus he recognized the other man from his picture as one of the Klestronu who'd arrived to brief His Reverence on the Confederation Army, eight or ten weeks earlier. It was his picture they'd featured in the news note, because he looked like a dashing marine combat officer should look: tall, handsome, and capable.
He should have stayed in the marines. He didn't appear as impressive in civilian clothes.
After a minute or so, a lesser prelate emerged from the exarch's office. Shortly afterward the secretary sent the Klestronit in, then said something into his commset and hurried out as if to the men's room.
"Colonel Thoglakaveera, you'd better have a good explanation for this."
The stern words, not loud but audible, startled the petition bearer. They came from the exarch's office. The door hadn't fully closed itself behind the Klestronit; it had caught on a wrinkle in the rug.
"You refer to the traffic violation, Lord Exarch?"
"Don't throw dust in my eyes, Colonel. What were you doing out with a young woman?"
"[Something something] party in the Anan Hills. There's nothing between us. There were [something something] there. [Name not clearly heard] can vouch for me."
"He'd better, because I intend to check this with him. I'm also going to check on the young woman; see what kind of reputation she has."
There was a pause. The continuation was stated mildly but firmly. "Now listen, and listen well, Colonel. The Kalif is a busy man with a great deal on his mind. He doesn't need this on his plate. So I'm going to do you a very large favor. I'm not going to report this unless I find you've lied to me. And you'd better hope I don't, because the Kalif will be quite upset if he thinks you've broken your agreement with him."
There was a long moment's silence then, as if the exarch were thinking, making a decision. "For the remainder of your probation-which has less than six weeks left to run now, remember-you're to abide scrupulously by the terms of your agreement. You'll be subject to surveillance from time to time, to ensure that you do so. And if you wish to be away from your lodgings beyond 10 P.M., call Mr. Arvadhoraji, giving him full and truthful particulars and obtaining his permission.
"Do I have your pledge?"
The eavesdropper couldn't make out the murmured reply.
"Good. I truly dislike requiring these further conditions of you. You are, after all, an officer, and a nobleman of excellent family. But you violated your agreement, and these conditions are less onerous than they might be, as I'm sure you appreciate.
"Do you have any questions or comments?"
There was another inaudible reply.
"Good. Then go with Kargh."
A moment later the Klestronit came out grim-faced, noticing neither that the door had been ajar nor that anyone was in the waiting room. He swept through and out, into the hall and gone.
The young editorial assistant contemplated what he'd heard. Interesting! Very interesting! It seemed that the colonel's principal violation was having an unknown young woman in his company. Perhaps in a vehicle; seemingly a traffic violation had been involved. And what about this would so greatly concern the Kalif? What
was their agreement?
When he got back to the office, he was going to query the available data bases, see what he could learn about it and what might he beneath it. It had the smell of profit, not for The Informer, but for himself.
Forty
Major General Arbind Vrislakavaro, commanding officer of the Capital Division, gave his name to the sergeant and sat down. He wondered what the Chief of the Imperial General Staff had called him in for. Ordinarily, communication short of some major conference would have been handled via commset. And ordinarily, any order to come in would have included the purpose. This message had simply referred to "a brief meeting."
He'd been seated for less than a minute when the sergeant spoke again: "General, the general is ready to see you now."
The Chief of Staff got to his feet as the division commander entered. "Good to see you, Chesty," he said, and leaned across his desk to shake hands. "Have a chair." When his guest had sat down, the COS gestured at a gleaming silver pot. "Coffee?"
"Forty drops."
Bavaralaama knew the Vorgan idiom for "fill it up." Taking two tall clear insulglass mugs from a shelf, he drew them full. The coffee looked black as tar, but the aroma was excellent. "If that's more than forty drops," he chuckled, handing a mug to his guest, "just leave what you don't want. The Kalif's new orders haven't left us that short of money."
He sat down then, settled back and took a sip from his own mug. "You're wondering what this is about. First of all, nothing I'll say here is criticism. Certainly not of you. I'll simply be pointing out a situation.
"Officers have opinions. Sometimes strong opinions. And there's nothing wrong with that. Also they like to voice them to their fellow officers. Normally there's nothing wrong with that either, if they're not treasonous or grossly immoral.
"In the officers corps planet-wide-empire-wide, probably-there's a lot of sentiment in favor of the Kalif's proposed invasion of the Confederation of Worlds. Not surprisingly. And this sentiment has reached the ears of politicians, most of whom don't like the idea of invasion, don't like it at all."
He sipped his coffee without taking his eyes from the other man's. "They feel threatened that officers voice partisan feelings in its favor, even privately, let alone strongly partisan feelings. Not your officers specifically, but officers in general. What makes your division a particularly sensitive matter is that it's just forty miles from the Hall of the Estates. You see what I'm getting at?"
"You want me to put a gag order on my officers."
"Exactly. And send it to me so I can show it to the people who complained. I don't like the idea, but it's necessary.
"Now a related matter has come to me from Iron Jaw, up at 1st Corps. You know what he's like-what his family's like, and the kind of officers he surrounds himself with. He doesn't like the talk he's been hearing. Or maybe what he imagines he'd be hearing if his ears were bigger; he banned talk about an invasion early on."
He paused, grunted. "He has a point, though. Given the range of good and poor sense in the military, I'm sure that a few officers have actually said the sort of thing old Iron Jaw reports. He claims some of the talk has crossed the line into sedition: that some officers have said the army ought to take over the government and declare the Kalif dictator, so he can get the invasion launched."
The COS-the chief of staff-had watched for a reaction in the major general; the only one visible was a flash of irritation. "Any observations?" he asked. "Or other comments?"
"Yes. I've heard quite a bit of talk, a lot more than Iron Jaw lets himself hear, but nothing approaching sedition. If I had, even phrased just as 'ought to,' I'd have filed charges for insubordination. Or sedition, depending on how it was put.
"And I'd probably have heard." He paused. "Remember what you wrote, the last time you inspected my division?"
The older man grinned. "That was a 50-page report, not including the 200 pages of appendices. What are you referring to, specifically?"
"That the morale of my men-officers and ranks-and their loyalty to their division commander, was as high as you'd ever seen in any division. Or in any battalion for that matter.
"So. I'm now going to let you in on my secret. Besides the fact that the Capital division is elite, with all enlisted ranks made up of gentry."
The COS interrupted. "There are officers who claim that peasants are more loyal than gentry."
"There are officers who treat their gentry noncoms like peasants. So naturally they're resented. They'd do better to treat peasants like gentry, so far as practical. No, besides having good people-First, I'm a competent commander, and they know it. Second, I like and respect my people, and treat them justly, which they also know. And third-Third, I have informers. Five of them."
The COS's eyebrows arched. Historically it wasn't that rare to place informers in military units, in times of unrest against the government. But in more stable times…? "How do informers contribute to loyalty?" he asked. "Usually it works the other way."
"Not the kind I have. The army's got no halfway effective formal means for people to complain; to give their opinions. So I've given them an informal means; one they don't know about, so they can't fear or misuse it. I've got four particular platoon sergeants, men I especially respect, that let me know about anything of any consequence that's bothering their men. And if there's an injustice or stupidity underlying a complaint, I have it handled. Or at least eased.
"I also have an aide, a major named Tagurt Meksorli. An outstanding officer: intelligent, tough, honest-even about himself-and well liked. Ambitious, but not the kind to lie or backstab or cover up. I'll send you his career summary sometime; it's quite remarkable. He's someone you ought to be aware of.
"Within a month of coming on staff, Meksorli had not only demonstrated excellent efficiency, but finesse in handling men. Despite his origins, he'd become one of the better liked officers in Headquarters Regiment. Then he started holding weekly parties-bull sessions with refreshments-in his quarters. I asked a few careful questions and liked what I heard about them. A couple of months later he rented a house in the Anan Hills, apparently just for his parties. His family is Vartosu Metals, Intrasystem Transit, and Diamond Cruises, among other things. Enormously rich. And his parties got bigger."
The major general looked thoughtful as he talked. "They're parties not everyone would care for. He doesn't put out at lot of fancy food, doesn't put up with drunkenness or other misbehavior, and usually women aren't invited. As I said, mainly they're bull sessions. Sometimes he'll invite an outsider, from the fleet or some foreign embassy, something like that.
"I asked him to let me know what the principal gripes and likes are that he hears about. Naming no names unless he wants to. So I could handle the beefs and reinforce the good points wherever appropriate. That was a year ago. I didn't know him as well then, didn't know whether he'd say yes and then feed me some pap, or whether he'd come through for me. As it turns out, I've had some very valuable input from him.
"Among other things, I know where my officers stand on an invasion: not surprisingly, they're behind it, want to take part in it. Something very few of them have felt free to tell me. And I've heard of nothing even remotely seditious. But I'll ask him specifically. If there is anything, he'll tell me."
Hie COS had forgotten his coffee. Now he took another sip. "Hmh! Interesting. D'you ever go yourself?"
The major general shook his head. "Spoil the whole sense for freedom there. Besides, Sevenday evening is reserved for my family."
"Ah. Of course."
"One more thing. I'm not happy about issuing a gag order. The main results will be resentment and secrecy. It's the kind of order that Iron Jaw Songhidalarsa's people expect, but not mine. The only reason I'm not arguing is, I know you wouldn't ask it idly."
Lips pursed, the COS gazed at his coffee mug. "Maybe I wouldn't have, if I'd known about your informers." He looked again at the division commander. "Look, Chesty. Hold off on the gag order until you've asked Mekso
rli whether anyone's talked about taking over the government. Or making the Kalif a dictator. If not, I'll settle for an order that there must be no irresponsible talk, on pain of formal charges. How does that sound?"
"I feel better with that, sir. I'll let you know what I hear, and call in anything I write before I release it."
"Good. You just covered my next request. Go on back to your division, Chesty; I envy you a command like that."
When the Capital Division's commanding officer had left, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff considered what he'd learned. He wasn't entirely sure he liked what he'd heard about Meksorli. He tended to distrust such bald-faced ambition. But Chesty Vrislakavaro had always been an outstanding commander, alert and quick, and an excellent judge of character. And it wasn't wise to argue with superior performance or harass good men. Not without compelling cause.
Forty-one
More weeks passed. With work by Jilsomo, Alb Teevon came into line behind the Kalif, not with any great change of heart but because he respected Jilsomo's ethics and judgment. The Kalif also gained four probables in the House. If the straw poll was correct, that meant he had twenty-seven yeas, sixty percent exactly. Still well short of the needed seventy percent, but enough to ask for a ten percent increase in his contingency fund.
He got it. Actually he got thirty-one yeas. Two of his exarch opponents had backed him, no doubt on the principle that the Kalif should be supported whenever morally possible. Two of his noble opponents had also voted yes; either Thoga's straw poll had been conservative, or more likely they were softening, fudging. How many more might be?
And with fourteen yeas in the College, eighteen House yeas on invasion funding would give it approval!
Thus hope flared in the Kalif's chest when the last vote, a yea, was voiced. Perhaps the invasion would be funded this year.
Support was growing among the lesser nobles, and if the gentry had their way, he'd have his appropriation already. Patience seemed to be the key; patience, moderation, and ask for a vote on the last week of the session.