The Kalif's War Read online

  "Exactly, Your Reverence. And that barbarism would last for a very long time. At least."

  For a long minute the Kalif said nothing. Then: "Millenia ago we made advances in science and technology. Now, for centuries we seem to have lost interest; made almost no advances. Nothing important. What do you consider are the odds that humankind will overcome its major problems and become truly great?"

  "I am mildly optimistic."

  The Kalif stared, then turned away, remembering that SUMBAA, by its own admission, sometimes lied.

  * * *

  While he walked back to the palace, something else occurred to the Kalif: SUMBAA hadn't given the empire scientific advances, either, or new technologies. Surely they hadn't reached the end of possibilities.

  But he would not go back and ask about it; it seemed to him he knew what SUMBAA would say.

  Twenty-seven

  As the Kalif turned another page of Crime Update for YP 4724, his commset trilled quietly. "Yes, Partiil?"

  "Alb Thoga to see you, Your Reverence."

  "Um. Send him in. And, Partiil, if Sergeant Yalabiin arrives to see me while I'm with Alb Thoga, let me know."

  The Kalif got to his feet as the exarch entered. He made a point now of courtesy to Thoga, yet of seeming casual about it, nurturing their improved relationship. The man's reversal, his change of heart, had seemed genuine and thorough-going when he'd bared his soul, but afterward, when the Kalif had lain down to sleep, he'd wondered. Not about Thoga's sincerity—he had no doubt of that—but whether so drastic a reversal would persist.

  A man—any man, it seemed to Coso—had a full, deep-seated set of values and attitudes, considerably integrated and more or less resonant. And Thoga's values and attitudes toward numerous things were quite different from his own. Seemingly Kargh had removed the man's venom, but would it regenerate out of their differences? He'd go out of his way to be cordial, and see what happened. So far they hadn't clashed over anything.

  "Good morning, Alb Thoga. What can I do for you?"

  "Your Reverence, I've been approached by Lord Rothka to be—I suppose you could say his spy within the Council. His informant. He's asked me to tell him anything that might come up in council of a reformist nature. Or that might be useful in blocking your invasion budget."

  The Kalif's eyebrows rose. "Indeed! And what did you say to that?"

  "I told him what he asked was risky. That I needed to think about it."

  "Um." The Kalif's lips pursed thoughtfully. "To be honest, I'd wondered whether you might not have had such an understanding with Rothka in the past. Or with one of his people. You'll recall that the House knew of my marriage plans before I announced them in session."

  Thoga nodded. "And I had spoken of them, but not to any noble. I spoke of them at supper, to Riisav, sitting next to me. I was—indignant. Any of several others might have overheard."

  The Kalif frowned. "Which others? Do you recall?"

  "Tanaal sat across from me, and I think Beni next to him. Others were there, too, but I don't recall whom. It needn't have leaked from anyone there, though. It was the sort of thing that would get passed around, and the story had two days to percolate through the College."

  They both sat silent for a moment, considering. It wasn't likely to have leaked to Rothka unintentionally. Tradition was that exarchs did not much fraternize with the noble delegates, and it was formal policy that they not speak of things brought up in meetings, to anyone beyond each other, and as necessary, their immediate staffs.

  "And Rothka asked explicitly for things that might come up in council? As distinct from the College?"

  "Council is the word he used."

  "Interesting. It's as if he already had an informant in the College outside the council. Well, there's ample precedent for that, unfortunately. But it's good to be aware of it; thank you, Thoga. So. What do you think you should tell Rothka?"

  It seemed to the Kalif that Thoga's frank and open gaze was beyond his ability to fake. "A refusal seems most appropriate, Your Reverence. Otherwise he'd expect reports from me, and I don't want to tangle myself in a web of lies. But you needed to know that he's looking for an informant."

  The Kalif nodded slowly. "I think..."

  His commset trilled, and he answered. "Yes, Partiil?"

  "You wanted to know when Sergeant Yalabiin came in, Your Reverence. He's here now. Carrying a sort of basket."

  A smile quirked the Kalif's lips. "Send him in when Alb Thoga leaves, Partiil. It shouldn't be long."

  He disconnected and turned to Thoga again. "I agree with you. Tell Rothka you can't do what he asked." He paused. "Is there anything else you have to tell me? Or to ask?"

  "Nothing, Your Reverence."

  The Kalif stood up, the exarch following suit. "Well then. I know now that Rothka is recruiting, and that if we already have an informer, it seems he is not on the council." He gripped the exarch's hand, firmly without squeezing. "Thank you, my friend. I hope you never feel cause to regret that we are friends now."

  "Your Reverence, I will not, regardless of any differences we have."

  Coso Biilathkamoro watched him leave, thinking that he expected no regrets either. Truly, Kargh had touched the exarch, and with His help, miracles happened.

  * * *

  A moment later Sergeant Yalabiin came in with a covered basket. There was no question now what was in it; its occupant was mewing. The sergeant grinned, and opening the lid, took out a kitten not long weaned. "Here she is, sir, Your Reverence. Ain't she a beauty?"

  It was orange, the brightest orange kitten the Kalif had ever seen. He reached out both hands and the sergeant gave it to him. It hooked tiny claws into a finger, and he stroked it with two others. The Kalif looked at the guardsman. "Excellent, Sergeant. And those green eyes! Marvelous! What did it cost you?"

  "Nothing, Your Reverence. Like I said, my sister had five of them to give away. This is the prettiest."

  "Well." The Kalif unclipped the wallet from his belt and took out two bills. "Give this one to your sister for me. I can't accept a kitten that beautiful without paying for it."

  The sergeant took the money, grinning again. "Thanks, Your Reverence. She can use it."

  "And this one's yours." The man hesitated. "That's an order."

  Again the man grinned, and tucked both bills into a pocket. "Thank you, sir. I hope the kalifa likes her."

  "I'm sure she will, Sergeant, I'm sure she will."

  * * *

  When the man was gone, the Kalif keyed his commset. "Partiil, I'll be gone for a few minutes. To give a kitten to the kalifa."

  Then he left, holding it against his shirt. The kalifa was not in their apartment, but the door to the garden was open. He went out to find her sitting in a canopied nook, reading. His approach caught her attention, and she looked up from her reader. It took a pair of seconds before she realized what he carried.

  "Coso! A kitten!"

  "A kitten indeed. Your kitten." He unhooked it from his shirt and held it out to her.

  "It's beautiful!" She took it and looked up at her husband. "Where did you get it?"

  "Sergeant Yalabiin's sister's cat had five of them."

  "It's the most beautiful kitten I've ever seen; I'm sure of it." She stepped up to her husband and kissed him. For just a moment they nuzzled, careful not to crowd the kitten.

  "It's a girl," he said. "At least Yalabiin referred to it as 'she.' Though I don't know how you tell when they're so young. It needs a name. You might want to give some thought to it."

  Tain's gaze drifted for a moment before she answered. "Lotta," she said firmly. "I'll call her Lotta."

  * * *

  That night, after her husband had gone to sleep, Tain got up and went to pet her kitten again, then returned to bed. Later that night she dreamed. Of a small, slender young woman, with hair and eye color almost like the kitten's. Her name was Lotta, and she was with an old man even more remarkable to see—black, gray-black, with large eyes, and a bo
dy that was lean withal its wide frame.

  There was more to the dream than that, of course, but that's all Tain could remember of it when she awoke in the darkness. She still remembered that much of it in the morning, and it seemed important to her, but she didn't mention it to her husband.

  Twenty-eight

  It was Alb Tariil who chaired the Diet this day, and when the opening ritual was complete, he announced that the Kalif would speak with them. Chodrisei Biilathkamoro mounted the rostrum then, and as he scanned the House of Nobles, it seemed to him that mostly he could tell who liked and who strongly disliked his invasion plan by their expressions. Those who clearly opposed it outnumbered its supporters. The majority showed no strong feeling, however, and he told himself that with them lay approval or disapproval. With them and seven members of the College who, in a poll, had voiced either disapproval or serious misgivings.

  "Members of the Diet," he said. "When I addressed you last week, I presented my desire, my intention, to launch an invasion of the distant region of space known as the Confederation of Worlds. I spoke only briefly, presenting my reasons in outline. Since then you've had time to study my more expansive written discussion.

  "I assume that some of you have questions. This is the time to ask them."

  Hands shot up. He pointed. "Lord Rothka."

  Standing, the nobleman spoke in a tone of impatient annoyance. "You impose upon this body with both your spoken and written presentations. Whatever you call them, they amount to a proposal. If this continues, I shall move we call it that. And vote on it within a week, as required by the charter."

  "Thank you for your comments, Lord Rothka. I won't waste the time of these estates by pointing out the numerous precedents for a Kalif preparing the Diet for a proposal as I have done here." He looked around, and hands again sprang up. "Elder Voojeeno."

  A heavy-set pastor from Klestron arose, a tall man by standards of the empire. "Your Reverence," he said, "my question deals with the peasantry who would form the bulk of the invading troops. Their lives will be endangered in battle, against troops who have proven both skilled and fierce. When we have won the victory, what will we do with those peasant soldiers? Will we bring them home and return them to peasant life and poverty? Or reward them with the option of staying on the conquered worlds as freed men? A sort of rude gentry?"

  He sat down then, and the Kalif replied. "That question has not been addressed. It is, of course, a matter separate from whether or not to conquer and convert the unbelievers. And it does not itself become an issue until the invasion budget has been approved.

  "I appreciate your concern, though, rooted as it is in the problem of peasant conditions. A complex problem that involves not only morality and justice, but long tradition and feasibility—public acceptance, education, economics, and the public peace. You know my position on the welfare of the peasantry, and my record."

  He paused and looked them over again. "Other questions? Lord Agros."

  The leader of the House of Nobles stood up, a wry expression on his aristocratic face. "Your Reverence, you would have us invade an empire far larger than our own. What happens if they defeat us?"

  "Exactly. What do we do if they defeat us? They know we exist now, and considering our intrusion, and the nature of our only encounter, they can hardly feel other than hostile toward us. Sooner or later, if we do not rule them, they will find and invade us. It seems almost certain. Personally I prefer that we invade them, and not the reverse. And I prefer to launch the invasion fleet as soon as it can properly be done, in the Year of The Prophet 4727 at the latest, as I described.

  "In 4721, their imperial fleet was no larger than we could send there next month, and inferior in armament. They had no planetary fleets to supplement it. They had a relatively small imperial army, again with inferior armaments. And their planetary armies were smaller and supposedly inferior to their imperial army.

  "They had seven times our number of worlds, but only perhaps two or three times our people, because of the control of births and population size, and the use of machines to accomplish many kinds of labor.

  "But how long will they continue inferior in strength knowing that we exist? Our only contact with them was violent. Do you suppose their Diet has not approved the building of new shipyards? New armament factories? Do you suppose they have not authorized a reconnaisance to find out where we are? From so far away, and presumably with only a general notion of the direction we came from, it may take them a century to find us, of course, but find us they will, almost surely."

  He paused long, looking them over.

  "When Sultan Rashti sent out his expedition, for reasons which apply to every world, he redefined our destiny. Our alternative destinies. We can conquer now, or else be conquered a generation or a century hence by a Confederation powerfully armed and terribly dangerous.

  "Had we known six years ago what we know now, it could have been a large and powerful fleet that left the empire, instead of Rashti's small flotilla. And we could easily have conquered. Each year we wait, the more difficult it will be.

  "We can assume they have new shipyards built by now." He paused. "Unless of course their Diet lacks the will to act. And we can assume their fleet will be considerably larger, when ours arrives, than it was three years ago.

  "It takes incentive and resources and time to develop great military power. They have the resources and we have given them the incentive. We must not give them the time.

  "Fortunately, warships without force shields are very vulnerable, and the Confederation does not have force shields. Though having hyperspace generators, they have the potential, the science, to develop and build force shield generators. The possibility will occur to them sooner or later."

  The Kalif scanned his audience with hard eyes. He'd shaken them. This was a consideration he hadn't brought up before.

  "Sooner or later we will have to face up to a war with them. The plan I've described to you will put our fleet upon them, and an army, while they are still vulnerable—if this chamber has the perspective and will to finance it.

  "The opportunity to bring the pagans to Kargh, and the availability of underpopulated worlds—these are reasons enough to invade. But given the distances and expense, they are not utterly compelling; one might argue against them in good conscience. On the other hand, the matter of our security and the future of Karghanik are beyond debate."

  * * *

  His opposition was taken unprepared by this, but struck back as best they could. They questioned his certainty that the Confederation had no force shields, and his answer was not totally reassuring. They argued that the necessary taxes would strain an already unhealthy economy, and that the excitement coincident to such a project would cause further civil disturbances.

  The possibility of invasion from the non-human empire was also brought up. The Kalif stood again to reply.

  "If," he said, "the non-humans are so formidable and so inclined, why haven't they attacked us already? It was more than five years ago that they first clashed with the Klestronu flotilla, less than a year's distance from Klestron.

  "In fact we have no strong reason to believe that a non-human empire exists in the sector where the non-human ship was encountered. The Klestronu flotilla encountered a single ship. Later it encountered a single ship. Still later it found itself followed by—a single ship. The evidence strongly suggests that all three encounters were with the same ship."

  At this, Rothka surged to his feet and shouted a retort without asking recognition: "You throw possibilities at us in lieu of reasons! 'Why haven't they?' you ask, as if that proved anything! 'No strong reason to believe!' 'Strongly suggests!' What sort of evidence is that? What kind of fools do you take us for? What song will you sing when a warfleet loaded with monsters arrives here with death and enslavement on its mind? While our own fleet is three years distant, with no way even to let them know!"

  Alb Tariil's gavel was rapping before Rothka had gotten his first sentence
out, and before he'd finished, some of the noble delegates were shouting "out of order." But his trumpet voice blared through them, and when he'd lapsed into grimly satisfied silence, the others still shouted till the gavel silenced them.

  The Kalif stood gazing at Rothka from the rostrum, seemingly as calm as if a routine question had been moderately put. After the uproar had stilled, and the gavel, he spoke. " 'When a warfleet loaded with monsters arrives here,' you say. I hadn't realized you were clairvoyant, Lord Rothka. You're fortunate that witches aren't flayed and drowned in brine any longer.

  "As far as that's concerned, you're fortunate that your present Kalif doesn't deal with attacks the way his predecessor did—the predecessor you sided with so often.

  "But forgive my sarcasm. I'm afraid I was influenced by your own ill manners. As for the facts I pointed out, which you attempted to twist—I have not pretended that they constitute proof. But they remain. The Klestronu flotilla encountered a single ship on three occasions. The second time they assumed it was a second ship, a different ship. If it was, it was identical in every respect recorded on the flagship's DAAS, although first in battle and then in flight, their commodore never thought to look. The third time they realized it was the same ship as the second, and suspected it might be the same as the first.

  "A vast and hostile non-human empire? Possibly. Also possibly, the non-humans' ship had detected them while both were in hyperspace, and emerged to communicate with them. Commodore Tarimenloku himself admitted that after firing without warning on the alien, it occurred to him their electronic intrusion into his DAAS's data bank might have been intended to produce a translation program.

  "And finally, what became of that alien ship? Commodore Tarimenloku launched a distortion bomb in the hyperspace direction of their pursuer. He did not determine whether their pursuer was destroyed, and his DAAS lacked the information needed to evaluate the probability. But SUMBAA has estimated—not proved, but estimated—the probability at eighty-one percent, with a six percent error of estimate.