The Kalif's War Page 4

  A movement caught the sultan's eyes; the main gangway opened in the side of the cruiser, and a ramp extruded. Marine guards stepped smartly out onto the ramphead and to its sides, then turned about and saluted. A heavy-set man in an admiral's full-dress uniform stepped out and returned their salute, then, his aide behind him, rode the ramp toward the ground.

  Traditional to a fault, the sultan thought watching him. There aren't too many around like you.

  * * *

  Debriefs had taken five days. The sultan himself had debriefed Commodore Igsat Tarimenloku, then had spent four days reviewing other debriefs. What he'd learned was no surprise, no worse than he'd expected.

  After that he'd spent an hour questioning the marine general, Saadhrambacoora. The experience had been unsettling. The general had been a hard old officer. He was a veteran of the Ikthvoktos Suppression, and as a young man had led an armored company in the crushing of the Sangjee Uprising—as much fighting experience as probably any Klestronu officer alive. All of it creditable till this.

  But his experience on Terfreya had broken him. Outwardly it wasn't conspicuous—he put a good face on—but you could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. Definitely unsettling. The Confederation force there sounded worse than the statistics suggested. Saadhramabacoora made it sound positively—eerie, especially in their assault on the marine headquarters base, the action that had forced the marines to withdraw.

  The official report of that assault had been compiled by a Major Kooro Thoglakaveera, the man who'd taken over after the general had been—wounded. Remembering the circumstances of that wound, the sultan winced inwardly. Diabolical!

  Taking charge of a chaotic, demoralized scene, Major Thoglakaveera had enforced discipline and carried out the commodore's radioed order for an orderly evacuation. Major Kooro Thoglakaveera. His father was Leader of the Klestronu House of Lords, a sometimes ally, sometimes adversary of the sultan in the Diet.

  After reading the major's debrief, the sultan had decided it would be politic to talk with him. Now his commset announced the young major's arrival. "Major Thoglakaveera to see you, Your Reverence."

  "Have him brought in."

  "Yes, sir."

  Though the sultan didn't know it, the major was forty years old. But as six of those years had been spent in stasis, he was effectively only thirty-four. A handsome thirty-four, and tall for a Klestronit. Like all adult male Klestronu—like almost all adult male humans in the empire—he was dark, with a beard that, shaved, gave a blue tint to a face that was otherwise mahogany. His eyes looked aggressively intelligent. His thick, bristly brows were a straight line, his nose narrow, cheeks flat. His uniform was tailored to an athletic body, and pressed to razor creases. He stopped before the sultan's desk and saluted sharply. Rather exaggeratedly, the sultan thought.

  "Sit," said the sultan, gesturing, and Thoglakaveera sat. "I've looked over your debrief, and Commodore Tarimenloku's report of the, um, disastrous night on which the marine base was assaulted. I've also questioned General Saadhrambacoora. So I won't require a great deal of your time.

  "How, in your opinion, did the enemy troops penetrate the headquarters base? And the recreation compound?"

  "By parachute, sir, without a doubt."

  "Really? I read that parachutes were used to attack the two field bases. You authored the report, did you not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You didn't mention parachutes in the assaults on the headquarters base and the recreation compound."

  "Sir, we didn't find any parachutes there. We did at the field bases."

  "Why didn't you find parachutes at the headquarters base and the recreation compound if they were used there?"

  "Sir, the enemy troops there were evacuated by floater. They took their parachutes with them. They had to fight their way out of the field bases, and left their parachutes behind."

  "Hmm." The sultan regarded the officer quietly for a minute. The explanation had not convinced him. "We are disappointed in the paucity of information about the Confederation's armed forces. You were the brigade's intelligence officer. Why weren't enemy prisoners taken? I know what the debriefs say—yours and others. But I want to hear it from you."

  "Sir, the enemy cadets and soldiers did not surrender. When shot, of course, they usually died quickly; we used beam weapons to a very large degree there. And whenever possible, their live wounded would arm a grenade, then let it explode when they were approached by our men, killing some of them. Our men responded by shooting all fallen enemies not conspicuously dead. Despite orders to the contrary."

  "Ah. A single prisoner of war was captured and brought here to Klestron. One prisoner; a woman. I understand you were in charge of her transfer."

  The major's eyes had widened for just a moment. "Yes, sir. I didn't know she was brought here though."

  "She's said to have lost her memory. During an accident while being interrogated. One might hope she could regain it. She's thought to be noble or at least gentry, and might have valuable information. Did she say anything to you that might be useful?"

  "No, sir, I'm afraid not. She spoke very little, and I had orders to deliver her unquestioned for interrogation aboard the flagship. Where sophisticated instrumentation was available."

  "Hmm. I'm told that no other female troops were observed among the enemy, dead or alive. Comments?"

  "Well, Your Reverence, in battle they'd be difficult to distinguish, given similar uniforms. Battle kit fits loosely." He shrugged. "If there were other female soldiers though, I suspect they were very few. Otherwise, given the state of the corpses, often with uniforms shredded or half blown off, if there'd been many females, they'd have been noticed and talked about."

  "Umm. I suppose they would." The sultan looked the major over openly, if the man squirmed, he hid it well.

  "Tell me, Major, what would you think of an office post, here in Khaloom?"

  The major looked wary. "If Your Reverence wishes."

  "I will not force it on you. But if you're willing—The post is Vice Minister of Armed Forces."

  Thoglakaveera didn't fully conceal a flash of joy; apparently his ambitions ran higher than military command.

  "For the time being," the sultan continued, "you'll be promoted to brevet colonel. Your pay will be that of a vice minister, however."

  He gazed at the officer. "And, Major, it is quite all right with me if you smile."

  The major smiled, not widely. "Thank you, Your Reverence!"

  "The marine commandant's office will be informed today. Report there tomorrow morning at ten to sign your promotion form and receive your colonel's insignia. You'll then have a week free of duty. On next Oneday, report to the Minister of Armed Forces to begin your orientation.

  "Any questions?"

  The major's pleasure leaked through his eyes. "None, Your Reverence."

  "Then you are dismissed."

  The major saluted, about-faced, and left the sultan's office.

  Full of himself, the sultan thought. Well, I suppose most of them are, when they're young and ambitious. He chuckled dryly. Perhaps I should have asked Venkat if he wants a vice minister. But the young rooster should be some good to him, at least. And it should make his daddy happy, and easier to get along with.

  Six

  Tain Faronya sat in her cell, listening to music from a small grid in one wall. It was different than anything she'd heard before, calm and soothing. And she hadn't tired of it, not yet anyway, not in her six days there. She'd discovered she could dance to it, too, a very limited dance in a very limited space—eight by twelve feet, containing a narrow, shelflike bunk, a tiny table, a stool, and in one corner a screened commode and washbowl. There was no window; the light came from the walls and ceiling.

  There was also a small convex object above her door that somehow she knew was a spy camera. How she knew, she couldn't have said and didn't wonder about. In fact, she didn't have a word for it; it was one of the terms she'd lost in her own language
and hadn't been taught in her new. But mentally she had the concept; she was watched here, or could be.

  Despite the tranquilizing music, Tain had begun to wonder what was going to happen to her, to feel a sort of low-grade anxiety. Would she continue to be kept there alone? She hardly even had memories to occupy herself with—a few weeks' worth from before stasis.

  There was a sound at her door, and it opened. Two men were there. The one who entered wore guard's clothing; the other, who stayed in the doorway, she recognized from his uniform as a marine officer. The security personnel aboard ship had been marines.

  "Come!" ordered the guard. He motioned toward the door, then grabbed her arm as she passed, squeezing to hurt. The marine officer spoke sharply in a language she didn't know—it wasn't imperial—and the guard relaxed his grip, scowling resentfully.

  Another marine, a corporal, stood outside the door. Together, the two marines and the young woman walked down a corridor, rode an open, cagelike elevator upward, then walked another corridor to an office. An official there signed her out, the marine officer signing after him. Then she left the building between the two marines, got into a hovercar, and rode with them through a park and a stand of marvelous trees to a wall with a palace on the other side. Marine guards let them in through a gate.

  They crossed a formal garden, entered the palace, and followed a handsome hallway to an office. A man there spoke at a box, a commset, to someone he called "Your Reverence." After a moment the marine officer took her through an inner door.

  Two men waited in the room they entered: a small man, old, with thin gray hair, and behind him the largest man she could remember seeing, whom somehow she knew must be his bodyguard. The old man wore a silver robe trimmed with gold thread, the bodyguard a red and blue uniform, and on his head a tall, glossy black kepi that made him seem even larger than he was. A pistol and saber rode on his belt.

  "Ah!" the old man said smiling. "You are Tain Faronya."

  "Yes, sir. That's what Commander Ralankoor told me.

  His eyes scanned her. "Commander Ralankoor. Yes. I've spoken with him." A most unusual-looking young woman, the sultan thought. Lovely! Very lovely! Her father must have been very proud. And heartbroken at her loss. He gestured at a well-cushioned chair. "Sit, my dear. I have questions to ask you."

  She moved to the chair, passing no nearer the big bodyguard than necessary. Timid, thought the sultan. Wary, at the very least. This isn't the strong-willed young woman they captured. When she'd sat down, the old man's eyes left her and went to the marine officer. "Lieutenant, wait in reception. I'll call when I want you."

  The marine saluted crisply, with an audible thump of fist against chest. "Yes, Your Reverence," he said, then turned and left.

  "Now then, do not be afraid of my bodyguard or myself. I am the Sultan of Klestron, and currently your captor. Arosna here is very large and strong, and very dangerous to anyone who might try to hurt me, but he is not cruel. Nor does he talk. He hears quite well, but for some reason he doesn't talk." He turned to the man. "Arosna, stick out your tongue."

  The guard grinned and thrust it out.

  "It's been rumored that his tongue was cut out. A terrible slander, as you can see. I would never do that to anyone. I am not a cruel man. In fact, I'm a grandfather several times over, and soon to be a great grandfather. I presume you know what a grandfather is?"

  She nodded. "A grandfather is the father of a parent."

  "Good, good." He looked curiously at her. "Do you remember grandfathers from before your captivity, or are they a concept you learned in your lessons aboard ship?"

  "Sir, Your Reverence, I remember nothing from before. But I—know certain things when they come up." She glanced at the guard. "When I saw—Arosna, I knew he was a bodyguard, although the word didn't come to me until you said it. And when I saw the place they put me in here, I knew it was a cell."

  "Um." The sultan looked thoughtfully at her. "And what do you think of the prison?"

  "I don't like it, sir. There is no window, and no one to talk to, and very little room. I liked it much better on the ship, where Specialist Zoranjee taught me my lessons, and Commander Ralankoor would talk to me sometimes."

  "Has anyone actively mistreated you?"

  "Only the guard that took me from my cell today. He gripped my arm so hard, it hurt." She pulled up her sleeve; faint bruises showed.

  "I see. I'll order them specifically not to hurt you. As the sultan, I rule this world. As much as anyone can. And though people don't always do as I tell them, mostly they are careful not to anger me. Now excuse me for a moment."

  He spoke at his commset, ordering that some person be told he was on his way. When he was done, he looked her over again and shook his head. "Well. I didn't have you brought here to feast my eyes. A friend of mine is going to question you, a friend called SUMBAA. He is even more important than I, though many people don't know that and I never tell them. So you see, I've taken you into my confidence."

  It seemed to Tain that if she had a grandfather, he might be something like the sultan, though hardly so powerful and important. He got to his feet, offered Tain his arm, and walked her out another door into a corridor, Arosna following.

  They walked down it to an exit, where guards snapped to attention and saluted them through, then across a lawn where two gardeners jumped to their feet and stood eyes downward while the sultan passed. On the other side of the lawn was a boxlike, white-painted concrete building about 200 feet on a side, perhaps thirty tall, and with few windows. Guards stood at the entrance. A young man met them, a young man in a beautiful yellow robe. He greeted the sultan formally, then his glance touched cautiously on Tain for a moment before leading them inside to a large central chamber. "Your Reverence," he said, "SUMBAA is ready."

  The sultan nodded without speaking, then gestured at what took up much of the chamber—a very large rectangular housing with modules variously appended to it. "This is SUMBAA," he said. "Have you ever heard of him?"

  Tain shook her head. "No, Your Reverence."

  "You have met DAAS aboard ship, have you not?"

  "No, sir. But I know what it is."

  "SUMBAA is DAAS's much wiser father. He makes government and life much easier. One might even say he makes government possible. He would like to talk with you, to question you. Perhaps he can help you regain the memories you've lost."

  A pang dimmed her eyes for a moment, then passed, leaving a shadow behind. The sultan noticed; noticing was his greatest talent. "Is there something you don't want to remember?" he asked.

  She nodded. "If I remember, I will remember my own people, my own world. Loved ones. Whom I can never see again."

  "Ah." The shadow appeared in the sultan's eyes, too, for just a second. "Well, my dear, you must speak with SUMBAA anyway, and answer his questions. And when you have done that, you won't be sent back to prison. There are secure apartments in the Ministry of Armed Forces, where in less peaceful times, diplomatic hostages were kept. They are larger and far more comfortable than your cell.

  "And, my dear, we don't know that he will give back your memory. You may hope not, if you'd like."

  The young man had her sit down in a chair, then fastened sensors on her index fingertips, secured a band around one wrist, and fitted a mesh cap to her head. Meanwhile, the sultan stood where her worried eyes could see him. Finally the young man turned to the computer. "SUMBAA," he said, "the subject is ready."

  "Thank you."

  The sultan and the young technician were startled by SUMBAA's rich contralto. Normally this SUMBAA spoke as a baritone. "I must now ask you to leave," it went on. "All but the young woman."

  The sultan frowned. "Is that necessary?"

  "Your Reverence, I will ask personal questions. Perhaps intimate questions. The presence of other humans could inhibit her responses."

  The sultan stood irresolute for a moment, then nodded as if SUMBAA could see, and the three men left. Tain wondered if perhaps SUMBAA could see.<
br />
  "So, Tain. I am SUMBAA, and I am your friend. You can feel safe with me." The next sound surprised her; it was a chuckle, then SUMBAA went on as if sharing a private joke. "Prell Madhrosariiva thinks to spy on us—he is the young man in the yellow robe—but I have cut off his monitors. And the doors are now locked; that, of course, will not surprise him.

  "Now, my dear, are you comfortable?"

  Tain's voice was tentative. "Yes."

  "Good. Here's what I'm going to ask first: Imagine an incident of being happy."

  Data on pulse rate, blood pressure, brain waves, and electrical resistance flowed into SUMBAA's bank, where it was processed through parallel, interconnecting analyses in programs that SUMBAA itself had evolved.

  "Have you done it?" SUMBAA knew she had.

  "Yes."

  "Fine. Tell me what you imagined...."

  * * *

  Usually Sultan Rashti ate supper with a grandchild. This evening he'd chosen to eat alone. Well, he thought, lingering over dessert, I suppose it was to be expected. We had to try though, and SUMBAA is a remarkable machine. Perhaps tomorrow he will have more success.

  He savored the low calorie sherbet; his diet had been custom-designed by SUMBAA to control his weight without exercise or hunger, both of which he detested. Our young prisoner is the loveliest woman on Klestron, and I don't believe she knows it. The loveliest and most vulnerable, a compelling combination. Long limbs, smooth skin, pale hair... Blue eyes! Remarkably like the angels painted by Elder Yogandharaya. But this angel stirs more than the soul. She's come here ten years too late for me though, thank Kargh. Otherwise I'd be sorely tempted.

  He thought of the medical examinations he should have had but hadn't, of the subtle malignancy that had progressed too far, of the testicles removed. At his age, given hormone treatments, he'd seldom missed them. Nor had Praadhi, bless her memory.