The Kalif's War Page 7

  He stopped, his expression thoughtful, his attention seeming inward for the moment.

  "And there is one final reason. The most important." Again he stopped, drawing out their attention. "In Chapter Twenty-seven of The Book, The Prophet wrote: 'The believer shall make known to the unbeliever the words and principles and laws of Kargh, and shall strive always to convert him to His worship.' "

  With that the Kalif stopped and sat down, not making the obvious connection, simply leaving them with the words of The Prophet, and moved the session to other matters. But their discussions were less energetic than usual, as if they found it difficult to concentrate on other subjects, and he adjourned the meeting early.

  * * *

  The Kalif sipped an after-supper drink with Jilsomo on an open porch. It was dusk. There'd been a shower an hour earlier, a cooling rain, and low in the west, sunset gilded cloud edges.

  Neither man had said anything for a time. Then Alb Jilsomo spoke. "About the possibility of invading the Confederation: What do you feel is the likeliest prospect? That we will, or will not?"

  The Kalif said nothing for another quiet minute, sipping his drink and listening to an evening bird. Finally he put down his glass and turned shadowed eyes toward the exarch, speaking softly.

  "I say this with all honesty: We have no real choice. When Rashti's flotilla returned, the die was cast. The news is out, and the empire, the Church, the several estates can never be the same. Whatever we do. And if we do not invade, within a generation, two at most, there will be turmoil and strife on the eleven worlds that will lead to darkness. A darkness that may be a long time lifting.

  "And if we do not invade soon, any later invasion will be doomed to fail. For they know about us now, out there, and they'll hardly be sitting still. They have many more worlds than we do. Even if they're less populous singly, as apparently they are, in total they're bound to hold far more people than ours."

  He directed his gaze across the garden, raised his glass and sipped once more.

  "If we invade promptly," Alb Jilsomo murmured, "say within three years, do you feel we can overcome them?"

  Again the Kalif answered slowly, still gazing across the garden in the dusk. "I have little doubt we can. No, the difficult battles won't be fought in space." He sipped again. "The Diet convenes at the beginning of next month. That's where the important battles will be fought."

  He turned to look at Jilsomo again. "Which should be no surprise to you. My friend, I'm going to depend on your good sense and your ability to bring factions together. It won't be easy, only very, very important. An importance we shall not stress unless we have to."

  Ten

  The hovercar stopped in front of an apartment building, a building luxurious but not ultra. Her husband's town place; he'd shown it to her two days after their wedding, and made love to her there. Only four days ago.

  He was handsome, romantic, and his family was among the oldest and best, but it hadn't occurred to her to question the anonymous call she'd gotten that morning. A call telling her about a mistress he kept in town. Although she hadn't suspected, it struck her instantly as true, and she was nineteen years old, and impulsive.

  Her chauffeur held the door for her, and Leolani Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera got out. "Wait for me here!" she snapped; the man acknowledged the order and got back in. Her walk, as she strode through the entryway, was not her usual, ladylike gait. The receptionist recognized her, and the security guard let her pass without a word; her obvious rank and equally obvious anger discouraged interference.

  At the door of her husband's fifth-floor apartment, she pressed her palm to the security panel. It knew her and opened, and grim-faced she entered. Furled umbrella tightly gripped, she looked in every room, the closets, the large shower, and found no one. The colonel was lucky; the umbrella was armed, and she'd triggered its sharp, four-inch, double-edged blade before entering.

  She took several deep breaths, then retracted it. Of course, she told herself, he'd be with his doxy; she'd catch him there. She keyed reception on the living room commset.

  "This is Lady Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera," she said. "In what apartment is the alien woman?"...

  "Do not tell me you can't give me that information! I'm not just the wife of an adulterous colonel! My father is the Archprelate of Khaloom! I'll have you—"...

  "Apartment 712. Thank you. Do not call there to warn him. If you do, you'll discover what real trouble is!"

  She switched off, and brandishing her umbrella, left the apartment, finding 712 like a ball bearing finds a large electromagnet. At the door she triggered her umbrella blade again and rapped sharply with the handle, then waited a few seconds. The door opened. The young woman who stood there seemed neither eager, coy, nor playful. Clearly though, she'd expected someone else, and her demeanor shifted to uncertainty. "May I help you?" she asked politely.

  In spite of her anger, Leolani was startled at how lovely the woman was. And how tall, mostly because her legs were long. As tall as her tall husband. Scowling, she refocused herself. "I am Leolani!" she announced.

  Obviously the name meant nothing to the alien woman, though the conspicuous anger worried her. "You'd better let me come in," Leolani said. Despite her scowl, it was more a statement of fact than threat. The woman stepped back, and Leolani stepped inside. "I am looking for my husband."

  There was another moment of uncertainty, then realization. "He—There is no one here but me."

  Leolani looked around, her anger somehow blunted now, but not her purpose. Besides the door shed just entered from the corridor, the comfortable living room had two exits—a short hall at one side and a balcony door. Umbrella firmly gripped, she checked first the balcony and then, on an impulse, the dumbwaiter. Entering the little hall, she peered into the bedroom, where all she saw was a neatly made bed. The hall closet and bath were empty, too. Nor did the bedroom closet conceal her husband, but there were men's clothes there, including a uniform with a colonel's gold hammer insignia. He wasn't under the bed, either.

  The beautiful alien stood in the bedroom door, worried but not conspicuously afraid. This lack of conspicuous fear resparked Leolani's anger. "When do you expect him?"

  "He called and said he had a conference this afternoon. That he would come this evening if he could."

  Leolani kicked the bed, then pointed the umbrella at her. "If he was here now, I'd cut him with this. Where he'd like it least."

  The woman nodded without changing her expression.

  "Aren't you afraid of me? You'd better be!"

  The answer was quiet, soft. "I have always been afraid, since they brought me to this world. The colonel said I was in danger of being murdered in the ministry."

  Leolani's accusatory scowl became an uncertain frown. "He is married," she said. "I am his wife." Then realized she'd already said that.

  "He never told me."

  Leolani peered intently at her. Of course not, she thought. He wouldn't; not if he didn't need to. Her glance moved thoughtfully to her blade, and she retracted it.

  "You cannot stay here," she said firmly.

  The alien woman nodded, saying nothing, but now, in her eyes, Leolani did see fear. "Where were you kept before my husband brought you here? I'll take you back."

  "I was kept in the ministry. They have rooms there for prisoners. With spy monitors. Men watched me through them; the colonel told me so. They watched when I undressed, when I bathed. He said it excited them, and he was afraid they would come and rape me. And that when they were done, they'd kill me so I couldn't identify them. Then he—did it. And brought me here."

  Leolani felt a new anger building, a different anger than she'd arrived with. Veeri had victimized this woman, this girl without family to shield her. "Then you cannot go back there," she said.

  The woman looked uncertain.

  "What is your name?"

  "Tain."

  "Tain, you will come and live with me." Images began to flow for Leolani as she spoke,
a stream of images. "At my father's home," she went on, and her voice slipped from stern toward earnest. "When I tell him what has happened, he will be glad for you to live with us. We can be like sisters, you and I, ride and swim together and play crossball. If Veeri dares come there, I'll have him sent away. I'll have the dogs set on him if necessary. And when you feel ready, there will be parties, and we will find a husband for you. An honorable one!"

  She frowned. Tain had begun to cry silently, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Aren't you willing? Surely you don't love that scum!"

  The blonde head shook, the tears flowed faster, and Leolani realized that Tain was unable to speak. She went to her, embraced her, her own eyes filling. "You don't need to talk now. Is there anything here you want to take with you? Show me."

  Again the head shook.

  "Then come, Tain. An hour from now you'll have a new room, much prettier than this, in the country. I'll have my seamstress measure you for new clothes; we'll pick the patterns together."

  They left the apartment. It seemed to Leolani that it would do Tain good to break down and cry hard, to let it all out and sob and wail, but apparently she couldn't, though the tears flowed copiously. Grimly the colonel's bride triggered her blade again as they walked down the hall, hoping her husband would appear. He didn't.

  Eleven

  In accordance with protocol for receiving a sultan's envoy on business, the Kalif sat crownless in his receiving chamber, wearing a formal robe, and on his head, the simple pillbox cap of an exarch. The robe, however, was carmine instead of exarch-white. Across his desk sat the envoy from Sultan Rashti, along with the Klestronu Ambassador to the Court of the Kalif. The Kalif's nuncio to the sultan's court had arrived with them, and sat a bit apart.

  Like the Kalif, Alb Jilsomo Savbatso sat facing the three diplomats, but well to one side, silent, easy to forget despite his bulk.

  The Kalif was looking at a brief, a list of persons, each entry with up to a page of particulars. Occasionally he nodded thoughtfully; at length he looked up at the Klestronu envoy.

  "This Lady Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera—why is she on the list? There was no debrief on her, and nothing significant on this." He flicked the sheaf of papers he held. "Except that she's the colonel's wife."

  "She was not on the expedition, Your Reverence. That's why there is no debrief."

  The Kalif frowned. "I have no objection to her accompanying her husband to Varatos, but unless she has information that may be useful, she shouldn't be on this list. Does she? Have such information?"

  "Your Reverence, Lady Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera has become the friend and confidant of the Confederation prisoner. The sultan thought it possible that she might have gained some insights from their conversations."

  The Kalif frowned and flicked the brief again. "It doesn't say that here. Why not?"

  "Your Reverence, I do not know."

  "Hmh!" He held the envoy's eyes for a moment, and it seemed to him the man did know, or at least suspected. He wouldn't press him about it, though, not now anyway. Perhaps after he'd questioned the informants. He recalled there being an Archprelate Reenoveseekti on Klestron, and a Great Noble named Thoglakaveera, both politically prominent, though he knew next to nothing about either man. Including their relationships, if any, to the colonel and his wife; it seemed likely there were some. Perhaps the sultan's reasons had to do with Klestronu politics.

  The Kalif's attention returned to the list of witnesses the sultan had sent him—four men and the female prisoner. Plus the Klestronu noblewoman. The men had been debriefed on the expedition, and the debriefs sent ahead by pod. He'd reviewed them in detail. He'd also reviewed what SUMBAA had made of those debriefs, as well as the relevant content of the flagship's DAAS, so he didn't really expect to get many new facts from these people. But there was the matter of reading their emotions, their feelings about the Confederation, its people and its soldiers. Chodrisei Biilathkamoro had long been able to read what moved behind a person's eyes, if not specifically, at least the presence of something. It had been part of his operating kit from his early teens as a "dog," a first-year cadet at the Binoon Academy. It was also a skill one wouldn't find in an artificial intelligence, he was sure. Not even in a SUMBAA.

  His eyes returned to the envoy. "I take it your charges are comfortably installed in our guesthouse?"

  "Yes, Your Reverence."

  "And they were segregated on the trip from Klestron, as I instructed?"

  "They were, Your Reverence, and they were left unbriefed, also as you instructed. In fact, the sultan sent them over in stasis chambers. Thus they've had no opportunity to discuss matters with each other, except possibly before you called for them. Your steward has sequestered them in separate suites, where they receive no visitors except servants; they do not even see each other."

  "Even the colonel and his lady are segregated?"

  The envoy's eyes told the Kalif that something was indeed wrong there. "That is correct, Your Reverence."

  "Hmm. I suppose I'd better start then. Our guests will hardly be enjoying their enforced solitude."

  "Presumably not, Your Reverence."

  The Kalif pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'll see Lord Tarimenloku this afternoon. At one P.M. Lord Saadhrambacoora can be next, and after him—After him, Commander Ralankoor. Probably the others will have to wait till tomorrow or later."

  He looked at his nuncio then. "Meanwhile, Alb Taamos, I would speak with you privately."

  * * *

  Before the Kalif retired that night, he'd questioned not only Tarimenloku, Saadhrambacoora, and Lieutenant Commander Ralankoor, but also Colonel Thoglakaveera. Saadhrambacoora—until recently General Saadhrambacoora—had nothing new to say. He was a husk, his dignity broken by the enemy and the pieces stripped away by a court martial. That the enemy had broken him, and the way they'd broken him, was informative in itself. They were a hard people in the Confederation; hard and clever, and seemingly perceptive.

  Tarimenloku, who'd been a brevet admiral and the expedition's commodore, had not come away much better. He'd said frankly that he'd expected execution on his return. And if Gorsu Areknosaamos were still Kalif, the ex-admiral's expectations would no doubt have been realized. Quite possibly at home by Sultan Rashti, who'd have needed to cover his own buttocks. Other-wise by Gorsu himself, who'd no doubt have made it more painful.

  Each was ruined, naturally: discharged as unfit, and stripped of his honors, living on as an embarrassment and reproach to his family.

  Commander Ralankoor had been more fortunate, though it had been his action that had cost the female prisoner her memory, and the empire her information. Instead of a court martial, he'd undergone a simple board of review, which had failed to agree on a recommendation. Rashti had not even reprimanded him, at least not in writing. Probably in part because the man was gentry, not noble, and the sultan had been pushing gentry into positions of rank. And in part because the fiasco with the prisoner had been recorded on audio cube, with the commodore himself ordering the crucial act. With that order, the commodore had bypassed Ralankoor's proper authority, and as it was not a combat situation, Ralankoor could have queried it on the spot without prejudice. Or rather, without formal prejudice. He'd declined to take the risk, as would most officers.

  Commander Ralankoor had proven more interesting than the two ex-senior officers. An earnest, rather angular man, Ralankoor had been the flagship's chief intelligence officer. During the months that Klestronu marines had occupied the small inhabited region of the minor Confederation trade world, Commander Ralankoor had held half a dozen civilian officials prisoner on the ship, interrogating them under instrumentation. His questioning, exhaustive and quite skilled, had provided most of their information on the Confederation. Information that was abundant and in part even precise, where it regarded Confederation government, society, and economics, but disappointingly general and in part inconsistent on military strength and weaponry.

  As part of his later inte
rrogations, Ralankoor had read to the captive officials a description of weapons and tactics used by Confederation forces on the planet. Read it to each of them separately while they were under instrumentation. Most had registered mild surprise. He'd then read to them descriptions of the fighting qualities of those forces, and they'd been uniformly impressed; two had even registered as skeptical on the instruments. From this it had been reasonably assumed that the captives' knowledge of Confederation military strength was even poorer than their earlier vagueness had suggested.

  It was the skepticism of two Terfreyan officials that sparked the Kalif's interest. And under his questioning, the commander said something that had not been noted before: The officials' responses could very well be taken as evidence that the troops and weapons faced by the marines on Terfreya were markedly better than the Confederation norm.

  The previous evaluation of the Confederation's strength had been that while their military technology might be generally inferior, their fighting qualities were superb. When in fact, there was reason to suspect that their fighting qualities overall might be distinctly poorer than those observed on Terfreya.

  Admittedly that was speculation, but it was logical and informed speculation. And to the Kalif, it smelled like the truth.

  As for Colonel Thoglakaveera—The nuncio had told the Kalif what the Klestronu envoy had avoided talking about: The colonel had apparently made the female prisoner his mistress, after getting her released from the detention section of the Ministry of Armed Forces. His family's prominence had provided the necessary leverage.

  Keeping a mistress was not terribly prejudicial; on some worlds, Klestron one of them, the practice was said to be widespread and increasing, a symptom of social decay. As families of gentry and the lesser nobility fell on hard times, ambitious daughters were tempted to accommodate predatory males who had abundant money.