"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 Meksorli 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?