"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 body 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."