Inwardly, he grinned at his own performance. He, fifty-three standard years of age, squat, running to fat, totally bald, little eyes set close to a giant nose, and two expensive mistresses in his palace — acting the role of a boy who acted the role of an homme du monde! Well, he enjoyed that once in a while, as he enjoyed gaudy clothes and jewels. They were a relaxation from the wry realism which had never allowed him to improve his appearance through biosculp.
But at this point she asked, “Are we really going to attack the Ythrians?”
“Heh?” The distress in her tone brought his head swinging sharply around to stare at her. “Why, negotiations are stalled, but—”
“Who stalled them?” She kept her own gaze straight ahead. Her voice had risen a note and the slight Espanyol accent had intensified.
“Who started most of the violent incidents?” he countered. “Ythrians. Not that they’re monsters, understand. But they are predators by nature. And they’ve no strong authority — no proper government at all — to control the impulses of groups. That’s been a major stumbling block in the effort to reach an accommodation.”
“How genuine was the effort — on our side?” she demanded, still refusing to look at him. “How long have you planned to fall on them? My father won’t tell me anything, but it’s obvious, it’s been obvious ever since he moved here — how often are naval and civilian headquarters on the same planet? — it’s obvious something is b-b-being readied.”
“Donna,” Saracoglu said gravely, “when a fleet of spacecraft can turn whole worlds into tombs, one prepares against the worst and one clamps down security regulations.” He paused. “One also discovers it is unwise to let spheres interpenetrate, as Empire and Domain have. I daresay you, young, away off in a relatively isolated system… I daresay you got; an idea the Imperium is provoking war in order to swallow the whole Ythrian Domain. That is not true.”
“What is true?” she replied bitterly.
“That there have been bloody clashes over disputed territories and conflicting interests.”
“Yes. Our traders are losing potential profits.”
“Would that were the only friction. Commercial disputes are always negotiable. Political and military rivalries are harder, For example, which of us shall absorb the Antoranite-Kraokan complex around Beta Centauri? One of us is bound to, and those resources would greatly strengthen Terra. The Ythrians have already gained more power, by bringing Dathyna under them, than we like a potentially hostile race to have.
“Furthermore, by rectifying this messy frontier, we can armor ourselves against a Merseian flank attack.” Saracoglu lifted a hand to forestall her protest. “Indeed, Donna, the Roidhunate is far off and not very big. But it’s growing at an alarming rate, and aggressive acquisitiveness is built into its ideology. The duty of an empire is to provide for the great-grandchildren.”
“Why can’t we simply write a treaty, give a quid pro quo, divide things in a fair and reasonable manner?” Luisa asked.
Saracoglu sighed. “The populations of the planets would object to being treated like inanimate property. No government which took that attitude would long survive.” He gestured aloft. “Furthermore, the universe holds too many unknowns. We have traveled hundreds — in earlier days, thousands — of light-years to especially interesting stars. But what myriads have we bypassed? What may turn up when we do seek them out? No responsible authority, human or Ythrian, will blindly hand over such possibilities to an alien.
“No, Donna, this is no problem capable of neat, final solutions. We just have to do our fumbling best. Which does not include subjugating Ythri. I’m the first to grant Ythri’s right to exist, go its own way, even keep off planet possessions. But this frontier must be stabilized.”
“We — interpenetrate — with others — and have no trouble.”
“Of course. Why should we fight hydrogen breathers, for example? They’re so exotic w can barely communicate with them. The trouble is, the Ythrians are too like us. As an old, old saying goes, two tough, smart races want the same real estate.”
“We can live with them! Humans are doing it. They have for generations.”
“Do you mean Avalon?”
She nodded.
Saracoglu saw a chance to divert the conversation back into easier channels. “Well, there’s an interesting case, certainly,” he smiled. “How much do you know about it?”
“Very little,” she admitted, subdued. “A few mentions here and there, since I came to Esperance. The galaxy’s so huge, this tiny fleck of it we’ve explored…”
“You might get to see Avalon,” he said; “Not far off, ten or twelve light-years. I’d like that myself. The society does appear to be unusual, if not absolutely unique.”
“Don’t you understand? If humans and Ythnans can share a single planet—”
“That’s different. Allow me to give you some background. I’ve never been there either, but I’ve studied material on it since getting this appointment.”
Saracoglu drew breath. “Avalon was discovered five hundred years ago, by the same Grand Survey ship that came on Ythri,” he said. “It was noted as a potential colony, but was so remote from Terra that nobody was interested then; the very name wasn’t bestowed till long afterward. Ythri was forty light-years further, true, but much, more attractive, a rich planet full of people vigorously entering the modern era who had a considerable deal to trade.”
“About three and a half centuries back, a human company made the Ythrians a proposal. The Polesotechnic League wasn’t going to collapse for another fifty years, but already anybody who had a functional brain could read what a cutthroat period lay ahead. These humans, a mixed lot under the leadership of an old trade pioneer, wanted to safeguard the future of their families by settling on out-of-the-way Avalon — under the suzerainty, the protection, of an Ythri, that was not corrupted as Technic civilization was. The Ythrians agreed, and naturally some of them joined the settlement.
“Well, the Troubles, came, and Ythri was not spared. The eventual results were similar — Terra enforced peace by the Empire, Ythri by the Domain. In the meantime, standing together, bearing the brunt of chaos, the Avalonians had been welded into one. Nothing like that applies today.” They had stopped by a vine-covered trellis. He plucked a grape and offered it to her. She shook her head. He ate it himself. The taste held a slight, sweet strangeness; Esperancian soil was not, after all, identical with that of Home. The sun was now gone from sight, shadows welled in the garden, an evening star blossomed.
“I suppose… your plans for ‘rectification’… include bringing Avalon into the Empire,” Luisa said.
“Yes. Consider its position.” Saracoglu shrugged. “Besides, the humans there form a large majority. I rather imagine they’ll be glad to join us, and Ythri won’t mind getting rid of them.”
“Must we fight?”
Saracoglu-smiled. “It’s never too late for peace.” He took her arm. “Shall we go indoors? I expect your father will be here soon. We ought to have the sherry set out for him.”
He’d not spoil the occasion, which was still salvageable, by telling her that weeks had passed since a courier ship brought what he requested: an Imperial rescript declaring war on Ythri, to be made public whenever governor and admiral felt ready to act.
IV
A campaign against Ythri would demand an enormous fleet, gathered from everywhere in the Empire. No such thing had been publicly seen or heard of, though rumors flew. But of course units guarding the border systems had been openly reinforced as the crisis sharpened, and drills and practice maneuvers went on apace.