“Oh, it was not easy. Originally, Harka was all for waiting to see what you humans did next. You had defeated a Satrap Lord, killed him, but you had not occupied a single planet! What secret did you hold up your two sleeves? So we waited. Waiting is the thing my Empire is best at.
“But among Harka’s advisors was one who knew that you humans would not stop. That if we let you humans consolidate your victory, subdue just one of our Satraps, you would roll like a tsunami over the rest of the Empire. Not now, but soon. Very soon.
“My chooser, Roth’sum’We’sum’Quin of the ancient Chap’sum’We clan, knew he was taking his head in his own hands when he entered the Imperial presence to argue for action when most were all for quiet observation of you strange people.”
Kris was having problems getting her mind around what Ron had just said. “Hold it. Are you telling me that Roth the Peacemaker was in favor of counterattacking us after Gor’zon?”
“You look surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“Have you never been for something before you were against it?”
“Never something that involved the deaths of millions of humans and Iteeche.”
“My chooser has much to make up for. I expect to pay a high price in his name.”
“So he argued to reignite the war and escalate it,” Kris said.
“For eight days the debate went on before the throne. You must understand us, Kris. One can argue before the throne for a day and a day and still hope to keep one’s head. But to refuse to accept harmony for hour after hour, sunset after sunset. The opposition had already chosen the pike for his head by the fourth day. Only the gods of the heaven and stars know why he was allowed to talk on and on and on.”
“This is not a metaphor. You are really talking death here.”
“Are not your politics blood sport? No one becomes an advisor to the Imperial Presence without making out his will.”
Kris glanced down at the casts still on her legs and the crutches that held her up. “We’re not quite as willing to admit the risks involved in public service,” she said dryly.
“The surprise was that my chooser began to win over other advisors. You humans were new, strange, and unpredictable. An Iteeche who has seized a Satrap will pause to send forth heralds, but you did not send forth anything. Your silence shouted defiance.”
“We didn’t know your rules.” Kris said. “Hold it, Ron. You have policies and procedures for when an Iteeche takes over a Satrap. You keep three-quarters of your fleets at home to protect the Satraps. I thought . . . we all think that when your Emperor says jump, you Iteeche only ask ‘how high’ on the way up.”
“We Iteeche have done our best to see that you humans are very ill informed about us. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you had kept us just as ill informed about you.”
“Turnabout is fair play, but none of this helped you and me much.”
“So I begin to think.”
“So, your grampa won the debate, and your fleet counterat tacked us,” Kris said.
“And many died before the slaughter was ended.”
Kris had never talked this honestly with an Iteeche. She suspected no human and Iteeche ever had. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I will tell you no lie. If I have an answer for you, you will have it. If I cannot answer it, I will not.”
“My great-grandmother, Rita Longknife, was an admiral at the battle of the Orange Nebula. She led a battle scout squadron on a sweep around your flank that hit your rear.”
“I know of that part of the battle. They smashed our transports, causing much slaughter and reducing our invasion forces so much that we had to forgo the planned landings on Zon’zon.”
Ron paused. “Your great-grandmother commanded that assault?”
“Yes.”
“What was her relationship to Ray of the Long-Reaching Knife?”
“Wife,” Kris said. “They had spawned three children during the war.”
“Oh gods of the dark depths, this happened and Ray never spoke of this to my chooser?”
“Apparently not. Can you tell me what happened to those ships? They never returned.”
“I am not surprised that they did not,” Ron said slowly.
“They fell upon our weakly armed transports like a feeding frenzy, opening them to space and dumping cohort after cohort to their death. We had to call back several battle squadrons to put an end to the slaughter. Your great-grandmother’s squadron fell back before them. The battle still raged as they went into a jump point at high speed.”
“Were they still rotating their ships as they jumped?” Kris asked.
“I believe so. It was your practice then to spin your ships to spread the effect of our weapons over more of the ice cladding you used. That is a very bad practice. Don’t you know that spinning a ship leads to random results at a jump point? High speed and a spin is an invitation to go somewhere and never return.”
“We know that,” Kris said. “But there was a war on.”
“And so many died.”
“Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll tell my great-grandfather about this. We all suspect that was the story. Now, I guess, I know it is.”
Even at this gentle acceleration, Kris’s body was complaining from way too many places, but no way did she want to end their talk. She made her way over to a sofa, collapsed on it, elevated her cast-enclosed legs, and put the crutches in easy reach.
“So, you know that we’ve got a long, uphill struggle to get humanity behind an effort to help you. Would you mind spelling out for me just exactly what the situation is in the Empire. I’m not sure just how bad it is for you.”
“It is bad. I was told as a youngster that Emperor Harka was the bold, the victorious. In the halls of the palace, out of earshot of his chosen, he is more often called the hasty, the wasteful, and when they do not know I am listening, the poorly advised.”
“That must be very painful for you.”
“My chooser tells me that an advisor has no right to feelings. Feelings are for farmers and poets. Still, I think he feels he failed his emperor and is trying now to make it up to his chosen one, the new emperor, in what he thinks is an even-greater threat.”
That was an interesting thought. “Might this whole crisis be an old man seeking redemption for the blunders of his youth? What do you think?”
“I know that the ships go out, and they do not come back. How many scout ships have you lost recently?”
“I’m not aware of any missing scouts, and I say that as someone who skippers one of them. If we were losing ships, I’d know.”
“We are losing ships,” Ron said with deadly finality. “When I return from this mission, successful or not, I will ask to take out a scout, to make my own effort at defining what we face.”
“I kind of wish you wouldn’t,” Kris said. “You and I have built a bridge between us. There aren’t a lot of bridges between our two people. I’d like to be able to deal with you again. I know I can trust you. I’m not so sure about the next guy.”
“You make me think I might be worth more alive than as a dead datum on a star chart.”
“Think about it,” Kris said. “We need to get back to our people. I propose that we have Nelly tell them they are wanted in the forward lounge. We can get them together again and knock heads if they don’t want to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“That is a strange choice of words. I have run across it several times but don’t know what it means.”
“Let me tell you about my day in court,” Kris said, as Nelly made the calls that would gather what wits they had about them.