“Ah, yes,” Soliman added. “In addition to yourselves and the Imperial Navy observers, you will find one other group on Makassar. His Holiness has sent a bishop and a small group of missionaries to win these people back to the state religion. They are not having notable success.”
Dougal finished his wine and set the glass down. In an instant, Soliman hauled his great stomach off the couch and gathered the other glasses on a copper tray, taking them to the cabinet to fill them. As he did, Dougal observed, “I am sure that Trader MacKinnie will be careful not to fall afoul of His Reverence the Bishop. May we here on Samual expect a similar visit soon?”
“Doubtless,” Renaldi answered. “Of course, you seem to have developed along more orthodox lines than the people of Makassar, although the Church will find the multiplication of sects distressing. Still, you will find New Rome tolerant and willing to compromise. Do you anticipate much resistance to unification of the churches?”
“Not much,” MacKinnie answered. “We had religious wars, over a hundred standard years ago. Not much zeal left on Prince Samual’s World. The orthodox churches have been proclaiming their obedience to New Rome since the Imperial Navy landed, and the others don’t know quite what to make of it all. How much will the Empire interfere with local matters like religion anyway?”
“Oh, hardly at all, hardly at all,” Soliman assured them. He served the wine carefully, and MacKinnie caught a stern look which Soliman passed to Renaldi. The latter quickly changed the subject, and the next half hour was passed discussing trade goods and the proposed cargo. They were interrupted by a knock at the door and, when Renaldi answered it, two Imperial Navy officers entered the room and walked stiffly over to stand in front of MacKinnie. Their manner was anything but friendly.
CHAPTER SIX
REGULATIONS
The contrast between the two officers could not have been greater. One was young, tall, of slight build, his hair an indescribable brown something like damp straw. The other was much older, with lines of care etched around his expressionless eyes, his hair gray where there was hair at all. He was heavy and short, but he had in common with the younger man a look of hardness and dedication; yet, again in contrast to his junior brother in service, there was none of the air of expectancy and anticipation the boy displayed.
“Trader MacKinnie.” The older man said it factually. “I am Captain Greenaugh of His Imperial Majesty’s Navy. I command the garrison here and Tombaugh up there in orbit. This is Midshipman Landry, who will be my observer on this stupid voyage of yours.”
MacKinnie stood and bowed slightly to Captain Greenaugh, even less to Landry, making no move to extend his hand when the others did not.
“Won’t you sit down, Captain?” Soliman asked softly. “Some wine, perhaps? Grua?”
“No. Mr. Landry and I are on duty.”
The midshipman’s face was impassive; or had there been a hint of a smile? It was hard to tell.
“Then please be seated,” Soliman insisted.
“I prefer to stand.” He turned his attention to MacKinnie. “As you are to be the local in charge of this expedition, sir, it is my duty to caution you that any infringement of Imperial regulations on the part of any member of this expedition will result in trial and punishment of both the crew member and you personally. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Captain,” MacKinnie said. He elaborately inspected the large ring on his left hand, then looked up. “I understand perfectly. Tell me why you are so unhappy with me, if you would, please.”
“I am not unhappy with you, sir. It is understandable that you would wish to travel in space. I am unhappy with Mr. Soliman for browbeating me into letting you do it.”
“Browbeating, Captain?” Soliman said in an amused tone. “Why, I merely indicated—”
“You merely indicated the relevant passages in the Imperial regulations and reminded me of your influence. I don’t give a damn about your influence, but I can’t ignore the regulations. However, I warn you, MacKinnie, if Mr. Soliman can be sticky about regulations, so can I. You’ll get a copy of the pertinent sections before you go, but I decided to see you personally to try to talk you out of this venture.”
“If you please, Captain,” Dougal asked, “why are you so opposed to our simple trading expedition? I thought it was Imperial policy to encourage trade among the worlds of the Empire. Your ambassador promises that Prince Samual’s World will profit highly through joining the Empire.”
“Sir—” The captain paused and snapped his fingers.
“Citizen Dougal, sir,” the midshipman answered. “In the service of King David.”
“Citizen Dougal, I have all too few officers on this station. I am responsible for the protection of this world from all interference with its development and assimilation into the Empire. There’s a nest of outies not twenty parsecs away; your King David is in one hell of a hurry to unify this planet against stiff opposition; the survey team keeps borrowing my people; and thanks to this expedition I have to send a junior officer off for the Saints alone know how long. There’ll be reports to file, inspections to conduct. And for what? So Mr. Soliman here can add another mega-crown to his bank account, and you people can bring some kind of gimcrack new luxuries to absorb what little capital there is on Prince Samual’s World. I don’t like it and I don’t have to like it.”
“Sorry you feel that way, Captain,” MacKinnie said. Inwardly he knew all too well the plight of a military man caught up in the details of government. He would have felt sympathy for Greenaugh, but the memory of Lechfeld was too strong. The Imperials were the enemy. “But you have admitted that you understand our motives for wanting to go. I hope we can get our work accomplished without causing you any trouble.”
“You’re damn right you will,” Greenaugh snapped. “But before you make your final decision, let me acquaint you with the regulations. Item: you will be supplied with a basic naval study of the planetary languages found in the chief city of Makassar. You will at no time teach any native your own language or Imperial speech. All negotiations will be conducted in one of the planetary languages. Is that understood?”
MacKinnie nodded, suddenly realizing why all the Imperials he had met spoke a variant of the language of Haven. If you used a man’s own language, you weren’t likely to tell him anything he didn’t know about. He wouldn’t even have the words for most advanced concepts.
“Item: as Imperial subjects,” Greenaugh continued, “you would ordinarily be entitled to protection from barbarians and arbitrary imprisonment. In your case we can’t extend it. The garrison on Makassar is too small and there’s no ship. If you get in trouble, you’re on your own.”
The captain took a small notebook-sized object from his pocket, touched a stud on the side of it and glanced at its face before returning it to his scarlet tunic. MacKinnie recognized it as one of the tiny Imperial computers, supposedly equivalent to hundreds of the best mechanical calculators in use in Haven’s banks; equivalent and more. The Imperials used them for everything, as notebooks and pocket clocks, for communications and diaries.
“Another thing, MacKinnie. Any technical innovation traced to you directly or indirectly can result in a charge of interference. If it results in any severe disruption of the development of that planet, you can get life imprisonment. Assessment of the effects of innovations and your responsibilities for them are up to the Emperor’s Lord Judges.”
“Why are the regulations so severe, Captain?” Dougal asked. “It is our understanding that the Empire intends only peace and friendship for its member worlds.”