Intelligent non-humans! Every councilman had been shaken by the information. The possibility had never occurred to them when they'd planned the expedition. The Book of The Prophet said that all other creatures than man were created without soul or reason, to serve man and be subject to his mercy.
Only one source said otherwise. And when the realization had struck the sultan, he'd stopped the report until his chills had subsided.
There was, or was said to be, a fifth apocryphum: The Book of Shatim, banned by the first Kalif. Real or not, still existing or not, every schoolboy had heard of it, and knew in a general way what it supposedly said: That Kargh was not the only god. That there was a lesser god, an evil god, Shatim, who'd been driven away when the eight worlds had been punished, for he had been the source of their evil. And with Shatim's help, certain evil men had escaped one of the eight worlds. As part of their pact with Shatim, these evil men had accepted Shatim's ugly spiritual form, just as the rest of mankind had the spiritual form of Kargh.
Every councilman had been sworn to absolute secrecy with regard to the non-humans. Any leak would be tracked down, and the guilty party executed, impaled, along with his immediate family. The reasoning was that if word of the non-humans leaked, people throughout the empire would connect it with the Book of Shatim. And there would be those who would say that Shatim was more powerful than Kargh because his empire was so vast and its ships so strong.
Fortunately, according to the report, the non-humans could be avoided by remaining in hyperspace for a long enough time-something over an imperial year! The sultan had shaken his head in near disbelief at that. How could an empire, any empire, be so large? The problems of communication and control would be enormous.
As he prepared himself for bed that night, Sultan Rashti Yabakaloonga wasn't worrying about the non-humans. Stay in hyperspace, perhaps making occasional abrupt changes in direction, and there'd be nothing the non-humans could do. They probably wouldn't even know what, if anything, was passing through their empire. That's what his science aide had told him.
The important thing was the potential for conquest and colonization. Although clearly, such conquest was not feasible for Klestron by itself, despite superior armaments. It would be an undertaking for the empire.
Of course, the Imperial Diet might not approve the authority and funds for an invasion. His own SUMBAA had declined to recommend or condemn it, on the basis that too little was known about the Confederation's fleet. SUMBAAs lacked boldness. Also, imperial politics could be a snake pit, and there were always those who couldn't see past tomorrow. There was even the possibility that the Kalif wouldn't push, though it seemed to Rashti that this Kalif was almost sure to.
Well, if the Imperial Diet wouldn't do it, perhaps he himself could put together a coalition of the worlds that were interested. Politically it would be both difficult and risky. The military aspects would have to be treated as strictly accessory to the commercial, and even so it might bring imperial intervention.
That was a question for the future though. The sultan told the lights off, than stretched out on his luxurious LG bed with his hands folded lightly on his stomach. Klestron was only eight days from Varatos by hyper-space pod, but he didn't expect much more than an acknowledgment from the Imperium in the near future; it was appropriate that the Kalif do and say little of substance until the flotilla returned. Which would be in slightly less than an imperial year, assuming it had started home a month after sending the pod. That's what his science aide had said.
Meanwhile he'd have to return his attention to more humdrum issues: particularly to the budget, and the food riots in Kwahoolo. That was life for you.
Five
Year of The Prophet 4724
The early-autumn sun was hot, and Sultan Rashti Yabakaloonga wiped moisture from his forehead as he watched the heavy cruiser HRS Blessed Flenyaagor settle onto the landing pad. At his command, the troop transport was still parked 35,000 miles out, beyond the outer radiation zone, with orders to hold the marines in stasis. He wasn't ready to let them land.
The flotilla had emerged from hyperspace well beyond the orbit of Gunweeya, and had taken nearly two days to arrive at Klestron. Its commodore had pulsed his full report to the sultan, and the sultan, after having SUMBAA read it to him, had decided to meet the ship anyway, with the full Synod of Archprelates.
Driven from the Confederation world by force! By an enemy force apparently smaller and more poorly armed! If the opponents of conquest, and there'd be plenty of them, needed help for their cause, that would qualify.
There were traditions in the empire, some of them good, others unfortunate. One was that a commander who lost a war should be executed. Tarimenloku had to be thinking about that; he was traditional to a fault.
The sultan grunted, drawing a surreptitious glance from his aide. In this case there were grounds for calling it an encounter instead of a war, he told himself, or perhaps the first battle of a war not yet won.
A cloud intervened between the sultan and the sun, a welcome intervention, and the sultan's eyes raised to it. A large cloud, happily. Initially, he'd waited for the expedition's return with as much eagerness as a sixty-nine-year-old could muster. That eagerness had thinned when the flotilla had emerged in real space and pulsed its report.
Yet basically the situation didn't seem seriously less favorable than before: The Confederation's fleet was inferior to the empire's, and the war would be won in space by the stronger fleet. The stronger fleet could go to whatever system it wished. And controlling the space around a planet, one could concentrate one's surface forces wherever advantageous.
A movement caught the sultan's eyes; the main gangway opened in the side of the cruiser, and a ramp extruded. Marine guards stepped smartly out onto the ramphead and to its sides, then turned about and saluted. A heavy-set man in an admiral's full-dress uniform stepped out and returned their salute, then, his aide behind him, rode the ramp toward the ground.
Traditional to a fault, the sultan thought watching him. There aren't too many around like you.
Debriefs had taken five days. The sultan himself had debriefed Commodore Igsat Tarimenloku, then had spent four days reviewing other debriefs. What he'd learned was no surprise, no worse than he'd expected.
After that he'd spent an hour questioning the marine general, Saadhrambacoora. The experience had been unsettling. The general had been a hard old officer. He was a veteran of the Ikthvoktos Suppression, and as a young man had led an armored company in the crushing of the Sangjee Uprising-as much fighting experience as probably any Klestronu officer alive. All of it creditable till this.
But his experience on Terfreya had broken him. Outwardly it wasn't conspicuous-he put a good face on-but you could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. Definitely unsettling. The Confederation force there sounded worse than the statistics suggested. Saadhramabacoora made it sound positively- eerie, especially in their assault on the marine headquarters base, the action that had forced the marines to withdraw.
The official report of that assault had been compiled by a Major Kooro Thoglakaveera, the man who'd taken over after the general had been-wounded. Remembering the circumstances of that wound, the sultan winced inwardly. Diabolical!
Taking charge of a chaotic, demoralized scene, Major Thoglakaveera had enforced discipline and carried out the commodore's radioed order for an orderly evacuation. Major Kooro Thoglakaveera. His father was Leader of the Klestronu House of Lords, a sometimes ally, sometimes adversary of the sultan in the Diet.