"Do I have your pledge?"
The eavesdropper couldn't make out the murmured reply.
"Good. I truly dislike requiring these further conditions of you. You are, after all, an officer, and a nobleman of excellent family. But you violated your agreement, and these conditions are less onerous than they might be, as I'm sure you appreciate.
"Do you have any questions or comments?"
There was another inaudible reply.
"Good. Then go with Kargh."
A moment later the Klestronit came out grim-faced, noticing neither that the door had been ajar nor that anyone was in the waiting room. He swept through and out, into the hall and gone.
The young editorial assistant contemplated what he'd heard. Interesting! Very interesting! It seemed that the colonel's principal violation was having an unknown young woman in his company. Perhaps in a vehicle; seemingly a traffic violation had been involved. And what about this would so greatly concern the Kalif? What was their agreement?
When he got back to the office, he was going to query the available data bases, see what he could learn about it and what might he beneath it. It had the smell of profit, not for The Informer, but for himself.
Forty
Major General Arbind Vrislakavaro, commanding officer of the Capital Division, gave his name to the sergeant and sat down. He wondered what the Chief of the Imperial General Staff had called him in for. Ordinarily, communication short of some major conference would have been handled via commset. And ordinarily, any order to come in would have included the purpose. This message had simply referred to "a brief meeting."
He'd been seated for less than a minute when the sergeant spoke again: "General, the general is ready to see you now."
The Chief of Staff got to his feet as the division commander entered. "Good to see you, Chesty," he said, and leaned across his desk to shake hands. "Have a chair." When his guest had sat down, the COS gestured at a gleaming silver pot. "Coffee?"
"Forty drops."
Bavaralaama knew the Vorgan idiom for "fill it up." Taking two tall clear insulglass mugs from a shelf, he drew them full. The coffee looked black as tar, but the aroma was excellent. "If that's more than forty drops," he chuckled, handing a mug to his guest, "just leave what you don't want. The Kalif's new orders haven't left us that short of money."
He sat down then, settled back and took a sip from his own mug. "You're wondering what this is about. First of all, nothing I'll say here is criticism. Certainly not of you. I'll simply be pointing out a situation.
"Officers have opinions. Sometimes strong opinions. And there's nothing wrong with that. Also they like to voice them to their fellow officers. Normally there's nothing wrong with that either, if they're not treasonous or grossly immoral.
"In the officers corps planet-wide-empire-wide, probably-there's a lot of sentiment in favor of the Kalif's proposed invasion of the Confederation of Worlds. Not surprisingly. And this sentiment has reached the ears of politicians, most of whom don't like the idea of invasion, don't like it at all."
He sipped his coffee without taking his eyes from the other man's. "They feel threatened that officers voice partisan feelings in its favor, even privately, let alone strongly partisan feelings. Not your officers specifically, but officers in general. What makes your division a particularly sensitive matter is that it's just forty miles from the Hall of the Estates. You see what I'm getting at?"
"You want me to put a gag order on my officers."
"Exactly. And send it to me so I can show it to the people who complained. I don't like the idea, but it's necessary.
"Now a related matter has come to me from Iron Jaw, up at 1st Corps. You know what he's like-what his family's like, and the kind of officers he surrounds himself with. He doesn't like the talk he's been hearing. Or maybe what he imagines he'd be hearing if his ears were bigger; he banned talk about an invasion early on."
He paused, grunted. "He has a point, though. Given the range of good and poor sense in the military, I'm sure that a few officers have actually said the sort of thing old Iron Jaw reports. He claims some of the talk has crossed the line into sedition: that some officers have said the army ought to take over the government and declare the Kalif dictator, so he can get the invasion launched."
The COS-the chief of staff-had watched for a reaction in the major general; the only one visible was a flash of irritation. "Any observations?" he asked. "Or other comments?"
"Yes. I've heard quite a bit of talk, a lot more than Iron Jaw lets himself hear, but nothing approaching sedition. If I had, even phrased just as 'ought to,' I'd have filed charges for insubordination. Or sedition, depending on how it was put.
"And I'd probably have heard." He paused. "Remember what you wrote, the last time you inspected my division?"
The older man grinned. "That was a 50-page report, not including the 200 pages of appendices. What are you referring to, specifically?"
"That the morale of my men-officers and ranks-and their loyalty to their division commander, was as high as you'd ever seen in any division. Or in any battalion for that matter.
"So. I'm now going to let you in on my secret. Besides the fact that the Capital division is elite, with all enlisted ranks made up of gentry."
The COS interrupted. "There are officers who claim that peasants are more loyal than gentry."
"There are officers who treat their gentry noncoms like peasants. So naturally they're resented. They'd do better to treat peasants like gentry, so far as practical. No, besides having good people-First, I'm a competent commander, and they know it. Second, I like and respect my people, and treat them justly, which they also know. And third-Third, I have informers. Five of them."
The COS's eyebrows arched. Historically it wasn't that rare to place informers in military units, in times of unrest against the government. But in more stable times…? "How do informers contribute to loyalty?" he asked. "Usually it works the other way."
"Not the kind I have. The army's got no halfway effective formal means for people to complain; to give their opinions. So I've given them an informal means; one they don't know about, so they can't fear or misuse it. I've got four particular platoon sergeants, men I especially respect, that let me know about anything of any consequence that's bothering their men. And if there's an injustice or stupidity underlying a complaint, I have it handled. Or at least eased.
"I also have an aide, a major named Tagurt Meksorli. An outstanding officer: intelligent, tough, honest-even about himself-and well liked. Ambitious, but not the kind to lie or backstab or cover up. I'll send you his career summary sometime; it's quite remarkable. He's someone you ought to be aware of.
"Within a month of coming on staff, Meksorli had not only demonstrated excellent efficiency, but finesse in handling men. Despite his origins, he'd become one of the better liked officers in Headquarters Regiment. Then he started holding weekly parties-bull sessions with refreshments-in his quarters. I asked a few careful questions and liked what I heard about them. A couple of months later he rented a house in the Anan Hills, apparently just for his parties. His family is Vartosu Metals, Intrasystem Transit, and Diamond Cruises, among other things. Enormously rich. And his parties got bigger."
The major general looked thoughtful as he talked. "They're parties not everyone would care for. He doesn't put out at lot of fancy food, doesn't put up with drunkenness or other misbehavior, and usually women aren't invited. As I said, mainly they're bull sessions. Sometimes he'll invite an outsider, from the fleet or some foreign embassy, something like that.