Jilsomo wished the general was staying as Chief of Staff, instead of faring out as commander of the armada's ground forces.
"What do you think of the books we gave them to practice their reading in?" the Kalif asked.
"I'm not familiar with them. As I recall, you had them prepared under the direction of that young pastor, Father Sukhanthu."
The Kalif nodded. "They consist of The Book, in a translation slightly simplified from the usual; and simple descriptions of history and government, emphasizing causes and effects. Not the sort of thing the Land Rights Party would want peasants studying. Might give them ideas."
Except for The Book, the books were slim, and even The Book was not very long. Most of the peasants had begun illiterate, and had only a limited knowledge of Imperial. On the other hand, even on Maolaari, peasant jabber was little more than a crude dialect of Imperial; learning Imperial was not difficult for them. Also, Imperial orthography was quite closely phonetic: If you could speak it, learning to read and write involved little more than learning the alphabet. And many of the peasant recruits had shown an unexpected interest in learning.
Jilsomo could see there the roots of reform. Or of trouble. "Who could I talk to about problems and results?" he asked.
"Father Sukhanthu will accompany the fleet, but Elder Dosu and others followed the work quite closely."
The Kalif fell silent then, as if through with that subject. But clearly he wasn't finished talking, so Jilsomo waited.
"There's something I need to tell you," he began after a minute. "Something I've kept from you. About the invasion expedition. It isn't quite what I've represented it to be."
The statement was a surprise and it wasn't. What else could it be, that armada of warships and transports? Yet this might explain the Kalif's uncharacteristic moods of reticence, his periods of uncharacteristic preoccupation.
"I intend that there be no conquest," he went on, "no fighting, no destruction and killing. I go prepared for all of that, but I intend to avoid it."
The Kalif's black eyes held Jilsomo's. "After the destruction of the palace, I looked differently at military attacks. Picture the attack on the Sreegana and then expand it over a city, a planet."
Jilsomo had. He'd always felt unhappy with the idea. But there was the threat, the prospect of the Confederacy invading the empire. That had seemed quite real to him. So he'd accepted.
"We will go," the Kalif continued. "And the fleet will lie in hyperspace adjacent to their central system, while I go in with a single ship and parley, making no threat. A scout will enter real space with me, and lie out-system, ready to generate hyperspace and inform the fleet if anything happens to me.
"They are seventy worlds-member worlds and client worlds. Over a volume of space much larger than the empire; no doubt as large a volume as they can administer.
"What lies beyond it? Surely they've explored. Are there inhabitable worlds unpeopled?
"It seems to me there must be. If there are, we will go there and lay claim to them. Set garrisons on them.
"If there are none, we'll dicker for rights to some of their client worlds. In either case, when we've established ourselves on such worlds, we'll send off message pods to you.
"Perhaps there are no unpeopled worlds in the space around them, and perhaps they will not bargain. Perhaps they'll prove hostile, or treacherous. Perhaps we'll fight them after all. But in Kargh's name, I'll make every reasonable effort not to."
He compressed his lips. "In the hospital, those first days, I thought of not sending a fleet, an army. I thought of sending a ship of missionaries instead, to give them the gift of The Prophet. But I could not dismiss the threat they pose. And the generals, the admirals, the colonels, would not have permitted it. Many of the nobles wouldn't have. The House would have, and most of the Greater Nobles with all their wealth. But there are the lesser nobles, and all who dream of their own landholdings. Which includes many or most of the officer corps."
The Kalif spread his hands. "Earlier, under the pressure of circumstance, I promoted recklessly, shortsightedly, and lost important options. Now I have to do what I can to make it come out-in a way The Prophet would approve."
He shrugged. "On our new worlds, the peasants will be our citizens, the pastors their teachers. Somehow I must prevent a stratification into masters and serfs there, I'm not sure how. The pastors will have to be my allies in this, if I'm to have any."
He chuckled wryly. "I'll have three years to work it out. The kalifa and little Rami and I, and my guard company of course, will not travel in stasis.
"I've told no one what I plan, except the kalifa and now you. I mistrust how the military might take it, even after we've left. But it seemed necessary, desirable at least, that you know. Tomorrow, when you are Kalif, you can do with the information as you will. Perhaps you'll decide to tell Elder Dosu; I probably would if our roles were reversed, yours and mine."
They'd neglected their drinks. Now they turned a part of their attention to them, saying almost nothing. The Kalif absorbed the garden around him. Its reestablished flowerbeds, shrubs and hedges, trees and groves, had burgeoned in the tropical climate, were becoming well-grown. He'd miss it. So would the kalifa; she'd told him so. The Sreegana had become home to her.
When they arrived in the Confederation, would she begin to remember an earlier home?
A guardsman arrived, saluted. "Your Reverence," he said, "the shuttle is ready."
The Kalif looked up at the man, and it seemed to Jilsomo that his glance was bleak. "Well then." He got to his feet with unaccustomed heaviness. Turning to the exarch, he put out his hand. "You've been my good friend, Jilsomo. I'll miss you." He looked around then as if suddenly remembering a thousand things unsaid, a hundred things undone. A million things he'd like to see one more time.
"You'll remember to give the envelopes to Thoga and Tariil? And Dosu?"
"Depend on it, Your Reverence."
"Well then…" Again he extended his hard, drill-callused hand to Jilsomo, and again they shook. When their hands disengaged, the Kalif's shoulders straightened. "All right, Corporal, let's go."
Jilsomo followed along. The Kalif's heaviness had dropped from him; his straight back, his stride, his whole demeanor now bespoke strength and certainty. As if any falling away into regret or self-doubt could never be more than brief, could be dismissed at will. The kalifa stood waiting beside the ramp, still lovely, always lovely except on that one terrible day. She held little Rami, who could be remarkably patient and still for a child so young and normally so active.
The boy reached out little arms toward his father, who took him laughing, and the three walked up the ramp together into the shuttle.
Colonel Krinalovasa, the Guard commander, stood beside Jilsomo. Together they watched the ramp telescope and disappear, the hullmetal door slide shut, the craft lift easily, accelerate and move rapidly out of sight.
"I'm going to miss him, Your Reverence," the colonel said.
Your Reverence. It was a day premature, of course. He was only acting Kalif, wouldn't be crowned till tomorrow evening. Then he would be "Your Reverence. " Jilsomo felt of the title. It felt… Felt as if it would fit. He'd get used to it, and it would fit.
"I'll miss him, too, Colonel," he said. "He was, is my friend."