The High Wyvan Trauvay said, “You are bold to enter our home.” His Anglic was fluent, and he employed a vocalizer for total clarity of pronunciation.
Cajal met the unblinking yellow eyes and answered, “You agreed to a parley. I trust your honor.” I put faith in my Supernova and her escort, too. Better remind him. “This war is a sorrow to me. I would hate to blacken any part of your world or take any further lives of your gallant folk.”
“That might not be simple to do, Admiral,” Trauvay said slowly. “We have defenses.”
“Observed. Wyvan, may I employ blunt speech?”
“Yes. Particularly since this is, you understand, not a binding discussion.”
No, but half a billion Ythrians are tuned in, Cajal thought. I wish they weren’t. It’s as if I could feel them.
What kind of government is this? Not exactly democratic — you can’t hang any Terran label on it, not even “government,” really. Might we humans have something to learn here? Everything we try seems to break down at last, and the only answer to that which we ever seem to find is the brute simplicity of Caesar.
Stop, Juan! You’re an officer of the Imperium.
“I thank the Wyvan,” Cajal said, “and request him and his people to believe we will not attack them further unless forced or ordered to do so. At present we have no reason for it. Our objectives have been achieved. We can now make good our rightful claims along the border. Any resistance must be sporadic and, if you will pardon the word, pathetic. A comparatively minor force can blockade Quetlan. Yes, naturally individual ships can steal past now and then. But to all intents and purposes, you will be isolated from your extrasystemic possessions, allies, and associates. Please consider how long the Domain can survive as a political entity under such conditions.
“Please consider, likewise, how your holding out will be an endless expense, an endless irritation to the Imperium. Sooner or later, it will decide to eliminate the nuisance. I do not say this is just, I say merely it is true. I myself would appeal an order to open fire. Were it too draconian, I would resign. But His Majesty has many admirals.”
Stillness murmured around crucified Christ. Finally Trauvay asked, “Do you call for our surrender?”
“For an armistice,” Cajal said.
“On what conditions?”
“A mutual cease-fire, of course… by definition! Captured ships and other military facilities will be retained by Terra, but prisoners will be repatriated on both sides. We will remain in occupation of systems we have entered, and will occupy those worlds claimed by the Imperium which have not already been taken. Local authorities and populaces will submit to the military officers stationed among them. For our part, we pledge respect for law and custom, rights of nonseditious free speech and petition, interim economic assistance, resumption of normal trade as soon as possible, and the freedom of any individual who so desires to sell his property on the open market and leave. Certain units of this fleet will stay near Quetlan and frequently pass through the system on surveillance; but they will not land unless invited, nor interfere with commerce, except that they reserve the right of inspection to verify that no troops or munitions are being sent.”
Waves passed over the feathers. Cajal wished he knew how to read them. The tone stayed flat: “You do demand surrender.”
The man shook his head. “No, sir, I do not, and, in fact that would exceed my orders. The eventual terms of peace are a matter for diplomacy.”
“What hope have we if defeat be admitted beforehand?”
“Much.” Cajal made ready his lungs. “I respectfully suggest you consult your students of human sociodynamics. To put it crudely, you have two influences to exert, one negative, one positive. The negative one is your potentiality of renewing the fight. Recall that most of your industry remains intact in your hands, that you have ships left which are bravely and ably manned, and that your home star is heavily defended and would cost us dearly to reduce.
“Wyvan, people of Ythri, I give you my most solemn assurance the Empire does not want to overrun you. Why should we take on the burden? Worse than the direct expense and danger would be the loss of a high civilization. We desire, we need your friendship. If anything, this war has been fought to remove certain causes of friction. Now let us go on together.
“True, I cannot predict the form of the eventual peace treaty. But I call your attention to numerous public statements by the Imperium. They are quite explicit. And they are quite sincere, for it is obviously to the best interest of the Imperium that its word be kept credible.
“The Domain must yield various territories. But compensations can be agreed on. And, after all, everywhere that your borders do not march with ours, there is waiting for you a whole universe.”
Cajal prayed he was reciting well. His speeches had been composed by specialists, and he had spent hours in rehearsal. But if the experts had misjudged or he had bungled—
O God, let the slaughter end… and forgive me that the back of my mind is fascinated by the technical problem of capturing that planet.
Trauvay sat moveless for minutes before he said, “This shall be considered. Please hold yourself in the vicinity for consultations.” Elsewhere in the strip, a xenologist who had made Ythrians his lifetime work leaped out of his chair, laughing and weeping, to shout, “The war’s over! The war’s over!”
Bells rang through Fleurville, from the cathedral a great bronze striding, from lesser steeples a frolic. Rockets cataracted upward to explode softly against the stars of summer. Crowds roiled in the streets, drunk more on happiness than on any liquor; they blew horns, they shouted, and every woman was kissed by a hundred strange men who suddenly loved her. In daylight, Imperial marines paraded to trumpets and squadrons of aircraft or small spacecraft roared recklessly low. But to the capital of Esperance and Sector Pacis, joy had come by night.
High on a hill, in the conservatory of the gubernatorial palace, Ekrem Saracoglu looked out over the galaxy of the city. He knew why it surged so mightily — the noise reached him as a distant wavebeat — and shone so brilliantly. The pacifist heritage of the colonists was a partial cause; now they could stop hating those brothers who wore the Emperor’s uniform. Although, his mind murmured, I suspect plain animal relief speaks louder. The smell of fear has been on this planet since the first border incidents, thick since war officially began. An Ythrian raid, breaking through our surprised cordons — a sky momentarily incandescent —
“Peace,” Luisa said. “I have trouble believing.”
Saracoglu glanced at the petite shape beside him. Luisa Carmen Cajal y Gomez had not dressed gaily after accepting his invitation to dinner. Her gown was correct as to length and pattern, but plain gray velvet. Apart from a tiny gold cross between the breasts, her jewelry was a few synthetic diamonds in her hair. They glistened among high-piled black tresses like the night suns shining through the transparency overhead, or like the tears that stood on her lashes.
The governor, who had covered his portliness with lace, ruffles, tiger-patterned arcton waistcoat, green iridon culottes, snowy shimmerlyn stockings, and gems wherever he could find a place, ventured to pat her hand. “You are afraid the fighting may resume? No. Impossible. The Ythrians are not insane. By taking our armistice terms, they acknowledged defeat to themselves even more than to us. Your father should be home soon. His work is done.” He sighed, trusting it wasn’t too theatrically. “Mine, of course, will get rougher.”