In accordance with protocol for receiving a sultan's envoy on business, the Kalif sat crownless in his receiving chamber, wearing a formal robe, and on his head, the simple pillbox cap of an exarch. The robe, however, was carmine instead of exarch-white. Across his desk sat the envoy from Sultan Rashti, along with the Klestronu Ambassador to the Court of the Kalif. The Kalif's nuncio to the sultan's court had arrived with them, and sat a bit apart.
Like the Kalif, Alb Jilsomo Savbatso sat facing the three diplomats, but well to one side, silent, easy to forget despite his bulk.
The Kalif was looking at a brief, a list of persons, each entry with up to a page of particulars. Occasionally he nodded thoughtfully; at length he looked up at the Klestronu envoy.
"This Lady Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera—why is she on the list? There was no debrief on her, and nothing significant on this." He flicked the sheaf of papers he held. "Except that she's the colonel's wife."
"She was not on the expedition, Your Reverence. That's why there is no debrief."
The Kalif frowned. "I have no objection to her accompanying her husband to Varatos, but unless she has information that may be useful, she shouldn't be on this list. Does she? Have such information?"
"Your Reverence, Lady Reenoveseekti-Thoglakaveera has become the friend and confidant of the Confederation prisoner. The sultan thought it possible that she might have gained some insights from their conversations."
The Kalif frowned and flicked the brief again. "It doesn't say that here. Why not?"
"Your Reverence, I do not know."
"Hmh!" He held the envoy's eyes for a moment, and it seemed to him the man did know, or at least suspected. He wouldn't press him about it, though, not now anyway. Perhaps after he'd questioned the informants. He recalled there being an Archprelate Reenoveseekti on Klestron, and a Great Noble named Thoglakaveera, both politically prominent, though he knew next to nothing about either man. Including their relationships, if any, to the colonel and his wife; it seemed likely there were some. Perhaps the sultan's reasons had to do with Klestronu politics.
The Kalif's attention returned to the list of witnesses the sultan had sent him—four men and the female prisoner. Plus the Klestronu noblewoman. The men had been debriefed on the expedition, and the debriefs sent ahead by pod. He'd reviewed them in detail. He'd also reviewed what SUMBAA had made of those debriefs, as well as the relevant content of the flagship's DAAS, so he didn't really expect to get many new facts from these people. But there was the matter of reading their emotions, their feelings about the Confederation, its people and its soldiers. Chodrisei Biilathkamoro had long been able to read what moved behind a person's eyes, if not specifically, at least the presence of something. It had been part of his operating kit from his early teens as a "dog," a first-year cadet at the Binoon Academy. It was also a skill one wouldn't find in an artificial intelligence, he was sure. Not even in a SUMBAA.
His eyes returned to the envoy. "I take it your charges are comfortably installed in our guesthouse?"
"Yes, Your Reverence."
"And they were segregated on the trip from Klestron, as I instructed?"
"They were, Your Reverence, and they were left unbriefed, also as you instructed. In fact, the sultan sent them over in stasis chambers. Thus they've had no opportunity to discuss matters with each other, except possibly before you called for them. Your steward has sequestered them in separate suites, where they receive no visitors except servants; they do not even see each other."
"Even the colonel and his lady are segregated?"
The envoy's eyes told the Kalif that something was indeed wrong there. "That is correct, Your Reverence."
"Hmm. I suppose I'd better start then. Our guests will hardly be enjoying their enforced solitude."
"Presumably not, Your Reverence."
The Kalif pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'll see Lord Tarimenloku this afternoon. At one P.M. Lord Saadhrambacoora can be next, and after him—After him, Commander Ralankoor. Probably the others will have to wait till tomorrow or later."
He looked at his nuncio then. "Meanwhile, Alb Taamos, I would speak with you privately."
Before the Kalif retired that night, he'd questioned not only Tarimenloku, Saadhrambacoora, and Lieutenant Commander Ralankoor, but also Colonel Thoglakaveera. Saadhrambacoora—until recently General Saadhrambacoora—had nothing new to say. He was a husk, his dignity broken by the enemy and the pieces stripped away by a court martial. That the enemy had broken him, and the way they'd broken him, was informative in itself. They were a hard people in the Confederation; hard and clever, and seemingly perceptive.
Tarimenloku, who'd been a brevet admiral and the expedition's commodore, had not come away much better. He'd said frankly that he'd expected execution on his return. And if Gorsu Areknosaamos were still Kalif, the ex-admiral's expectations would no doubt have been realized. Quite possibly at home by Sultan Rashti, who'd have needed to cover his own buttocks. Other-wise by Gorsu himself, who'd no doubt have made it more painful.
Each was ruined, naturally: discharged as unfit, and stripped of his honors, living on as an embarrassment and reproach to his family.
Commander Ralankoor had been more fortunate, though it had been his action that had cost the female prisoner her memory, and the empire her information. Instead of a court martial, he'd undergone a simple board of review, which had failed to agree on a recommendation. Rashti had not even reprimanded him, at least not in writing. Probably in part because the man was gentry, not noble, and the sultan had been pushing gentry into positions of rank. And in part because the fiasco with the prisoner had been recorded on audio cube, with the commodore himself ordering the crucial act. With that order, the commodore had bypassed Ralankoor's proper authority, and as it was not a combat situation, Ralankoor could have queried it on the spot without prejudice. Or rather, without formal prejudice. He'd declined to take the risk, as would most officers.
Commander Ralankoor had proven more interesting than the two ex-senior officers. An earnest, rather angular man, Ralankoor had been the flagship's chief intelligence officer. During the months that Klestronu marines had occupied the small inhabited region of the minor Confederation trade world, Commander Ralankoor had held half a dozen civilian officials prisoner on the ship, interrogating them under instrumentation. His questioning, exhaustive and quite skilled, had provided most of their information on the Confederation. Information that was abundant and in part even precise, where it regarded Confederation government, society, and economics, but disappointingly general and in part inconsistent on military strength and weaponry.
As part of his later interrogations, Ralankoor had read to the captive officials a description of weapons and tactics used by Confederation forces on the planet. Read it to each of them separately while they were under instrumentation. Most had registered mild surprise. He'd then read to them descriptions of the fighting qualities of those forces, and they'd been uniformly impressed; two had even registered as skeptical on the instruments. From this it had been reasonably assumed that the captives' knowledge of Confederation military strength was even poorer than their earlier vagueness had suggested.
It was the skepticism of two Terfreyan officials that sparked the Kalif's interest. And under his questioning, the commander said something that had not been noted before: The officials' responses could very well be taken as evidence that the troops and weapons faced by the marines on Terfreya were markedly better than the Confederation norm.
The previous evaluation of the Confederation's strength had been that while their military technology might be generally inferior, their fighting qualities were superb. When in fact, there was reason to suspect that their fighting qualities overall might be distinctly poorer than those observed on Terfreya.
Admittedly that was speculation, but it was logical and informed speculation. And to the Kalif, it smelled like the truth.
As for Colonel Thoglakaveera—The nuncio had told the Kalif what the Klestronu envoy had avoided talking about: The colonel had apparently made the female prisoner his mistress, after getting her released from the detention section of the Ministry of Armed Forces. His family's prominence had provided the necessary leverage.
Keeping a mistress was not terribly prejudicial; on some worlds, Klestron one of them, the practice was said to be widespread and increasing, a symptom of social decay. As families of gentry and the lesser nobility fell on hard times, ambitious daughters were tempted to accommodate predatory males who had abundant money.
And the colonel at least had the excuse that the prisoner was uncommonly beautiful. But to take a mistress within days after one's wedding? And to the daughter of an archprelate! Especially the archprelate who was the likely successor to an elderly sultan. The colonel obviously lacked good judgment.
The story had it that his brashness had offended people in the Ministry. And apparently one of them, probably someone in intelligence, had located his love-nest and gotten the story to the colonel's bride. Who then had stormed off in hopes of catching him with his paramour. But all she found was the alien mistress, and somehow—one could wish to have overheard the conversation—somehow the two had become friends! With the mistress then becoming the archprelate's house-guest!
The Kalif was seldom surprised at the things people did, but he'd been astonished and somehow amused at this one.
Prior to his sexual fiasco, the colonel had seemed likely to do very well indeed. For sound political reasons; his father was Leader of the House of Nobles on Klestron. And with the rationale that the young officer's performance on the expedition had been very creditable, Rashti had promoted him two ranks, from major to brevet colonel, and appointed him Vice Minister of Armed Forces.
With a surge of ambition, the handsome, dashing young vice minister had then come up with a brilliant plan: In addition to being the son of the Leader of the House of Nobles, he would become the son-in-law of the Archprelate of Khaloom, who was secretary of the Synod of Archprelates and second only to the sultan himself in the Klestronu Prelacy! The young colonel would then be in with both of the major power factions on Klestron.
So he'd paid court to the archprelate's youngest daughter and swept her off her feet.
The rest, of course, was comic opera, and the colonel's future was past. Thus said the nuncio. But if Sultan Rashti had seen humor in it, it hadn't been apparent; rumor had it that he'd used language unbecoming a prelate. In an attempt to satisfy the Archprelate of Khaloom without unduly antagonizing the Leader of the House of Nobles, Rashti had discontinued the post of vice minister, at the same time naming the young colonel his special military attache on Varatos. The post was without precedent or need. Formally it could be looked at as a horizontal transfer, but in this case it was a rebuff, and it would get the colonel off Klestron.
His off-world posting would also give his bride grounds for a legal separation, something hard to come by. When their interrogation by the Kalif was finished, the colonel would have to stay on Varatos as a highly paid ornament in the Klestronu embassy, or resign the position, no doubt the best he'd ever be offered. While presumably his wife would return to Klestron, there to petition the sultan for separation. Which undoubtedly he would grant.
In interviewing the colonel, the Kalif had brought up none of this, and the colonel, he was sure, didn't suspect that he knew. Thoglakaveera had been the brigade's intelligence chief on the alien world, and been part of the fighting when Confederation troops had assaulted the headquarters base there. The Kalif had restricted his questions to what the colonel might have learned about the people they'd fought. The answers reflected reasonable military competence, but to the Kalif's ears they had too much "me" and "I," emphasizing the colonel as the man who, at the end, had kept things from coming apart.
Of course, the ex-admiral's report had already given him credit for that, as had the ex-general's debrief; Colonel Thoglakaveera had in fact taken over a leaderless brigade and pulled it together. So he seemed not a liar, but simply an ambitious self puffer.
One thing the Kalif found particularly interesting: The ex-general, and to a lesser degree the ex-commodore, clearly communicated a sense of the Confederation cadets and soldiers as being preternaturally clever; almost diabolical. The colonel, on the other hand, considered them simply skilled, tough, and unorthodox.
The colonel hadn't mentioned the prisoner, and the Kalif hadn't brought the subject up. He looked forward to questioning her, though, the next morning. He envisioned her as a cunning and manipulative survivor.
As usual, the Kalif rose early to drill at swords with a seasoned guard sergeant of outstanding skill. Forty minutes of that and it was time for a brief massage, a bath, and breakfast. Now, in informal red cape over white hose and blouse, he sat in his receiving chamber.
There were three ways of questioning people. Four, if one counted the tortures his predecessor had occasionally used. If deceit or other difficulties were anticipated, there was interrogation with painless instrumentation that monitored physiological reactions; these indicated well-defined psychological responses, and guided the interrogator's further questions. Or one could simply take a stern judicial attitude, sitting in a severe hearing room flanked by grim-faced guards; that worked marvelously with some, and was quick.
In most cases, the Kalif preferred a friendly approach. Not letting them forget that he was the Kalif, of course, but the Kalif as spiritual father, putting them at trust if possible. That's how he'd questioned yesterday's informants; it was how he would question the female prisoner from the Confederation. Her amnesia had been accounted genuine by Klestronu Intelligence and by SUMBAA, and it was hardly possible she could have fooled them with an act; surely not their instruments. So he didn't expect her to remember more for him than she had for them, but he might gain some insights into the Confederation psyche.
At any rate he was curious. When captured, she'd been in uniform, on the battlefield, and therefore presumably a soldier. Considering how she'd tricked her interrogators aboard ship, and later turned matters around with the colonel's angry bride, she must have been a very clever soldier.
The commset in his chair arm warbled softly, and he spoke to it. "Your Reverence," it replied, "Tain Faronya, the Confederation prisoner, is here with her guard."
He thought for just a moment before answering. "Send her in alone. When I tell you. Her guard will wait with you. When she's in, tell him you'll be monitoring, and that you'll let him know when he's wanted." He turned to his own guard then. "Mondar, station yourself in the rear hall, outside the door. I'll be all right." Watching the guard leave, he found himself touching the pistol beneath his left arm, concealed there by his cape, reminding himself that she was a soldier, even if unarmed. The guard, he noted, left the door ajar. Jilsomo was still there, in a rear corner of the room, as on the day before; she might never notice him until she turned to leave. The Kalif spoke to his commset again. "Send her in," he said.
The prisoner entered, and even forewarned, he was surprised at her beauty. For just a moment it jarred him out of his normal self-possession. He gathered his wits and spoke. "Well, Tain, I've looked forward to talking with you." He gestured at a comfortable chair facing his from six feet away. '"Be seated, if you please."
She lowered herself with unconscious grace. She wore pantaloons gathered at the ankles, and a loose blouse, both light blue, in what was probably the latest Klestronu style. Both were clearly expensive, purchased for her by the colonel, he thought. Or no, more likely by the colonel's rebellious bride. The colonel would have bought clothing more revealing of her form. Which the Kalif suspected was excellent despite her height.
She was as tall as he, her limbs long, her chest not flat. Her hands were large and strong-looking, but feminine nonetheless. Her eyebrows were slender by any standards the Kalif knew, yet seemed unplucked. Her hair was the color of palest honey, and her eyes—a violet blue! All in all the most strikingly aesthetic combination he'd ever seen, and suddenly he could understand the young colonel's reckless decision.
He was certain of one thing at once: She had not been a soldier, regardless of uniform, regardless of having been captured on the battlefield. He'd been around marines and soldiers all his life, and while none of them had been female, he had no doubt at all what a female soldier would be like. That was not the conclusive point, though, neither that nor her having been in uniform. Beyond either of those, a woman this lovely would not have been a soldier. She'd have been taken to wife by some great noble, and cared for, cherished.
But finally and conclusively, behind those eyes there dwelt no soldier. That was the surest evidence. Not even a captain's yeoman aboard some man-of-war. Nor a schemer; that surprised the Kalif as much as her beauty. Behind those eyes was an innocent child.
"I've heard a lot about you," he said, and she answered nothing. Of course, he thought. She knew nothing to say. "I'm told you've lost your memory," he went on.
"Yes, sir."
"How do you like what you've seen of this world?"
"I've seen very little of it, sir. But what I've seen is beautiful—the buildings, the gardens..."
His gaze had caught an unspoken addition behind the violet eyes. "The buildings and gardens," he said. "And what else? You almost said something else."
She looked down at her hands on her lap. "Your cape, sir. It is beautiful, too."
Despite all logic, her comment pleased him. "Ah! Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I wear it by virtue of my office; I'm the Kalif, you know."
"A man told me that, the man who brought me here. He said he was taking me to see the Kalif."
He smiled. "And what did you think the Kalif would be like?"
She blushed slightly. "Sir, I had no idea. Someone important, I supposed, like the sultan."
He'd known that an effort had been made to keep her ignorant of things here, but still her answer surprised him. "When DAAS taught you to speak our language," he said, "did you learn the word emperor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Kalif is another word for emperor. Long ago, the eleven worlds were ruled by an emperor. Then the throne was given to the Kalif, and Kalif and emperor have been one ever since, but called simply Kalif."
He gazed at her for several seconds before speaking further. "Tain, we want to find your memory for you. We have an artificial intelligence, SUMBAA, who may be able to help. I know you've already spoken with the SUMBAA on Klestron, but perhaps ours here can help where theirs did not."
She nodded, saying nothing.
"Meanwhile, I'll have you taken back to your suite. Perhaps we'll talk again." He spoke to his commset. "Partiil, send in the young lady's guide."
When her guide had led her away, the Kalif looked at his lieutenant, whom she'd seemingly never noticed. "What do you think of her, Jilsomo?"
"Aside from her obvious and remarkable beauty? Your Reverence, I doubt she was a soldier."
The Kalif's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That makes two of us. Peculiar that everyone else assumed she was. I suppose it was her uniform. And she was captured on a battlefield. They didn't look further than that.
"What do you think the odds are that we'll learn anything of value from her?"
"I do not wager, Your Reverence. But if I had to, my bet would be that she wouldn't remember."
"I'd bet that you're right, Jilsomo," the Kalif said. "And that is a pity, for her as well as us."
Later, eating a solitary lunch, the Kalif found Tain Faronya on his mind again. He'd never been a man with much attention on women. As a bachelor marine captain, he'd kept a mistress for a time, a practice tolerated in the military if carried on discreetly by a bachelor. She'd been a very accomplished girl whom he'd enjoyed considerably, and who'd taught him more than a little. But as an ambitious young officer, he'd found her a distraction, besides which, she'd become a bit demanding. Or perhaps demanding wasn't the word; she'd assumed certain things, expected certain things. Nothing unreasonable; he'd recognized that at the time. But after a bit he'd discontinued the relationship, and had felt no need to replace her.
Later he'd had a few liaisons, then had received his appointment to the Prelacy. Since then, somewhat to his surprise, the professional challenges had sufficed.
This Tain Faronya, though—She was so damned lovely! If it were practical... But it wasn't. The man who could least get away with having a mistress was the Kalif. Less, even, than an exarch could. Of course, most exarchs were married; married and well beyond youth. In addition, a Kalif could marry only a virgin, a woman whose reputation was unspotted. Absolutely not some other man's ex-mistress.
A flash of animosity startled a low whistle out of him: for just a moment he'd hated Veeri Thoglakaveera for what he'd done! A sign, he thought, of how irrational a man could be, even himself, when influenced by a woman.
He wondered if he'd regret having seen her. Perhaps for a day or two, he told himself. He'd put someone else—Jilsomo—in charge of her interrogation by SUMBAA, and avoid seeing her again. He'd tell Jilsomo not to bother him with any problems about her, and soon other things would preempt his mind.
This afternoon there'd be Leolani, the colonel's wife, to see and question. Initially, he hadn't intended to see her; there'd seemed no point to it. What could she have learned from the female prisoner through casual conversation that SUMBAA and instrumented interrogation had not? But before lunch he'd decided he might as well. It could do no harm, and after all, Rashti had thought it worthwhile to send her. He'd see how it went; perhaps he'd be surprised.
The female prisoner was on Jilsomo Savbatso's mind at lunch, too, a lunch considerably larger and more epicurean than the Kalif's soldierly meal. She's like one of Yogandharaya's angels, he told himself. It's almost as if he'd used her for a model.
The exarch seldom thought about women. For one thing, he found strong satisfactions in his profession and its challenges—his profession and the best foods. Always had. Another reason was that, to the extent he felt sexually attracted to anyone, it was and had always been to men. Notably, these past five years, to Coso Biilathkamoro, first as a junior prelate on staff, later as Kalif.
Conveniently, these attractions had never been strong, and he'd felt no urge to pursue them. Nor at his age and condition did he expect to. Jilsomo had never indicated his predilections to anyone, either as boy or man. And Coso, alert and perceptive as he was, had never suspected, nor ever would. Jilsomo was sure of that.
But the female prisoner... It seemed to him that having seen her, he could understand, a little, what other men felt when they found a woman desirable. And if she made him desire to touch her, see her, perhaps do more...
It made him worry about the Kalif.