“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.”
“Because of the negotiations?” she asked.
“Yes. Not that I’ll have plenipotentiary status. However, I will be a ranking Terran representative, and the Imperium will rely heavily on the advice of my staff and myself. After all, this sector will continue to border on the Domain, and will incorporate the new worlds.”
Her look was disconcertingly weighing from eyes that young. “You’ll become quite an important man, won’t you, Your Excellency?” Her tone was, if not chilly, cool.
Saracoglu got busy pinching withered petals off a fuchsia. Beside it a cinnamon bush — Ythrian plant — filled the air with fragrance. “Well, yes,” he said. “I would not be false to you, Donna, including false modesty.”
“The sector expanded and reorganized. You probably getting an elevation in the peerage, maybe a knighthood. At last, pretty likely, called Home and offered a Lord Advisorship.”
“One is permitted to daydream.”
“You promoted this war, Governor.”
Saracoglu ran a palm over his bare scalp. All right, he decided. If she can’t see or doesn’t care that it was on her account I sent Helga and Georgette packing (surely, by now, the gossip about that has reached her, though she’s said no word, given no sign), well, I can probably get them back; or if they won’t, there’s no dearth of others. No doubt this particular daydream of mine is simply man’s eternal silly refusal to admit he’s growing old and fat. I’ve learned what the best condiments are when one must eat disappointment.
But how vivid she is among the flowers.
“I promoted action to end a bad state of affairs before it got worse,” he told her. “The Ythrians are no martyred saints. They advanced their interests every bit as ruthlessly as their resources allowed. Human beings were killed. Donna, my oath is to Terra.”
Still her eyes dwelt on him. “Nevertheless you must have known what this would do for your career,” she said, still quiet.