considerable support among his own people. Therefore, not only must the
governorship change, but the sector capital.
“Now Dennitza may not be the most populous, wealthy, or up-to-date
human-colonized planet in Tauria. However, it has a noticeable sphere of
influence. And it has strength out of proportion, thanks to
traditionally maintaining its own military, under the original treaty of
annexation. And the Dennitzans always despised Josip. His tribute
assessors and other agents he sent them, through Duke Alfred, developed
a tendency to get killed in brawls, and somehow nobody afterward could
identify the brawlers. When Josip died, and the Policy Board split on
accepting his successor, and suddenly all hell let out for noon, the
Gospodar declared for Hans Molitor. He didn’t actually dispatch troops
to help, but he kept order in his part of space, gave the Merseians no
opening–doubtless the best service he could have rendered.
“Wasn’t he the logical choice to take charge of Tauria? Isn’t he still?”
“In spite of Merseians on his home planet?” Hazeltine challenged.
“Citizens of Merseian descent,” Flandry corrected. “Rather remote
descent, I’ve heard. There are humans who serve the Roidhunate, too, and
not every one has been bought or brainscrubbed; some families have lived
on Merseian worlds for generations.”
“Nevertheless,” Hazeltine said, “the Dennitzan culture isn’t
Terran–isn’t entirely human. Remember how hard the colonists of Avalon
fought to stay in the Domain of Ythri, way back when the Empire waged a
war to adjust that frontier? Why should Dennitzans feel brotherly toward
Terrans?”
“I don’t suppose they do.” Flandry shrugged. “I’ve never visited them
either. But I’ve met other odd human societies, not to speak of
nonhuman. They stay in the Empire because it gives them the Pax and
often a fair amount of commercial benefit, without usually charging too
high a price for the service. From what little I saw and heard in the
way of reports on the Gospodar and his associates, they aren’t such
fools as to imagine they can stay at peace independently. Their history
includes the Troubles, and their ancestors freely joined the Empire when
it appeared.”
“Nowadays Merseia might offer them a better deal.”
“Uh-uh. They’ve been marchmen up against Merseia far too long. Too many
inherited grudges.”
“Such things can change. I’ve known marchmen myself. They take on the
traits of their enemies, and eventually–” Hazeltine leaned across the
table. His voice harshened. “Why are the Dennitzans resisting the
Emperor’s decree?”
“About disbanding their militia?” Flandry sipped. “Yes, I know, the
Gospodar’s representatives here have been appealing, arguing,
logrolling, probably bribing, and certainly making nuisances of
themselves on governmental levels as high as the Policy Board. Meanwhile
he drags his feet. If the Emperor didn’t have more urgent matters on
deck, we might have seen fireworks by now.”
“Nuclear?”
“Oh, no, no. Haven’t we had our fill of civil war? I spoke
metaphorically. And … between us, lad, I can’t blame the Gospodar very
much. True, Hans’ idea is that consolidating all combat services may
prevent a repetition of what we just went through. I can’t say it won’t
help; nor can I say it will. If nothing else, the Dennitzans do nest way
out on a windy limb. They have more faith in their ability to protect
themselves, given Navy support, than in the Navy’s ability to do it
alone. They may well be right. This is too serious a matter–a whole
frontier is involved–too serious for impulsive action: another reason,
I’m sure, why Hans has been patient, has not dismissed the Gospodar as
governor or anything.”
“I believe he’s making a terrible mistake,” Hazeltine said.
“What do you think the Dennitzans have in mind, then?”
“If not a breakaway, and inviting the Merseians in–I’m far from
convinced that that’s unthinkable to them, but I haven’t proof–if not
that, then insurrection … to make the Gospodar Emperor.”
Flandry sat still for a while. The ship murmured, the music sang around
him. Terra waxed in his sight.
Finally, taking forth a fresh cigarette, he asked, “What gives you that
notion? Your latest work didn’t bring you within a hundred parsecs of
Dennitza, did it?”
“No.” Hazeltine’s mouth, which recalled the mouth of Persis, drew into