Gospodar was too busy during the crisis.
“Well, both Ristich and I know Bodin Miyatovich of old. Such was not his
way. It had to be the doing of his staff. Expecting we’d get a chance at
him somehow, soon–since he was never one to closet himself in an
office–we did not press too hard. We should have. For now he is
captive.”
Kyrwedhin halted. The wind shrilled. Finally Kossara said, tone as
uncertain as words, “I can’t find out what’s really happened to him. Do
you know?”
“Nobody does except the doers,” he answered. “There are–were–Imperial
liaison officers about, and their aides. Bodin had explained publicly
why he, as sector governor, called in chosen craft that serve the
Emperor directly, as well as those of the Voyska. Besides their guns,
should Merseia attack, he wanted to demonstrate our reluctance to break
with Terra.
“Spokesmen for the Zamok–the Castle,” he added to Flandry; “the
executive center and those who work there–spokesmen for the Zamok have
said they aren’t sure either. Apparently a party of Imperials got Bodin
alone, took him prisoner, and spirited him away to a ship of theirs.
Which vessel is not revealed. None have responded to beamed inquiries.”
“They wouldn’t,” Flandry observed.
Kyrwedhin nodded his serrated head. “Naturally not. Imperial personnel
still on the ground deny any knowledge. Thus far we have nothing except
the statement that a high Terran officer contacted Milutin Protich,
informed him Bodin Miyatovich was under arrest for treason, and demanded
Dennitza and its armed forces give immediate total obedience to Admiral
da Costa. He’s the ranking Imperial in the Zorian System at the moment,
therefore can be considered the Emperor’s representative.”
“And who is, m-m, Milutin Protich?”
“A special assistant to the Gospodar. According to the announcement, he
was the first important man in the Zamok whom the Terrans managed to get
in touch with.” Kyrwedhin pondered. “Yes-s-s. He isn’t
Dennitzan-born–from a nearby system where many families from here have
settled. He arrived several years back, entered administrative service,
did brilliantly, rose fast and far. Bodin had much faith in him.”
Flandry drew forth a cigarette. “I take it everybody’s been pretty well
paralyzed throughout today,” he said.
“Aye. We must decide what to do. And we’ve fiendish little information
to go on, half of it contradicting the other half. Were the Imperialists
essentially right to seize our Gospodar, or was this their next step in
subjugating us, or even getting us destroyed? Should we declare
independence–when Merseia lurks in the wings? The Imperials can’t
prevent that; our ships vastly outnumber theirs hereabouts. But if
fighting starts, they could make us pay heavily.”
“You Dennitzans, human and zmay–ychan–you don’t strike me as hesitant
people,” Flandry remarked. “As we say in Anglic, ‘He who dithers is
diddled.’ The newscasts have been forgivably confused. But am I right in
my impression that your parliament–Skupshtina–meets tomorrow?”
“Yes. In the Gospodar’s absence, the Chief Justice will preside.”
“Do you think the vote will go for secession?”
“I had no doubt of it … until I heard from Dama Vymezal and yourself.”
The captains gripped their pipes, knife handles, the edge of the table,
hard. They would have their own words to say later on; but what they
heard in the next few minutes would be their compass.
“If you rise and tell them–” Flandry began.
Kossara cut him off. “No, dear. That’s impossible.”
“What?” He blinked at her.
She spoke carefully, clearly. The stim she had taken made vigor shine
pale through flesh and eyes. “The Skupshtina’s no controlled
inner-Empire congress. It’s about five hundred different proud
individuals, speaking for as many different proud sections of land or
walks of life. It’s often turbulent–fights have happened, yes, a few
killings–and tomorrow it’ll be wild. Do you think our enemy hasn’t
prepared for the climax of his work? I know the Chief Justice; he’s
honest but aged. He can be swayed about whom he recognizes. And if
somebody did get the floor, started telling the whole truth–do you
imagine he’d live to finish?”
“She’s right,” Kyrwedhin said.
Flandry drew on his cigarette till his face creased before he replied,
“Yes, I’d supposed something like that must be the case. Assassination’s