Ivan was still for a span. “(I do not hate you,)” en admitted. “(I would even like to be your friend.)”
Hand clasped hand.
They let go. “(But you must not disturb us more,)” Ivan begged. “(Leave us to cope with what you have left us. Depart before you raise more discontent, more questions.)”
“(I suppose we always will, wherever we are,)” Nansen wrote on his parleur as stoically as he would have uttered it.
“(Yes, because your race is mad.)”
“(Maybe. And maybe that is why we voyage.)”
The wind blew, the waves ran.
CHAPTER 44
The Thyrian nation was loyal to Jensu and indeed provided the Governance with many of its best constables, but clan ties still counted. Thus it came about that soon after he received his commission, Panthos was posted halfway around Earth to North Meric, where he reported directly to the Executive of that continent, his great-uncle. Given the growing unrest there, opportunities for conspicuously useful service and consequent rapid advancement in rank should be frequent.
“If you survive them,” cautioned the old man. “Rats’ nests of tribes, peoples, classes, religions, godknowswhats, scourings of wars, migrations, revolutions, conversions, history — much too much history, much too little of it ours.”
Straight and trim in his new gray uniform, optionary’s bars newly gleaming on his shoulders, Panthos replied, “They won’t dare rebel, any of them, will they, sir?”
“Not yet. Not in my lifetime, maybe not in yours. They hate each other worse than they hate the Coordinator. But they do riot. If we can’t keep that within bounds, it will stir up notions, and that will not be unwelcome to certain Jensui magnates — Never mind.”
“I see what you mean, sir.”
“I doubt you do, except very vaguely. Well, you’ll learn. Don’t expect any favoritism.”
“I don’t want any!” Panthos exclaimed.
Firix overlooked the breach of military manners, this time, and finished: “I’m far too busy for it. I will try to get you assignments suited to your degree of experience and to developing you as an officer.” His features unbent.
“For your part, you’ll come to dinner this evening. I’ve no end of questions, family, the estates, friends, everything, even the animals and adapts.”
In the course of the next year or so Panthos learned about homesickness. Telepresence was thin rations when you never had the bodily reality. Besides, a man was generally too tired at day’s end to make a call, which would have been at an inconvenient antipodal hour anyway. Or he had to attend some social function or he and his fellow juniors were taking their much-needed relaxation or he was playing with a joygirl or — whatever it was.
He also learned that maintaining the Coordinator’s peace involved more than policing the Solar System.
At first he was stationed safely in Sanusco, meeting few natives other than servants, purveyors, and gentry, Jensuized in greater or lesser degree. Going on patrol through the streets, warrens, and sublevels, he discovered that the inhabitants were not a picturesque, undifferentiated rabble but individuals, who belonged to ancient cultures and held by ancient faiths. This education was interesting, occasionally delightful, now and then dangerous. He acquitted himself well, acquired the basics of two important languages, and was put in command of a platoon. They went widely over the continent as need arose, to assist a garrison in difficulties or to apply their special skills directly.
They went at last to Tenoya.
Firix first gave Panthos an intensive private briefing. “It’s as nasty a hole as you’ll find anywhere,” the Executive said. “Aswarm with fanatics. Arods, you know. Nowadays their priests don’t preach insurgency, but they do tell and retell how their valiant ancestors resisted the Pacification, and it wouldn’t take a very hot spark to detonate the whole region. If this Seladorian business gets out of hand, that could just possibly be it.”
Panthos frowned, searching a memory lately overburdened. “Seladorians? A cult, aren’t they, split off from Arodism, but peaceful?”
The Executive scowled. “Peaceful in theory. In practice, unshakeably determined. And only partly Arodish. They’ve taken notions and practices from a wide range. Their prophet’s father was a Kithman who left his ship to marry an Arodish woman. That made them outcasts in her people’s eyes, and they had to move to Kith Town. She never felt at home there, and after he died young she returned to Arodia with her son. I can imagine the influences on him and in him. It doesn’t help matters a bit that in the end Selador was martyred.