Well, then, why am I worried if Muratori begins to show a trifle more flexibility than hitherto?
“I’m finished,” Desai said. “Won’t you sit down again?”
Aycharaych returned from the bookshelf, holding an Anglic volume of Tagore. “Have you reached a decision, Commissioner?” he asked.
“You know I haven’t.” Desai forced a smile. “The decision was made for me. I am to let you do your research and give you what help is feasible.”
“I doubt if I need bother you much, Commissioner. I am evolved for a thin atmosphere, and accustomed to rough travel. My biochemistry is similar enough to yours that food will be no problem. I have ample funds; and surely the Aenean economy could use some more Imperial credits.”
Aycharaych ruffled his crest, a particularly expressive motion. “But please don’t suppose I wish to thrust myself on you, waving a gubernatorial license like a battle flag,” he continued. “You are the one who knows most and who, besides, must strike on the consequences of any error of mine. That would be a poor way for Jean-Baptiste to enter the larger community, would it not? I intend to be guided by your advice, yes, your preferences. For example, before my first venture, I will be grateful if your staff could plan my route and behavior.”
A thawing passed through Desai. “You make me happy, Honorable. I’m sure we can work well together. See here, if you’d care to join me in an early lunch—and later I can have a few appointments shuffled around—”
It became a memorable afternoon.
But toward evening, alone, Desai once more felt troubled.
He should go home, to a wife and children who saw him far too little. He should stop chain-smoking; his palate was chemically burnt. Why carry a world on his shoulders, twenty long Aenean hours a day? He couldn’t do it, really, for a single minute. No mortal could.
Yet when he had taken oath of office a mortal must try, or know himself a perjurer.
The Frederiksen affair plagued him like a newly made wound. Suddenly he leaned across his desk and punched the retriever. This room made and stored holographs of everything that happened within it.
A screen kindled, throwing light into dusky corners; for Desai had left off the fluoros, and sundown was upon the city. He didn’t enlarge the figures of Peter Jowett and
himself, but he did amplify the audio. Voices boomed. He leaned back to listen.
Jowett, richly dressed, sporting a curled brown beard, was of the Web, a merchant and cosmopolite. However, he was no jackal. He had sincerely, if quietly, opposed the revolt; and now he collaborated with the occupation because he saw the good of his people in their return to the Empire.
He said: “—glad to offer you what ideas and information I’m able, Commissioner. Cut me off if I start tellin’ you what you’ve heard ad nauseam.”
“I hardly think you can,” Desai responded. “I’ve been on Aeneas for two years; your ancestors, seven hundred.”
“Yes, men ranged far in the early days, didn’t they? Spread themselves terribly thin, grew terribly vulnerable— Well. You wanted to consult me about Ivar Frederiksen, right?”
“And anything related.” Desai put a fresh cigarette in his holder.
Jowett lit a cheroot. “I’m not sure what I have to give you. Remember, I belong to class which Landfolk regard with suspicion at best, contempt or hatred at worst. I’ve never been intimate of his family.”
“You’re in Parliament. A pretty important member, too. And Edward Frederiksen is Firstman of Ilion. You must have a fair amount to do with him, including socially; most political work goes on outside of formal conferences or debates. I know you knew Hugh McCormac well—Edward’s brother-in-law, Ivar’s uncle.”
Jowett frowned at the red tip of his cigar before he answered slowly: “Matters are rather worse tangled than that, Commissioner. May I recapitulate elementary facts? I want to set things in perspective, for myself as much as you.”
“Please.”
“As I see it, there are three key facts about Aeneas. One, it began as scientific colony, mainly for purpose of studyin’ natives of Dido—which isn’t suitable environment for human children, you know. That’s origin of University: community of scientists, scholars, and support personnel, around which mystique clusters to this very day. The most ignorant and stupid Aenean stands in some awe of those who are learned. And, of course, University under Empire has become quite distinguished, drawin’ students both human and nonhuman from far around. Aeneans are proud of it. Furthermore, it’s wealthy as well as respected, thus powerful.