Flandry patted a hand over the beginnings of a yawn. “Excuse me. I’ve been many hours awake now, and I must confess to having heard that speech before. We play the recordings you send our way, you know.”
Magnusson smiled grimly. “Sorry. I did get carried away, but that’s because of the supreme importance of this.” He squared his blocky shoulders. “Don’t think I’m naive. I do know Merseia from the inside. I’ve been there.”
Flandry lounged back. “As a youngster? The data we have on you suggested you might have paid a couple of visits in the past.”
Magnusson nodded. “Nothing treasonable about that. No conflicts were going on at the time. My birthworld, Kraken, has always traded freely, beyond the Terran sphere as well as within it.”
“Yes, your people are an independent lot, aren’t they? Do go on, please. This is precisely the sort of personal insight I’ve been trying for.”
Magnusson went expressionless. “My father was a space captain who often took cargoes to and from the Roidhunate, sometimes to Merseia itself. That was before the Starkad incident caused relations to deteriorate entirely. Even afterward, he made a few trips, and took me along on a couple of them. I was in my early teens then—impressionable, you’re thinking, and you’re right, but I was also open to everything observation might show me. I got chummy with several young Merseians. No, this didn’t convince me they’re a race of angels. I enlisted, didn’t I? And you know I did my duty. But when that duty involved getting together with Merseians in person, my senses and mind stayed open.”
“It seems a pretty fragile foundation for a consequential political judgment.”
“I studied too, investigated, collected opinions, thought and thought about everything.”
“The Roidhunate is as complex as the Empire, as full of contradictions and paradoxes, if not more so,” Flandry said in a level tone. “The Merseians aren’t the sole species in it, and members of some others have been influential from time to time.”
“True. Same as with us. What of it?”
“Why, we know still less about their xenos than we do about our own. That’s caused us rude surprises in the past. For example, my long-time antagonist Aycharaych. I got the impression you also encountered him.”
Magnusson shook his head. “No. Never.”
“Really? You seem to recognize the name.”
“Oh, yes, rumors get around. I’d be interested to hear whatever you can tell.”
Flandry bit his lip. “The subject’s painful to me.” He dropped his cigarette down an ash-taker and straightened in his chair. “Sir Olaf, this has been a fascinating conversation and I thank you for it, but I am genuinely tired. Could I bid you goodnight? We can take matters up again at your convenience.”
“A moment. Stay,” Magnusson reflected. Decision came. He touched the call unit on his belt. A door slid aside and four marines trod through. They were Irumclagians, tall, slim, hard-skinned, their insectlike faces impassive. “You are under arrest,” Magnusson said crisply.
“I beg your pardon?” Flandry scarcely stirred, and his words came very soft. “This is a parley under truce.”
“It was supposed to be,” Magnusson said. “You’ve violated the terms by attempting espionage. I’m afraid you and your party must be interned.”
“Would you care to explain?”
Magnusson snapped an order to the nonhumans. It was clear that they knew only the rudiments of Anglic. Three took positions beside and behind Flandry’s chair. The fourth stayed at the door, blaster unholstered.
Magnusson rose to stand above the prisoner, legs widespread, fists on hips. He glowered downward. Wrath roughened his voice: “You know full well. I was more than half expecting it, but let you go ahead in hopes you’d prove to be honest. You didn’t.
“For your information, I learned three days ago that the Terran spies specially sent to Merseia were detected and captured. I suspect they went at your instigation, but never mind; you certainly know what they were up to. The leading questions you fed me were part and parcel of the same operation. No wonder you came yourself. Nobody else would’ve had your devil’s skill. If I hadn’t been warned, I’d never have known—till the spies and you had returned home and compared notes. As it is, I now have one more proof that the God looks after His warriors.”