MacKinnie sat alone on the veranda. The others were off on their various errands, leaving him as the only member of the expedition with nothing to do. He had finished his chickeest, and was wishing mightily for a good cup of coffee when Stark arrived.
“Find any of the Wolves?”
“Yes, sir. We can get our pick of the noncoms. The officers are a little harder to find. But are you sure you want any of the men? Being as how you’re supposed to be dead? They’re good at fighting, but they aren’t so long on keeping that kind of secret. Don’t know how good I’ll be, for that matter.”
“What about those two that Dougal furnished? Any use?”
“MacReedy’s typical, si — uh, Trader. Served a hitch in a trading expedition guard unit on South Continent, another on a sea passage through the west end of the Archipelago. He’ll do. Todd’s another case. Officer cadet, I expect. Seems a good lad, probably make colonel some day, but his speech and manners don’t come from the barracks. Keep him from talking too much and he’ll pass.”
“About what I expected,” MacKinnie said. “No point in complaining. Dougal has his own ideas of how this ought to go, and we won’t be able to change anything until we’re off-planet. Maybe not even then. I’m not completely sure who’s in command.”
“I am,” Stark said.
MacKinnie grinned. “Well, let’s be sure of it.” He thought for a moment. “Hal, get us Dunston and Olby, and pick a couple of available corporals. I have a hunch we may need some steady noncoms, and I’d as soon not have all the fighting men come from Haven. Uh — there’s no need for them to advertise that they’re Wolves.”
Stark grinned knowingly. “Yes, Trader.” The grin faded. “Think we’ll have much fighting?”
MacKinnie shrugged. “I don’t know. Dougal does, or he wouldn’t be sending me. I don’t do a lot else. I’ll find out more when I meet the Imperial Traders Association reps, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir. When do we get rolling?”
“Soon as possible. There’s nothing to wait for. Not enough time for proper training of the troops, and not much idea of what to train them for anyway. There’s one hell of a job waiting for us if we do get back with what we’re after, but that’s Dougal’s problem. His and Solon’s, and the Magnates.” He looked up to see Mary Graham and Academician Longway approaching.
“That was prompt,” he told her. His smile was forced.
Graham gave a thin answering show of teeth and said, “As soon as you approve the cargo list, Trader, I’ll have the goods taken to the Imperial wharf for loading. It’s all in the warehouses. Have you any other instructions?”
“Yes. Get someone who knows how to make body armor and find out what dimensions are needed. I want a full suit of chain mail for each of us, and that includes you, freelady. And have a variety of swords of the best quality obtainable, all types available, brought for our inspection. We’ll want to choose personal weapons. Guard leader Stark will instruct you on how he wants his men equipped.”
“Yes, sir.” She took a notebook from her pouch and wrote with tiny precise motions. “Is that all?”
“No. Join me for lunch.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in the same tone, then turned to follow Stark to his table.
MacKinnie turned to Longway. “Academician, is there any special equipment you will need?”
“I’m afraid not, Trader. There are many items we could use, but they are all technological and forbidden. I would suggest you have breastplates made for yourself and your men. If the Makassarians have developed archery to any extent, you will need them.”
“An excellent suggestion.” MacKinnie lit his pipe. “Of course we don’t expect to fight pitched battles. I hope we’ll only need armor to protect ourselves from thieves and the like. Still, some decent plate might be useful, if it can be made in time. I’ll tell the freelady.”
“As for the rest,” Longway said, “we know so little about Makassar that it is hard to tell what we should take with us. Notebooks and paper, of course. A few drafting instruments for making maps. Some standard reference works would also be useful. Do you think the Navy will allow books? Does Makassar have movable type?”
“No books,” MacKinnie said. “And don’t ask the Navy about them. Take only handwritten material, and don’t ask the Navy about any specific item without my permission.”
Longway nodded thoughtfully. “If you say so, Trader. I still have some of my personal clothing and trading items to assemble. Am I excused?”
MacKinnie nodded dismissal and went to the table where Stark sat with his men. Todd and MacReedy were quietly drinking ale while Stark issued instructions to Mary Graham. She wrote furiously in her book as he spoke.
Hal had a look of concentration and drummed his fingers against the table as he spoke. “I’d like crossbows, freelady. Good spring steel ones. There’s an armory sergeant, Brighton, in the Orleans garrison who knows how to make them — he used to supply them for our special forces teams. Thirty of those, I’d reckon. They ought to have that many in stock somewhere.”
“Crossbows,” Graham said. “And quarrels?”
“Yes. As many as they have.” Stark paused thoughtfully. “For underneath the armor we’ll want suits of woolsh-hide with the hair left on, good thick stuff. If a man’s going to pound on me with a sword, I want some padding under the chain mail. You go order all that, and I’ll have more for you by the time you get back.”
She nodded and left. MacKinnie sat at the table and poured ale for himself. “She seems to get the job done,” he said. “Maybe she’ll be useful.”
“Never had much use for women on campaign, Trader,” Stark said. “But she doesn’t miss much. I’ll make up my mind when I see the gear, but she’s got it all down in that book of hers and seems to know where to find things in a hurry.”
“Why are we in such a hurry, sir?” Todd asked.
“The Imperial Trader ship is leaving soon,” MacKinnie answered. “We have to be on it or wait for another.”
That’s the official reason, MacKinnie thought. But there’s a better one. If those Navy kids start talking about that library again, to the post commandant, or the Traders, or anyone, eventually somebody’s going to connect us and the library. The sooner we get out of here the better.
It’s a fool’s errand, but it’s worth a try, and the quicker we get back the quicker the Magnates can work on that ship. If we can get them anything, and if they can build one at all.
He knew that Dougal had already suggested that some of the University scientists work on life-support technology, using hints from the stolen novel to guide them. Others could investigate hull designs. But first Dougal would have to secure their loyalty; Prince Samual University was located in Haven, but had been independent, its independence guaranteed by treaties, for centuries. Now that Haven had conquered so many neighbors the University’s independence wasn’t likely to last long, but the rector would hardly take direct orders from King David’s secret police …
That would be Dougal’s job.
But none of it would mean a thing until the secrets of the engines and their energy sources were discovered.
And that’s my job, he thought.
Mary Graham returned for her luncheon engagement, her notebook bulging with subsidiary lists and scraps of paper. MacKinnie held her chair, then examined her with frank curiosity.
She’s pretty enough, MacKinnie thought. And she knows how to dress so as not to emphasize her looks. She gave a lot of thought to that outfit, which means she wants to make a good impression. Why does she want to go on a tomfool expedition like this? There’s only one way to find that out. “You look as if you have some sense,” he said. “Why do you want to come on this insane trip?”
“I think it’s my duty, Trader.” It was obvious that she was choosing her words carefully. If that was an act, she was very good at it. “Citizen Dougal says this could be one of the most important missions in Haven’s history, although he wouldn’t say why.”
“You’re a patriot, then?”
She shrugged. “Not a vehement one. I would like to be part of something important. There’s not much opportunity for that. Not for women.”
True enough. Which was the way things should be. Women on campaign were a nuisance. Although there had been one — he quickly pushed that thought away. He couldn’t think about Laura without pain and anger, and he’d brooded too much anyway. Now he had a job to do, and it was important to keep his mind clear. “And just what do you think you can do for us?” he asked.
“I don’t know, whatever is necessary, I suppose. Many trading expeditions do have secretaries, and my education may be useful to you.”
Nathan laughed softly. “I doubt it.” And I doubt further if you’d do the only thing I think of that might really be useful, he thought. Or will you? She could be a highly trained agent. Haven was said to employ women in their secret-police forces, but the few that Orleans’s security forces had encountered had been obvious, lower class women pretending to be from good families. This girl wasn’t like that. She had the manners of the aristocracy. Like Laura. And Laura had been small, like this girl— Once again he pushed that thought away. “Just what was it you studied at the University, and for that matter whatever possessed you to go there in the first place?”
“I studied a little of everything, Trader. Since there are so few girls in the University, I could study almost anything I liked. My professors didn’t know what to make of me, anyway. Such serious old men, you could almost hear them clucking their tongues when they discovered they were expected to listen to a girl read them papers. But since they didn’t take my efforts to get an education seriously, I could study what I wanted to and go to lectures that interested me. Really, it’s a wonderful way to study.”
“You still haven’t said why you went, freelady.”
“Please call me Mary. After all, I do work for you. Don’t I?” She sipped cold wine, and MacKinnie noticed that she did so gingerly. A telling point; girls of her class wouldn’t be accustomed to drinking wine in the afternoon. “Now. Why I went there,” she said. “I don’t know, it just seemed the thing to do. Shocked all my friends … the few friends I had, anyway. They’re all married now, and I’m a terrible old maid. You can just hear them, ‘Poor Mary, she can’t catch a man and hold onto him!’ But I wasn’t interested in that. There’s so little for girls in Haven, anywhere on North Continent, I guess. No adventure. It was explained in one of Academician Longway’s lectures, that the war left so few women on Samual that men kept them at home so no one would see them, and it’s only recently we were allowed to go out on our own. I don’t know if I believe it, but that’s what he said. Certainly I’d like to do something more than just raise children and help my husband get promoted by flirting with his superiors. I thought the University would help, but it just made people think I was a frimp. That’s why I wanted to go on this expedition so badly.” She stopped, out of breath, and smiled nervously.
“So you have no romantic attachments?”
“Not now. I was engaged once. To the son of one of my father’s friends. But that’s all over.”
“What does you father think of your entering the Service and going off to another planet?” MacKinnie appeared to be relaxed, but he watched the girl closely. He was fairly sure that she was just what she seemed to be, which meant that she would probably be more hindrance than help. By her own account, her education at the University didn’t seem to be anything useful to the expedition.
“He gave his approval, Trader,” she said stiffly. “I have all the necessary permissions duly notarized. Are you afraid he might challenge you?” Her eyes flashed briefly, then she thought better of what she had said. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. Please don’t be angry with me, but I get so tired of having to ask Father’s permission for everything I do.”
“I take it you would prefer some such equality-of-sexes nonsense like Therean.”
“Not that equal, Trader. I’ve no wish for the life of a camp follower or a tavern girl. But — surely there’s a place for us in some honorable work. Not all of the secretaries in Haven were born in the charity wards. If freeladies can manage affairs for Magnates and Traders, why can’t they own property themselves? Academician Longways says they did in the Old Empire. Why, there were even women in Parliament and nobody thought anything of it.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Well, it seems a little strange, but why not? We’re not brainless, you know. Not all of us, anyway. Who managed the estates when the men were off on campaign? You know as well as I do that not all of the wives and companions had guardians … if they could manage their property as long as the men were alive, even when they were away for months, why couldn’t they do it after their men were killed?”
MacKinnie laughed and turned his attention to his pipe. “Management is one thing, ownership is another, freelady Mary. If you own something, you can sell it.” And there were city-states where women owned property. Often enough, given the casualties in war, the result was that most of the land was owned by heiresses, and the men sought good marriages as a route to wealth.
None of which was important. It was obvious that Dougal was sending Mary Graham for reasons of his own, so MacKinnie might as well make the best of it. She might even be useful. “How far along is the cargo?” he asked.
She reached into her pouch and shuffled through papers until she found a bulky sheaf. “Here is the list. The items checked off have already been moved to the Imperial landing dock.”
“And the armor?”
“Citizen Dougal has arranged for the Haven armory to prepare the chain mail. They seem to have found something which works, and one of their people will measure us this evening. The tanners will be along to measure us for the underpadding as well. And Duncan and Larue are forging swords to various patterns, and have sent over all the varieties they make. We’ve located crossbows, and they’re making bolts for them.”
“Duncan and Larue,” MacKinnie mused. “I can remember when I was younger, there were whole regiments of cavalry armed with sword and pistol. Battles decided by them” But then, he thought, everything changed. Suddenly there was a new military technology, new tactics based on self-loading rifles and quick-firing guns with multiple barrels, breech-loading field pieces light enough to be towed at a gallop. The whole manner of war changed, to become more impersonal and a great deal uglier.
I learned the new ways, he thought. Learned them well, when a lot of my brother officers wouldn’t. They couldn’t change. Insisted that elan and military spirit were more important than weapons and tactics, and they got their regiments butchered for their pains. I learned the new ways, but I never liked them. He looked up from his reverie. “That’s one company that will profit by this expedition. Assuming we find something worth importing.”
Dougal arrived an hour later. “You will meet the Imperial Traders shortly,” the policeman announced. “We have fresh clothing ready for you in your quarters. When you get changed, we’ll go to Empire House.” The policeman fell in beside MacKinnie, walking with him to his suite. “Be careful with these Imperial Traders. There are two of them, and they both look soft. Don’t believe it; they didn’t get rich by being stupid. Of the two, Trader Soliman is probably the actual leader although they claim to be equals. There is antagonism between the Imperial Traders and the Navy, but I wouldn’t count on it too much. We don’t know the real story, but the Traders seem to be with us against the Navy.”
“Yes,” MacKinnie said. “You told me that the Navy wouldn’t let us go on this trip if the Traders hadn’t pushed them into it.”
“Exactly. The Traders are eager for us to go. Quite generous in their terms. I’m not sure why.”
“When a businessman wants to do you a favor,” MacKinnie said, “I’ve found it a good policy to watch your pocketbook.” They arrived at the door to his suite, and Dougal waited outside.
MacKinnie found a dress kilt, doublet laced with gold and silver piping, and jewelry in the style of the great merchant princes of Haven. When he lifted the clothing, he found cartridges for his pistol had been laid discreetly on the bed. With something approaching relief, Nathan loaded the large-calibre revolver and buckled it on before he realized how out of keeping it was with the rest of his clothing. A quick search of the small leather case he found on the bed with the clothing revealed a smaller dress pistol, its dragonwood handles inlaid with pearl and jade and thin copper strands. He unloaded it and squeezed the trigger several times, pleased with the smoothness of its action. The proofmarks showed it to have been made by the Brothers of St. Andrew, reputedly the best gunsmiths on Samual and certainly the most expensive. Although he hesitated to carry a weapon he had never fired, MacKinnie buckled it outside his doublet, sadly leaving the big service pistol hanging in the closet.
Two sets of guards were on watch at Empire House. Outside the large, walled courtyard, soldiers of King David’s personal guard stood rigidly at attention. A junior officer in a tiny office inside the gates examined their passes, collected their weapons apologetically, and directed them across the lava stone courtyard to the building itself.
Two huge doors swung open as they arrived. The Imperial Marines inside the entryway wore full dress, scarlet and blue uniforms with gold trim, a blaze of color; but the weapons the sentries carried were incomprehensible to MacKinnie. Their rifles looked very functional, but the knobs and dials along the stocks were meaningless — and there were no visible openings in the barrel ends.
MacKinnie expected to be searched again, but instead the Marine noncom looked at a panel of lights and meters and a screen that showed shadowy figures; MacKinnie got only a glance at it, but he thought he saw the outline of his cigar lighter on the screen. In some way the Marines could see through the leather of his pouch …
They waited in silence while the noncom spoke into a handset.
Very efficient, MacKinnie thought. It would be difficult to penetrate this place. Not that it would do any good to take Empire House. The fortress would still remain, and so would that ship in orbit above Prince Samual’s World. No. Dougal’s way was best — except that Dougal’s way doomed Orleans to rule by Haven …
An inner door opened and a young naval officer came in. He had small badges made of a curious substance, not metal but not anything else MacKinnie had ever seen. He gave one to MacKinnie.
“You are to wear these at all times inside Empire House, “the officer said. “My name is Lieutenant Akelian, and I will take you to your appointment.”
“This has my picture,” MacKinnie said.
Lieutenant Akelian looked up in surprise. “Of course. We take photographs of everyone who visits Empire House. This way, please.”
MacKinnie glanced at Dougal. The policeman’s lips were set in a tight line. And no wonder, MacKinnie thought. Akelian was one of the three who had been at the party in the Blue Bottle. But he doesn’t seem to recognize us. Given the amount he drank that night, it’s no wonder …
Akelian led them through brightly lit hallways. MacKinnie had never seen an inside room so well lighted. Electricity, someone had told him. Electric lights. But not from a carbon arc like a military searchlight. The professors at Prince Samual University were experimenting with a new kind of light, as they had experimented with long-distance communications using electricity, but electrical equipment took miles of wire, too expensive to be very practical on copper-poor Samual. They were ushered onto a moving stairway, then at the top led to another door. Akelian opened it to show them a large room.
Two fat men in plain clothing, wearing trousers rather than kilts, undecorated coats, and only a few jewels, their almost drab appearance contrasting strongly with MacKinnie and Dougal, rose languidly as they entered a large, plainly decorated room. Akelian waved MacKinnie and Dougal in, looked sternly at the civilians for a moment, and left without speaking.
As soon as he had left the room, one of the Imperials laughed. “God bless the Navy,” he chuckled. “But may He grant that their lieutenants come of age soon. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Dougal returned the greeting, then said formally, “Imperial Trader Soliman, I have the honor to present Trader Magnate MacKinnie, His Majesty’s servant and manager for this expedition. Trader MacKinnie, Imperial Trader Soliman of the Imperial Capital, and as I understand it an officer of the Imperial Traders Association.”
MacKinnie watched them narrowly and noted that the fat man made no movement to offer his hand. MacKinnie bowed slightly, was rewarded with an even smaller bow, and turned to the next man.
“Imperial Trader Renaldi, I present Trader Magnate MacKinnie,” Dougal purred.
“My honor,” Renaldi said. When Nathan began his bow, Renaldi matched him, bending to within a degree of MacKinnie but not quite as deep. The difference might have been measured with calipers.
“Gentlemen,” Soliman said, “this room is at our disposal for the time. Let us sit and enjoy ourselves like civilized beings.” He indicated couches drawn up in front of an open fire. As they sat, he continued, “Remarkable how peaceful it is to have a fire in the room with you. We haven’t used them in the capital for a long time now. There are very few houses with fireplaces, and I can’t remember when I last saw one lighted. I will have to have one installed on my return, a great aid to contemplation. Right, Chasar?”
“It would be pleasant,” Renaldi said.
“They are not quite so pleasant when they are your only source of heat,” Dougal said.
“No, I suppose not,” Soliman said. He looked thoughtful. “When the Navy permits trade in such things, Imperial Autonetics will bring factories to make better heating systems. I expect we could sell many of them. “He sighed. “But the military departments never act quickly. It will probably be some time yet.”
MacKinnie noted that both men spoke the language of North Continent almost perfectly, but with the careful pronunciations that indicated that it was a recently learned foreign tongue. Having never heard the Imperial language, he was not sure how close it would be to that used on Samual, although it would obviously be similar if Dougal were able to read the book his agents had stolen. Still, it must require some study, he thought, and therefore it followed that the Imperials either had some method of learning languages quickly, or that the Traders thought it important enough to spend the time and effort learning the local tongue. Either alternative seemed interesting.
Soliman hovered around them, offering refreshments which he poured himself at a small stand at one side of the room before finally joining them before the fire. They sipped chilled wine from one of the islands of the Archipelago, and Soliman praised it highly. “I hope it travels well,” he told them. “This will be worth a fortune on the capital. It is as good as real Earth wines, or nearly so, and they command a price you would never believe. This is a very fortunate world, gentlemen, your wines and brandies can make you rich. And your grua — do you think the peach plant would grow elsewhere? Ah, but it would never thrive as it does here. If only Earth had not been so devastated in the Secession Wars.”
He lowered his voice confidentially. “That is why the Navy is so stern, you know. Their academy is there, and they grow up with the results of the wars. They are determined that it will never happen again, even if they must enslave the entire galaxy to see to it. And now that it is traditional for the Emperor to send the heir apparent to New Annapolis, the whole government is infected with their dedication.” He sighed deeply.
“Have you visited Makassar yourself, Traders?” MacKinnie asked.
“Briefly, briefly,” Soliman replied. “A desolate place, with little of value to us. Yet I am certain you will find many things useful there,” he added quickly. “Not so desolate as all that, and of course we are accustomed to more comforts than you. Copper abounds there, but perhaps the costs of shipping will prevent you from importing it on any really large scale. There may be little for us, but we believe you will find the voyage profitable. And of course we did not venture far from the city where the Navy has its base.”
“Has the Navy decided on the details of the voyage?” Dougal asked. “Will Your Excellencies accompany us? A naval officer, perhaps? Who will command the ship?”
“I have business beyond Makassar, but I will go with you there,” Renaldi told them. “I am looking forward to the voyage, and Trader Soliman will guard my interests here.” Renaldi’s tone indicated that he and Soliman had tossed coins for the privilege, and Renaldi had lost, although he was attempting to act in good humor. “As Soliman and I own the ship, it will be commanded by our own merchant captain and crew. One of the Imperial Navy officers will be aboard as observer, to insure that none of their silly regulations are violated. We must caution you, Trader,” he said, turning to MacKinnie, “they are very stern about their rules. Do not attempt to violate them, or you will never see your charming planet again. The Imperial prison world is not a pleasant place.”
“No need to speak of such depressing matters,” Soliman interrupted. “Better to think of the profits that can be earned. And, of course, this will be the first time any of your people have been off this planet since the days of the Old Empire, will it not?” His offhanded manner could not conceal his interest in the question.
Before MacKinnie could answer, Dougal asked, “And the language of Makassar? Will Trader MacKinnie find it difficult to deal with the natives?”
“The language is much like your own, or ours,” Soliman answered. “Degenerate forms of Old Empire, with some local words. It requires study, but there will be no great difficulties. Tell me, Trader Magnate MacKinnie, are you looking forward to going off-planet?”
“With some anticipation,” MacKinnie answered. “It will be a new experience for me.” He emphasized the last word slightly, receiving an approving nod from Dougal. “But what are the conditions on Makassar? Are they likely to be friendly? Will we be allowed to wander about their cities, or must we remain in one place and let them come to us?”
“The Navy has no objection to your traveling about,” Renaldi replied, “provided you take nothing more advanced than they already have on Makassar. Journeys on the planet with primitive equipment can be dangerous, you understand. The planet has no political system as even you on Samual might know it. Here, you have a few strong governments and many city-states in a complex of alliances — at least on North Continent. On Makassar, there are dozens of kingdoms, free cities, small republics, leagues, and such, none very large by your standards. The kingdoms themselves are more fiction than fact, with independent baronies scattered about them. No doubt this is the result of their lack of technology, coupled with their primitive military organizations. All of this is huddled together on the coast of the one large continent. But it all comes to an end on a great grassland plain that stretches east for over three thousand kilometers. You will find none but barbarians there. No one knows how many of them there are; they move around at will and raid the edges of the civilized lands. There are also island kingdoms of barbarians off the coasts of the civilized regions, and these stage raids on even the largest cities. You are welcome to wander the countryside, Trader MacKinnie, but do not be surprised if you are killed. The only safe place is in one of their large cities, and they are not entirely safe. The Imperial Navy maintains a fortified observation post, but no warships, so that even if you were able to signal the Navy, there would be little they could do to rescue you.
Makassar is not altogether a healthy place.”
“Ah, but there are never profits without danger,” Soliman purred. “And who knows what you may find out among the kingdoms of the east? The Navy post is on the western coastline, and we know so little about the planet.”
MacKinnie nodded. “We will be very careful if we leave the Imperial fortress. Gentlemen, what I do not understand is why Makassar is so primitive. Why did they not retain any basic technology at all?”
“Ah,” Soliman answered, “that is something we have speculated about without final answer. From our records, it was relatively unpopulated when the Secession Wars began. The planet seems to have served mostly as a rest area for the Old Empire Navy and Civil Service … a park world, kept uninhabited and unspoiled. Little machinery. Few power installations. Then, as the wars continued, for some reasons of strategy we do not know, parts of the planet were fortified. The fortifications were destroyed, and with them, much of the only city, although the old palace seems to have survived. Then the wars boiled on past Makassar. Perhaps there were not many people left on it. Many of them would be civil servants. Few artisans, and of the native inhabitants most would have been dedicated to service professions. Pleasure-house operators. Prostitutes. What kind of civilization would you expect them to build, given the destruction of most of the machinery?” He paused thoughtfully, sipping his wine.
“And then, too, much of the vegetation on the planet is native to Makassar. Not edible by us. Hardy stuff. A form of our wheat grows across the plains, but it is straggly and more fit for horses and cattle than men. Most of the crops of Makassar are Earth Stock; they have a very wide variety of such foodstuffs but getting an edible crop takes constant attention. How natural for some of the population to become raiders, living off the cultivators! And so the cultivators divert part of their efforts into maintaining a warrior class. The warriors become an aristocracy. The warriors must have something to do in times of peace, and they will not toil in the fields … Indeed, they can’t, because the barbarians may sweep over them at any time, and the warriors must know their business if they are to do their job. The planet has known constant warfare, between the civilized people and the barbarians, among the warriors within the civilized area, between civilized cities and baronies. At least, we think this is what happens. Certainly they are fighting all the time.”
“There was a period much like that on old Earth,” Renaldi observed. “It would seem to have been ended by the development of scientific farming, which was a discovery of the Church. But Makassar has developed its own ideas of a church, not altogether to the satisfaction of New Rome.”
“Ah, yes,” Soliman added. “In addition to yourselves and the Imperial Navy observers, you will find one other group on Makassar. His Holiness has sent a bishop and a small group of missionaries to win these people back to the state religion. They are not having notable success.”
Dougal finished his wine and set the glass down. In an instant, Soliman hauled his great stomach off the couch and gathered the other glasses on a copper tray, taking them to the cabinet to fill them. As he did, Dougal observed, “I am sure that Trader MacKinnie will be careful not to fall afoul of His Reverence the Bishop. May we here on Samual expect a similar visit soon?”
“Doubtless,” Renaldi answered. “Of course, you seem to have developed along more orthodox lines than the people of Makassar, although the Church will find the multiplication of sects distressing. Still, you will find New Rome tolerant and willing to compromise. Do you anticipate much resistance to unification of the churches?”
“Not much,” MacKinnie answered. “We had religious wars, over a hundred standard years ago. Not much zeal left on Prince Samual’s World. The orthodox churches have been proclaiming their obedience to New Rome since the Imperial Navy landed, and the others don’t know quite what to make of it all. How much will the Empire interfere with local matters like religion anyway?”
“Oh, hardly at all, hardly at all,” Soliman assured them. He served the wine carefully, and MacKinnie caught a stern look which Soliman passed to Renaldi. The latter quickly changed the subject, and the next half hour was passed discussing trade goods and the proposed cargo. They were interrupted by a knock at the door and, when Renaldi answered it, two Imperial Navy officers entered the room and walked stiffly over to stand in front of MacKinnie. Their manner was anything but friendly.