The Course of Empire(206)

"Yes. That was the great opportunity which Terra presented us. Finally—after centuries of conquering nothing but primitives. Who, because of their own low level of cultural development, simply became Jao clones. Augmenting our strength, perhaps, but doing nothing to offset our possible weaknesses."



"But you couldn't take advantage of the opportunity, could you? Not with your kochan setup. There was no way, from the beginning, for the Bond to take control of Terra."



"No way at all. The kochan would have united against us, for encroaching on their customary privileges. So, for twenty years, we maneuvered to gain what we have now accomplished. Using, in the end, not-so-subtle-as-they-think Pluthrak for the killing blade. Ruthless, indeed, even cruel. For we also destroyed the life—worse yet, the honorable memory—of a Jao who once deserved the name of namth camiti."



Kinsey rubbed his face. "No way to rehabilitate Oppuk's name now, of course." Sighing heavily, he looked at the door.



" 'Dead men tell no tales,' as we humans say. Will I walk out of here alive?"



"That is up to you, Professor Kinsey. Think of me, if you will—of the Bond, rather—as a Roman emperor who needs Greek philosophers he can trust. Or a Mongol khan, if you prefer, who needs loyal Chinese mandarins. Human philosophers and mandarins of all kinds, to slowly transform his Jao empire into one which cannot simply conquer, but rule. For how long? Who can say? So long as our rule is needed, to exterminate the Ekhat. After that . . ."



Again, that almost-human shrug. "Let what happens, happen. The Jao will survive as a species, surely. And if the Jao empire of that distant future is as much human as it is Jao, as the Roman Empire became as much Greek as it remained Latin, I find myself not caring in the least."



Still, Kinsey hesitated. Not from general considerations, but from a very specific one.



The Preceptor's next words eliminated his anxiety on that score, however:



"I would not expect from you, nor require of you, anything that might conflict with your service to Aille. I can assure you, Professor, that the Bond thinks most highly of that youngster and will certainly not be working against him. Quite the opposite."



So much for that. Kinsey was relieved; and, with the relief, came the beginning of interest—no, fascination, even enthusiasm. It was a grand vista, after all, the thought of helping to shape a new and hybrid stellar empire that would, over time, blend the best of Jao and human cultures.



Even if, to be sure, Kinsey's new boss would be a rather scary individual.



On the other hand, Kinsey told himself firmly, there are worse things in the universe—lots worse—than loyally serving a Machiavellian prince. Especially a very capable one.



What the hell. It was even true.



"Done," he said. Then, a bit startled by his boldness, began to stammer. "Uh . . . you understand, Preceptor, I'm an elderly man—and none too vigorous even in my youth! I—ah—"



The Preceptor barked a laugh. "Please, Doctor Kinsey! Rest assured that if I require—ah, I think the crude human phrase is 'wet work'—I have many vigorous young Jao to draw upon. And soon enough, I am sure, equal numbers of vigorous humans. No, what I will require from you is simply sage advice. A mandarin's work."



He rose from his seat. "I have found that the elderly are often my best agents. If for no other reason than their creaking bones, they have to think."



He stooped and picked up the control device again, fingering it for a moment. "In fact, it is now time to introduce you to one who will be your closest colleague. My most long-standing agent on Terra—from the beginning, in fact, twenty years ago—and always my very best."



The doorfield shimmered and the figure of a Jao began to appear in it.



"Even if," the Preceptor added, his voice sounding a bit sour, "he rarely acts his age."

* * *



Wrot came sauntering through the doorfield, carrying a glass in his hand.



"Splendid, my dear professor! I'm so delighted to see we'll be working together again—even more closely than before!"



He extended the glass. "Here. I brought you one of your human alcoholic concoctions. Nasty stuff, but I knew you'd want it. Need it desperately, in fact. Preceptor Ronz can be unsettling. It's what you call a 'martini.' "



Kinsey took the glass, shuddering. Not at the contents—he was partial to martinis—but at the words he knew were surely coming.



"Shaken, of course," said Wrot, his whiskers waggling gleefully, "not stirred."