"No?" Mia challenged. "Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?
You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade the
alien system!"
"The people won't support them," Ri answered woodenly.
"_Think._ If he tells them to, they will. They trust him."
Ri looked around at the shadows.
"That explains a lot of things," Mia said. "I think the Army's been
preparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's why
Extrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them from
learning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keep
them from exposing _him_ to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooled
like we were, so easy."
"No!" Ri snapped. "It was to keep the natural economic balance."
"You know that's not right."
Ri lay down on his bed roll. "Don't talk about it. It's not good to
talk like this. I don't even want to listen."
"When the invasion starts, he'll have to command _all_ their loyalties.
To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.
He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying to
tell the truth."
"You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong."
Mia smiled twistedly. "How many has he already killed? How can we even
guess?"
Ri swallowed sickly.
"Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret?"
Ri shuddered. "That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all like
that."
* * * * *
With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.
The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,
uncontaminated.
And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the
flap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared around
the camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep.
"Breakfast!" he shouted, and two bearers came running with a folding
table and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray of
various foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcher
and a drinking mug.
Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his
conversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth with
water and spat on the ground.
"Lin!" he said.
His personal bearer came loping toward him.
"Have you read that manual I gave you?"