promises were not in fact worth keeping.
The only thing that made it all worthwhile was the glittering prospect, the prize, almost in sight, there at the end of it all: the planet itself. A new Kendari world. It would be slow and careful work, of course. Partial and indirect, behind-the-scenes control, limited settlement rights in return for technical and financial assistance. But get one foot in the door, let your tail get a good brace, be ready to work--and sooner or later both hands can pry that door open, fling it wide.
First, however, he had to handle the Thelek and his endless plots. Brox allowed himself a long, low growl and trotted over to the vast glass-walled window and the view of the city of Thelm's Keep, far below.
The High Thelek's home was situated high up on a hillside, looking down into the valley that held the city of Thelm's Keep, and perhaps more significantly, the Keep itself, from which the city derived its name.
Brox had often wondered at the reason Thelek Saffeer had built his home in such a place, with such a view. Was it some need to look down, quite literally, at Thelm's Keep, the home of the lord of all Reqwar? Or was it to give him a convenient view of what he hoped and expected to be his Keep, sooner or later, once this or that of his plots had raised him to the rank he obviously thought was his due?
At long last the door at the far end of the long, wide room slid open. Brox wheeled about to see the High Thelek bustling in, shedding his outer garments, and tossing them off behind him, trusting in his servants to catch them all before they touched the floor--a service they expertly performed. He went straight to his work space and dropped heavily onto his work stool. "Ah, Brox, there you are," said Saffeer, with a casual glance at his visitor. "Won't keep you waiting much longer. Just a few minor details to arrange."
"Take all the time you wish," Brox said in his good, if somewhat ponderous, Reqwar Pavlat. As if the Thelek would do anything else anyway.
"Thank you," said the Thelek. "Won't be a moment."
They were "alone," Brox noted--aside from the four servants hovering about the Thelek, making any number of small and completely unimportant adjustments to his stool, his desk, his clothing, bringing in unasked-for refreshments for the Thelek--though nothing for Brox--and generally fussing about, trying to look busy themselves in order to make the Thelek look important.
All these shows, all these games, and for what? To impress Brox 231? If so, they had the opposite effect. As Brox's uncle, Brezzen 2234, was fond of saying, anyone who had to try to impress someone else probably wasn't going to succeed.
Which brought Brox back to a question he had been puzzling over for some time. Which of them was the patron, and which the client? On the face of it, a high-ranking noble of an ancient, proud, and powerful race like the Pavlat was clearly in the superior position. The agent from the intelligence service of an upstart race like the Kendari, an agent normally kept well out of the public gaze for fear of causing unrest, was plainly the inferior. Except it was not so.
The High Thelek glanced at some reports as he sipped his whrenseed tea and tapped at one of the screens. "When you've got a moment, my dear Brox, this is a matter I'd like your opinion on. One of my, ah, business associates is seeking financial advice. You're good with that."
In other words, some nephew of yours has run up some debts--gambling, probably--that you can't or won't cover yourself. "Always happy to oblige, my Thelek." Yes indeed, Brox told himself. Always happy. Because you just about are "my" Thelek, bought and paid for.
The petty little money troubles of Thelek Saffeer and his myriad relations were a symptom of something bigger: The Reqwar Pavlat were poor, not only by Elder Race standards, but even by Kendari standards. Even humans would have considered many aspects of the local economy backward.
The High Thelek,
The only thing that made it all worthwhile was the glittering prospect, the prize, almost in sight, there at the end of it all: the planet itself. A new Kendari world. It would be slow and careful work, of course. Partial and indirect, behind-the-scenes control, limited settlement rights in return for technical and financial assistance. But get one foot in the door, let your tail get a good brace, be ready to work--and sooner or later both hands can pry that door open, fling it wide.
First, however, he had to handle the Thelek and his endless plots. Brox allowed himself a long, low growl and trotted over to the vast glass-walled window and the view of the city of Thelm's Keep, far below.
The High Thelek's home was situated high up on a hillside, looking down into the valley that held the city of Thelm's Keep, and perhaps more significantly, the Keep itself, from which the city derived its name.
Brox had often wondered at the reason Thelek Saffeer had built his home in such a place, with such a view. Was it some need to look down, quite literally, at Thelm's Keep, the home of the lord of all Reqwar? Or was it to give him a convenient view of what he hoped and expected to be his Keep, sooner or later, once this or that of his plots had raised him to the rank he obviously thought was his due?
At long last the door at the far end of the long, wide room slid open. Brox wheeled about to see the High Thelek bustling in, shedding his outer garments, and tossing them off behind him, trusting in his servants to catch them all before they touched the floor--a service they expertly performed. He went straight to his work space and dropped heavily onto his work stool. "Ah, Brox, there you are," said Saffeer, with a casual glance at his visitor. "Won't keep you waiting much longer. Just a few minor details to arrange."
"Take all the time you wish," Brox said in his good, if somewhat ponderous, Reqwar Pavlat. As if the Thelek would do anything else anyway.
"Thank you," said the Thelek. "Won't be a moment."
They were "alone," Brox noted--aside from the four servants hovering about the Thelek, making any number of small and completely unimportant adjustments to his stool, his desk, his clothing, bringing in unasked-for refreshments for the Thelek--though nothing for Brox--and generally fussing about, trying to look busy themselves in order to make the Thelek look important.
All these shows, all these games, and for what? To impress Brox 231? If so, they had the opposite effect. As Brox's uncle, Brezzen 2234, was fond of saying, anyone who had to try to impress someone else probably wasn't going to succeed.
Which brought Brox back to a question he had been puzzling over for some time. Which of them was the patron, and which the client? On the face of it, a high-ranking noble of an ancient, proud, and powerful race like the Pavlat was clearly in the superior position. The agent from the intelligence service of an upstart race like the Kendari, an agent normally kept well out of the public gaze for fear of causing unrest, was plainly the inferior. Except it was not so.
The High Thelek glanced at some reports as he sipped his whrenseed tea and tapped at one of the screens. "When you've got a moment, my dear Brox, this is a matter I'd like your opinion on. One of my, ah, business associates is seeking financial advice. You're good with that."
In other words, some nephew of yours has run up some debts--gambling, probably--that you can't or won't cover yourself. "Always happy to oblige, my Thelek." Yes indeed, Brox told himself. Always happy. Because you just about are "my" Thelek, bought and paid for.
The petty little money troubles of Thelek Saffeer and his myriad relations were a symptom of something bigger: The Reqwar Pavlat were poor, not only by Elder Race standards, but even by Kendari standards. Even humans would have considered many aspects of the local economy backward.
The High Thelek,
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