“Wasn’t he the logical choice to take charge of Tauria? Isn’t he still?”

“In spite of Merseians on his home planet?” Hazeltine challenged.

“Citizens of Merseian descent,” Flandry corrected. “Rather remote descent, I’ve heard. There are humans who serve the Roidhunate, too, and not every one has been bought or brainscrubbed; some families have lived on Merseian worlds for generations.”

“Nevertheless,” Hazeltine said, “the Dennitzan culture isn’t Terran—isn’t entirely human. Remember how hard the colonists of Avalon fought to stay in the Domain of Ythri, way back when the Empire waged a war to adjust that frontier? Why should Dennitzans feel brotherly toward Terrans?”

“I don’t suppose they do.” Flandry shrugged. “I’ve never visited them either. But I’ve met other odd human societies, not to speak of nonhuman. They stay in the Empire because it gives them the Pax and often a fair amount of commercial benefit, without usually charging too high a price for the service. From what little I saw and heard in the way of reports on the Gospodar and his associates, they aren’t such fools as to imagine they can stay at peace independently. Their history includes the Troubles, and their ancestors freely joined the Empire when it appeared.”

“Nowadays Merseia might offer them a better deal.”

“Uh-uh. They’ve been marchmen up against Merseia far too long. Too many inherited grudges.”

“Such things can change. I’ve known marchmen myself. They take on the traits of their enemies, and eventually—” Hazeltine leaned across the table. His voice harshened. “Why are the Dennitzans resisting the Emperor’s decree?”

“About disbanding their militia?” Flandry sipped. “Yes, I know, the Gospodar’s representatives here have been appealing, arguing, logrolling, probably bribing, and certainly making nuisances of themselves on governmental levels as high as the Policy Board. Meanwhile he drags his feet. If the Emperor didn’t have more urgent matters on deck, we might have seen fireworks by now.”