In most cases, the Kalif preferred a friendly approach. Not letting them forget that he was the Kalif, of course, but the Kalif as spiritual father, putting them at trust if possible. That's how he'd questioned yesterday's informants; it was how he would question the female prisoner from the Confederation. Her amnesia had been accounted genuine by Klestronu Intelligence and by SUMBAA, and it was hardly possible she could have fooled them with an act; surely not their instruments. So he didn't expect her to remember more for him than she had for them, but he might gain some insights into the Confederation psyche.

At any rate he was curious. When captured, she'd been in uniform, on the battlefield, and therefore presumably a soldier. Considering how she'd tricked her interrogators aboard ship, and later turned matters around with the colonel's angry bride, she must have been a very clever soldier.

The commset in his chair arm warbled softly, and he spoke to it. "Your Reverence," it replied, "Tain Faronya, the Confederation prisoner, is here with her guard."

He thought for just a moment before answering. "Send her in alone. When I tell you. Her guard will wait with you. When she's in, tell him you'll be monitoring, and that you'll let him know when he's wanted." He turned to his own guard then. "Mondar, station yourself in the rear hall, outside the door. I'll be all right." Watching the guard leave, he found himself touching the pistol beneath his left arm, concealed there by his cape, reminding himself that she was a soldier, even if unarmed. The guard, he noted, left the door ajar. Jilsomo was still there, in a rear corner of the room, as on the day before; she might never notice him until she turned to leave. The Kalif spoke to his commset again. "Send her in," he said.

The prisoner entered, and even forewarned, he was surprised at her beauty. For just a moment it jarred him out of his normal self-possession. He gathered his wits and spoke. "Well, Tain, I've looked forward to talking with you." He gestured at a comfortable chair facing his from six feet away. '"Be seated, if you please."

She lowered herself with unconscious grace. She wore pantaloons gathered at the ankles, and a loose blouse, both light blue, in what was probably the latest Klestronu style. Both were clearly expensive, purchased for her by the colonel, he thought. Or no, more likely by the colonel's rebellious bride. The colonel would have bought clothing more revealing of her form. Which the Kalif suspected was excellent despite her height.

She was as tall as he, her limbs long, her chest not flat. Her hands were large and strong-looking, but feminine nonetheless. Her eyebrows were slender by any standards the Kalif knew, yet seemed unplucked. Her hair was the color of palest honey, and her eyes-a violet blue! All in all the most strikingly aesthetic combination he'd ever seen, and suddenly he could understand the young colonel's reckless decision.

He was certain of one thing at once: She had not been a soldier, regardless of uniform, regardless of having been captured on the battlefield. He'd been around marines and soldiers all his life, and while none of them had been female, he had no doubt at all what a female soldier would be like. That was not the conclusive point, though, neither that nor her having been in uniform. Beyond either of those, a woman this lovely would not have been a soldier. She'd have been taken to wife by some great noble, and cared for, cherished.

But finally and conclusively, behind those eyes there dwelt no soldier. That was the surest evidence. Not even a captain's yeoman aboard some man-of-war. Nor a schemer; that surprised the Kalif as much as her beauty. Behind those eyes was an innocent child.

"I've heard a lot about you," he said, and she answered nothing. Of course, he thought. She knew nothing to say. "I'm told you've lost your memory," he went on.

"Yes, sir."

"How do you like what you've seen of this world?"

"I've seen very little of it, sir. But what I've seen is beautiful-the buildings, the gardens…"

His gaze had caught an unspoken addition behind the violet eyes. "The buildings and gardens," he said. "And what else? You almost said something else."

She looked down at her hands on her lap. "Your cape, sir. It is beautiful, too."

Despite all logic, her comment pleased him. "Ah! Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I wear it by virtue of my office; I'm the Kalif, you know."

"A man told me that, the man who brought me here. He said he was taking me to see the Kalif."

He smiled. "And what did you think the Kalif would be like?"

She blushed slightly. "Sir, I had no idea. Someone important, I supposed, like the sultan."

He'd known that an effort had been made to keep her ignorant of things here, but still her answer surprised him. "When DAAS taught you to speak our language," he said, "did you learn the word emperor? "

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Kalif is another word for emperor. Long ago, the eleven worlds were ruled by an emperor. Then the throne was given to the Kalif, and Kalif and emperor have been one ever since, but called simply Kalif."

He gazed at her for several seconds before speaking further. "Tain, we want to find your memory for you. We have an artificial intelligence, SUMBAA, who may be able to help. I know you've already spoken with the SUMBAA on Klestron, but perhaps ours here can help where theirs did not."

She nodded, saying nothing.

"Meanwhile, I'll have you taken back to your suite. Perhaps we'll talk again." He spoke to his commset. "Partiil, send in the young lady's guide."

When her guide had led her away, the Kalif looked at his lieutenant, whom she'd seemingly never noticed. "What do you think of her, Jilsomo?"

"Aside from her obvious and remarkable beauty? Your Reverence, I doubt she was a soldier."

The Kalif's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That makes two of us. Peculiar that everyone else assumed she was. I suppose it was her uniform. And she was captured on a battlefield. They didn't look further than that.

"What do you think the odds are that we'll learn anything of value from her?"

"I do not wager, Your Reverence. But if I had to, my bet would be that she wouldn't remember."

"I'd bet that you're right, Jilsomo," the Kalif said. "And that is a pity, for her as well as us."

Later, eating a solitary lunch, the Kalif found Tain Faronya on his mind again. He'd never been a man with much attention on women. As a bachelor marine captain, he'd kept a mistress for a time, a practice tolerated in the military if carried on discreetly by a bachelor. She'd been a very accomplished girl whom he'd enjoyed considerably, and who'd taught him more than a little. But as an ambitious young officer, he'd found her a distraction, besides which, she'd become a bit demanding. Or perhaps demanding wasn't the word; she'd assumed certain things, expected certain things. Nothing unreasonable; he'd recognized that at the time. But after a bit he'd discontinued the relationship, and had felt no need to replace her.

Later he'd had a few liaisons, then had received his appointment to the Prelacy. Since then, somewhat to his surprise, the professional challenges had sufficed.

This Tain Faronya, though-She was so damned lovely! If it were practical… But it wasn't. The man who could least get away with having a mistress was the Kalif. Less, even, than an exarch could. Of course, most exarchs were married; married and well beyond youth. In addition, a Kalif could marry only a virgin, a woman whose reputation was unspotted. Absolutely not some other man's ex-mistress.