"Not so," Rothka said. "Let me quote Scripture."

"Be my guest."

The Kalif's seeming willingness broke the noble's certainty. His gaze faltered for just a moment, then hardened. The Prophet's words, as he recited them, were measured, almost stately: "I will not always be with you in the flesh, for the flesh is mortal. And there are those who hate godliness and the godly, wanting them dead. Thus not only will I pass from this world, but also will he who follows me. Probably before our time. And the believers will need to choose a new leader not once, but many times over the centuries."

Rothka's back was stiff as a marshal's. "Therefore I give to you rules to choose by, for the protection of the Church, and of its people, and of righteousness. And of Kargh's words. You must choose leaders who are righteous. He who would lead must be one who steadfastly eschews greed, and sensuality, and all unrighteousness. One who has consorted with lechers, or the tight-fisted, or has sought the company of lewd women, cannot lead the Church. And if one who has been chosen would marry, the woman he chooses must be-" Rothka paused, then said the final words slowly, deliberately: "Chaste and virtuous."

The rest of the list of requisites for Successors to The Prophet, Rothka left unrecited, as irrelevant to his argument. He fixed the Kalif with his eyes then, as if challenging him. The Kalif nodded.

"Thank you, Lord Rothka, for renewing The Prophet's message for us. Especially the phrase about the tight-fisted."

Rothka flushed; he had a reputation for stinginess, and was sensitive about it. The Kalif looked around. "Lord Rothka's subject may not have been relevant to the day's business, but the words of the Blessed Flenyaagor are worth listening to on any subject. Does anyone else wish to display his memory of The Book before we return to the request of Lord Roonoa?"

Rothka, still flushed, subsided onto his seat.

"If not…" said the Kalif.

Another hand stabbed upward, another member of the Land Rights Party stood. "You are evading the issue, the matter of the woman you want to marry. The alien woman brought to the empire by the Klestronu expedition."

"My dear Ilthka." The Kalif's voice held reproof. "You are on the wrong side of the chamber to discuss that; it's a matter for the Prelacy, specifically the College. And let me remind you that there is a proper form for addressing your Kalif.

"Now. Does anyone have an appropriate subject to propose? If not, we will return to the matter which the senior delegate from Maolaari brought up yesterday-that is, his request for approval of the export of loohio."

Ilthka too sat back down.

"Lord Roonoa, the record shows that your presentation speech did not address The Prophet's command to be fruitful. How can we reconcile your proposal with that command?"

Roonoa stood, bowing slightly to the Kalif. "Your Reverence," he said in his rich bass, "we should consider when it was that The Prophet spoke those words, and the apparent reason for them. The first burning plague had swept Varatos little more than ten years earlier, killing more than one in three of all the people, taking children and women even more than men. Of those who'd sickened and recovered, some were left witless, and many women who had been sickened and not died had proved sterile. Cribs stood empty. Fields lay fallow for lack of men to work them. Looms stood silent, forges cold."

The Maolaaro looked around at the delegates; so did the Kalif, though not as plainly. "So of course The Prophet told the people to be fruitful. But one might wonder what he would say today, when all the worlds but Maolaari are crowded. With many gentry unemployed, competing with peasants for work as day laborers. With food riots on nearly every world."

He looked around, meeting gazes thoughtful and gazes hostile. So far as he knew, no one had come forward with such an argument before. One did not think such things. "The Blessed Flenyaagor was a holy man," he went on. "A saintly man. But he was also a practical man who had guided his ship through storms, around dangerous reefs and shoals. He'd fought pirates, fled pirates, even paid extortion to pirates. He'd bargained with men over cargoes and prices, and took satisfaction in the high price he'd gotten for his ship, that he could print The Book and have money to support him in his ministry."

The Maolaaru noble shook his head as he continued. "I do not believe, Your Reverence, that permitting the export of loohio from Maolaari would offend The Prophet if he were here today. Indeed, if the poor should eat it, who can hardly feed their children, I wonder if The Prophet would not actually praise it."

An angry hand stabbed the air. Roonoa ignored it as he sat down.

"Alb Thoga," said the Kalif, and the exarch got to his feet.

"Your Reverence, I am outraged by the insolence of the delegate from Maolaari! It is bad enough that a layman presumed to analyze The Prophet's reasoning. But to stand there and presume to tell us what The Prophet would think or say if he were here today-That is unforgivable!"

"Thank you, Alb Thoga." You are chronically outraged, the Kalif added silently. To you, nothing is forgivable.

Other hands had raised, and the Kalif pointed. "Lord Panamba."

The delegate for Niithvoktos stood. Unlike Jilsomo, from the same world, Panamba was rather slender, remarkably so for someone from Niithvoktos with its 1.17 gravity. He looked as if, beneath his clothes, he'd be sinewy. "Your Reverence, I will not comment on The Prophet's words, except indirectly: What Lord Roonoa said makes sense, whether or not he accurately described what The Prophet might think. We have a major population problem, not only on Niithvoktos but on Varatos, and Klestron, and any other world you'd care to name. Except Roonoa's own."

Panamba too sat down then, and the Kalif called on Lord Agros. The Leader of the House spoke seated. "Your Reverence, it is unthinkable that the Diet approve Lord Roonoa's proposal. We nobility dare not eat loohio because we dare not reduce our birthrate. Even now we constitute less than eight percent of the population. The gentry constitute barely thirty-three percent, and we rely on them to control and supervise the peasants, so we cannot have fewer gentry either.

"As for the peasants, most of them would love to eat loohio daily, I have no doubt. Then they could copulate endlessly without having to feed children, and the raising of children is the only self-accepted responsibility the peasants know. It is all that makes them more than beasts. Besides, without enough peasants, who would work the fields? Dig the ditches? Clean the streets? True, it might be desirable to reduce their births somewhat. But if we decide to, it should be by legalizing birth-control pharmaceuticals, for use in programs planned by SUMBAA and controlled by the government."

"Thank you, Lord Agros."

A hand had been popping up at the close of each comment, and the Kalif now recognized Lord Fakoda Lamatahasu, speaker for the Industrial Party. Fakoda, a short, somewhat chubby man, managed somehow to be self-important and self-effacing at the same time.

"Your Reverence, I do not pretend to be deep on matters of religion, though I have read The Book through a number of times. But from a purely practical view, a purely practical view you understand-if we should allow the Maolaari to import their loohio, and the number of peasants should decrease as a result… Well, machines could be built to do many kinds of jobs that peasants do-do them better and faster. And gentry could find employment tending the machines that would make the machines. Perhaps operating the machines themselves."

He shrugged, shoulders and hands. "Of course, these things can't be worked out overnight. But then, the population of working-age peasants would not go down overnight, either. Loohio would be no problem-no practical problem. Certainly much less a problem than those it would relieve."