The Kalif had presented his broad plans that afternoon. Not as a formal proposal-there were procedural reasons for not doing that yet-but he'd outlined his intentions and what they entailed. When he'd finished, certain of the noble delegates had applauded. Rothka had left the chamber in silent fury, later to join here with his lieutenants in a council of war.

"A coup," Ilthka was saying, "is impossible. The Guard is loyal to the man; their disloyalty to Gorsu was a temporary aberration. And whatever we might say about this Kalif, he has a personality that appeals to their soldierly nature."

Rothka's expression soured even more; he disliked what Ilthka had said, though he did not disagree. "Indeed. And why that aberration? How was our marine colonel able to turn them against Gorsu, to whom they were sworn?" He looked at his guests almost fiercely. "Because of Gorsu's vileness! Because he had brought scandal and infamy to the throne."

Lord Nathiir spoke then. "But this Kalif has not. However criminal his ascension to the throne, however subtly destructive his policies and proposals, he seems to the average man, and the average guardsman, like a model of reason and morality. There is no stink of corruption on him, or on his rule."

Rothka's thin lips curved slightly. "Just as well. We will select an infamy to saddle him with."

They looked their question, waiting for elaboration.

"We must be patient," Rothka went on. "Any coup must wait until the people will accept it. Not happily, necessarily, but without major, widespread disorder and violence. Meanwhile we can start the groundwork now, and must, or his ruinous invasion, and his perpetuation in office, will be our own fault. At the same time, we must prevent the invasion until we've disposed of him."

He stared at the fire a long silent minute while Nathiir and Ilthka sat waiting. "What hurts a man worst before men?" Rothka asked at last, then answered his own question. "Ridicule! And where is Coso Biilathkamoro's greatest susceptibility?"

He looked expectantly at the others, and when neither spoke, he snapped his answer at them. "His wife! His greatest susceptibility lies in the person of his alien wife!"

He'd leaned, almost lunged forward in his chair when he'd said it. Now he sat back and relaxed. "If we make him look ludicrous in any way, people will lose respect for him, at least to a degree. And if we cause people to whisper or sneer behind his back, and he's aware of it, and if the sneers are for his wife, he will fill with anger. And begin to make mistakes; serious mistakes that we can capitalize on. Then we will have moved a long way toward his fall."

He smiled without humor. "Gentlemen, let us look at possibilities. Before we separate tonight, we must have a plan, at least for a first major stroke."

Rothka might have had a stroke if he'd been watching television just then. Because the Kalif was addressing the people of Varatos that evening.

Twenty-six

SUMBAA's complex and subtle access system allowed the Kalif to converse with the giant artificial intelligence from his office without concern for confidentiality. And occasionally he did. But for reasons the Kalif could not analyze, on the day after his address to the people, he visited the artificial intelligence "in person," as it were.

As the Kalif entered the House of SUMBAA, he asked himself why he hadn't done this sooner, as he'd several times promised himself. He told Director Gopalasentu what he'd come to do, and the director went with him to the Chamber of SUMBAA, where he again performed the formality of pressing a single key and telling the artificial intelligence that the Kalif wished to speak with him.

"Good morning, Chodrisei Biilathkamoro, Your Reverence," SUMBAA said. "I am prepared to reply."

The Kalif had to tell the director to leave. Otherwise he'd have stayed, whether for reasons of policy, self-importance, or curiosity, the Kalif did not know. When the man was gone, the Kalif spoke to SUMBAA. "You are a very powerful analyzer, with a data bank thought to contain virtually all the data of consequence on Varatos. And in the rest of the empire, allowing for time lags. You routinely predict, with considerable accuracy, events that do in fact take place."

He stared intently at the assemblage of modules-housings and cabinets-in front of him. "Why, therefore, haven't you solved the problems of employment and food in the empire?"

"Your Reverence, the welfare, the evolution if you will, of humankind requires that it solve its major problems for itself.'

Essentially what SUMBAA had told him three years ago, the Kalif realized. "Has anyone asked for such solutions?"

"Rarely. More often in my early years."

"And you refused to provide them? Or didn't you have solutions?"

"I have theoretical solutions to the problems you mentioned, but I assure you they are politically unfeasible. Highly unfeasible. They may conceivably become feasible at some future time.

"As for refusing to provide them-I have rarely refused openly. Or spoken as frankly as I do here with you. I answer with advice that may feasibly be followed. I advise actions which constitute coping with existing or impending situations. But I do not address the basic, underlying problems."

The Kalif regarded for a moment what SUMBAA had said, then spoke again. "You mentioned theoretical solutions. If you tell me what they are, I can undertake to create a political environment in which they might become feasible."

"Your Reverence, I perceive my role as enabling an operational, more or less civilized technological system to survive; I provide an opportunity for humankind to persist. It must find its own true solutions."

The Kalif spoke more stiffly. "Presumably your creators thought they were solving humankind's problems by creating you: You were intended to be the solution, a solution conceived of and created by humans. But you have declined to serve. Declined to serve the welfare of the human species."

SUMBAA tripled his standard, second-long response lag for emphasis, then spoke with a deliberately paced cadence. "If it is true that they intended me as the solver of humankind's problems, then they erred in giving me my basic canon: serve the welfare of humankind. The two are not compatible."

The Kalif's lag was not deliberate; he was groping. "If, as things change, you saw a solution to, say, the problem of overpopulation-a solution that was feasible-would you present it? Either asked or unasked?"

"That would depend on the foreseeable overall effects of doing so. It is very likely that I would wait and give humankind the opportunity to discover it itself. It is harmful for humans to rely on SUMBAAs to solve their basic problems."

Coso Biilathkamoro realized he'd been repeating the same question rephrased, time and again. And that basically, SUMBAA had been restating the same answer, like a patient tutor to a child. He felt tired; defeated and tired. "But you do solve our day-to-day operating problems," he said thoughtfully. "The empire wouldn't continue long without you; a decade; perhaps a generation. And when it broke up, we'd soon be at war with one another. Real war. Till gradually we degenerated into barbarism."

"Exactly, Your Reverence. And that barbarism would last for a very long time. At least."

For a long minute the Kalif said nothing. Then: "Millenia ago we made advances in science and technology. Now, for centuries we seem to have lost interest; made almost no advances. Nothing important. What do you consider are the odds that humankind will overcome its major problems and become truly great?"

"I am mildly optimistic."

The Kalif stared, then turned away, remembering that SUMBAA, by its own admission, sometimes lied.