"But they're military men, and loyal!"
"Are they? The war's over for them, anyway. Why not let them vote on it?"
Tulan jumped up and strode around the command room, while Jezef and the staff watched him silently. Gradually, the logic of it forced itself upon him. "All right," he said wearily, "We'll let them vote."
A few hours later he studied the results gloomily. "Well, after all, they're not Fleet. They don't have the tradition."
Jezef smiled, then lingered, embarrassed.
"Well?" Tulan asked.
"Sir," (that hadn't come out, in private, for years) "I'd like to be relieved."
It was a blow, but Tulan found he wasn't really surprised. He stared at his brother-in-law, feeling as if he faced an amputation. "You think I'm wrong about this whole thing, don't you?"
"I'm not going to judge that, but Sennech's in trouble far worse than any question of politics, including your own family."