The colonel adroitly avoided the first question by answering the second. "I dare say he won't last long. There'll be a great fuss in the File, and most of his own party will desert him—I think. They hardly have any choice, considering the reaction of the populace to this Bairnvell thing."
"And I agree," said Heywood decisively. "We've got no business interfering with the lawful governments of planets and systems outside the Empire. The old days of Imperial expansion are over. Why, the way Lord Senesin acts, you'd think Emperor Jerris the First was on the throne."
"Well, not quite," Colonel Lord Sorban said dryly. "I can't imagine any Prime Portfolio in the time of Jerris I daring to act on his own initiative."
"Exactly," said Heywood, just as though the colonel had agreed with him. "That's why we have a constitutional Empire today. One man can't be allowed that much power without the consent of the governed. The people must have a right to depose anyone who abuses the power they give him." He swallowed the remainder of his drink. "Can you imagine what it would be like if the present Emperor tried to pull that sort of stuff? Not that he would, mind you; he's too good an Emperor for that. He sticks to his job. But these are different times. And then, too, we can't afford to antagonize the Gehan Federation. After all, I mean, war ..." He shook his head at the thought.
Colonel Lord Sorban had listened to Heywood's soliloquy with patience, but he felt his irritation growing. Much as he had enjoyed the play between Heywood and young Senesin, he had expected to get some information out of the boy before he left. And besides, Heywood's clichéd monologue was beginning to pall.
Therefore, the colonel finished his own drink, uttered some polite banalities and got out.
He walked around the corner to the restaurant, was bowed into a seat by an ultrapolite android, and quietly ordered his meal. While he waited, he spread the newsfac on the table in front of him, holding it with his right hand while his left elbow rested on the table and his left palm cradled his left jaw. In that position, there was nothing odd-looking about the fact that his left thumbtip was in contact with his larynx and his left middle finger was pressed tightly against the mastoid bone just behind his left ear. His lips began to move slightly, and anyone at a nearby table would have assumed that he was one of those readers who are habitual lip-movers.
"The Senesin boy says he has a lead on the tapes. That's all I could get out of him just now, but I have an appointment with him at eleven tonight. How far shall I let him go, Sire?"
The sensitive microphone in the tip of his thumb picked up the nearly inaudible sounds; the speaker in his middle finger vibrated against his skull and brought him the answer to his question.