Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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to ferret out information. I get intrigued .
But this required aid from his superior, the Mahid.
Eforas, old boy, he thought that night, creeping by midnight to the embassy for his appointment,you are
about to have the pearls of my wisdom, thrown before you .
All Mahid looked the same. It wasn't only that they were a clan or always wore black—onyxine, they
called it, a glorified term for black—or had sworn the same oath, that of ultimate loyalty to the Imperator
of Arko, whatever he asked. They all seemed to have the same mind, too. It was like the Press in Arko,
the huge black rattling machine that spat out thePages and other reading material: it worked when a lever
was pulled one way, didn't work when it was pulled another way, always worked exactly the same way
and produced the same product, over and over and over. You got the impression that if any part were
jolted slightly out of line, the whole thing would come to a smoking halt.
Its the training, of course, Matthas thought,their having to think no thoughts but the fifty Maxims
and strangle dogs when they're kids and so forth . One could feel sorry for them.
He wasn't sure which he disliked more, though: the young ones, with their boundless energy and their
limitless hate, some still having the misfortune of being handsome; or the old ones with their faces of
carven stone, who over the years had brought Mahidness to a fine art. Eforas, it turned out, had come
out of the mold a middle age ago. It remained to be seen whether he'd combine the virtues of youth and
age, or the vices.
Matthas vaguely wondered, as he seated himself in the back office of the Arkan embassy, what Mahid
women were like.All in onyxine aprons , he thought.With those same dead fish eyes, saying "Child,
the will of the Imperator requires you to eat your turnips . …"
Eforas had the usual Mahid bearing, straight and stiff as a rod, and a face incapable of expression. The
two nodded to each other. "Your report of activities since Edremmas's demise,fessas ," the Mahid
intoned. Typical of Mahid, to emphasize the inferior caste.
Matthas drew out his notes, and began.Ihave to pretend I'm talking to a machine , he thought, as
even his most amusing and bizarre anecdotes passed one by one without bringing even a flicker of a smile
to Eforas's deathly blue eyes. His deductions about Yeoli financing, which he'd thought were quite astute,
actually, didn't bring even a nod of approval.Machines don't laugh, or praise , he reminded himself,
whether it's deserved or not . He forged bravely ahead to his request: funding to secure the owner of
the Slaf Hikarme for truth-drugging.
"Fessas," the Mahid interrupted. "Did you say 'she'?"
"I did, sir," Matthas answered firmly. Mahid understood that syntax better than just yes, he'd learned.
"Then I am given to understand this Megan Whitlock is a woman?"
"She is, sir."
"Now how can you reconcile the ownership of said merchant house by said person, and the fact that she
is a woman?"