The Ecologic Envoy

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  She laughed, and the short, sharp sound was nearly musical. “I surrender. Let me put it in another way. Did the Institute play the key role in the Ecologic Secession, as I believe you call it?”

  “Most key role, since only the Institute at that time had all the necessary skills gathered under one roof. Times have changed, now, with the five colleges, and the outworld learning centers, and there is less reliance upon the Institute.”

  He leaned back in the low chair, almost losing his balance as he discovered that the chair reclined and swivelled simultaneously.

  “What changes do you see as the most important?”

  “Already lengthening what I promised would be short, dear Lady. After Accord was settled and the Institute founded, the government created emphasized self-sufficiency, balanced use of resources, and independent means of interstellar travel. All with good results, until the Empire became most insistent on taking a control over us and over our uninhabited systems. We resisted. Others understood our plight and joined us.”

  He shrugged. “Now, once again, the Empire has questions about trade and commerce and what systems belong to whom, and here I am to mediate if possible what can be done. Accord is older, and wiser, I am told, and would rather talk this out. So we hope the Empire will talk in good faith as well.” He looked away from her and out through the wide permaglass at the vista of the mountains, sharp and barren, even in the distance.

  “Accord like Terra is,” he said softly, “with a gravity a touch stranger and a sky that is more green and near the same land masses with oceans as well. Less salty are the seas, and thicker is the air. Accord is younger, and that may be an answer. Our sun is whiter.” The Ecolitan shrugged again. “Scarcely it seems know I what else to say or what you wish to hear.”

  “What do you all do? A dumb question, I suppose, but none of your occupations are listed in the socioeconomic breakdowns.”

  Nathaniel repressed a whistle at the thought of the Empire’s collecting socioeconomic data on Accord.

  “Like all people everywhere, we work. Some farm, some craft, some heal, some in industry, some in trade. A small microprocessing industry we have, and some small shipyards, but not on large scales, not like New Glasgow or Halston. I had limited scientific talents, and so came into the Institute.” A discreet taxing sounded. Nathaniel rose. “Our lunch perhaps arrives.” Standing at the portal was a waiter, trim in solid tan, and guiding a fully set glide table. “Lord Whaler, your order.”

  After watching the waiter set up the table in quick and measured movements and ushering him out, Nathaniel gestured toward Sylvia. “At last…”

  He sat Sylvia at one side, and pulled the bottle of sparkling white wine from the ice bucket.

  The traditional plastic cork would have come out easily, but the Ecolitan struggled with it as if it were difficult, and in the process aimed it almost at Sylvia. The small missile exploded out of the bottle neck and zipped by her face with a centimeter or two to spare. She jumped. “Ah, dear Lady. I am sorry.” He handed her the glass into which he had dumped the colorless and tasteless powder before filling it. “Really, I shouldn’t.”

  He poured himself an overflowing glass and sat down across the table from her.

  “But you have not explained your presence, your kindness in lunching with an unknown Envoy.”

  “No kindness, really. Courtney had already asked me to look into the Accord situation. What better way to start?”

  Sylvia smiled faintly, faintly enough to chill Nathaniel, and took a deep sip of the wine. He frowned and pulled at his chin. After Sylvia had taken a few more sips, the fidelitrol should take hold. The tricky drug left the victim unable to withhold the truth but had its disadvantages. First, the victim remembered everything, and second, any agent could be trained to minimize its effects. He took another sip of his own wine. “With a poor diplomat like me? A mere fumbler of figures?”

  Sylvia wrinkled her nose… then sneezed. Once! Twice! Her glass nearly tipped, and Nathaniel reached out to steady it.

  Sylvia leaned forward in reaction to her sneeze until, off-balance, her hand almost hit Nathaniel’s wine glass as she groped to steady herself.

  “Oh, excuse me. Envoy Whaler. Please excuse me.” She dabbed at her face with a tissue.

  Nathaniel took another sip of his wine, waiting for Sylvia to recover. At last, she finished dabbing and took another sip, more like a mouthful, of the wine.

  “You’re fresh from Accord,” she observed, “and who else would be a better source here in New Augusta?”

  “But you? What role do you play in this?” He hastily added another sentence to restrict the question. “For the Senator, I mean?”

  “I’m the principal investigator for the Committee, dear Envoy, and look into all sorts of things. Now I’m supposed to look into you.” A puzzled look crossed her dancer’s face.

  “And how did you come to such a distinguished position?”

  “Because the Service thought the Senator needed looking after, and because he has a weakness for good-looking women, and you know, dear Envoy, you beat me to it.” She smiled, and this time the smile was resigned in nature.

  “Beat you to what?” Nathaniel asked. The conversation had taken a decidedly bizarre turn.

  “Slipping something into my drink. I’ve never told anyone that about the Service, nor would I under anything remotely resembling normal circumstances.”

  Nathaniel realized she was stalling, stalling until whatever had ended up in his own drink took effect. He laughed.

  “Why did you drug my drink?” he asked, jumping to the obvious conclusion.

  “Because you aren’t quite what you seem, and there doesn’t seem to be any other quick way to find out what I need to know.”

  “Which is?”

  “The details of your mission, or missions, including the reasons and rationale…”

  Nathaniel chilled. He wasn’t sure he could fight the fidelitrol as successfully as she was, and he only had a question or two left before her drug, whatever it was, took effect.

  “Who sent you? Who is the Service, and what can I do to get a trade agreement?” He snapped out the questions like arrows.

  “Courtney Corwin-Smathers sent me because the S. set her up to have me sent, and the Service is the Imperial Intelligence Service, and the best way for you to get a trade agreement is to keep everyone off balance, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Nathaniel tried to frame another question, but instead found himself answering hers.

  “That was my initial reaction, but it’s difficult to know how to do that when you don’t know the real players—”

  “What’s your real purpose, dear Envoy?” How was he going to turn the tables on her?… “My real purpose is to get a trade agreement favorable to Accord and to continue to block Imperial expansion back into the Rift and to do both while avoiding any sort of direct armed conflict between the Coordinate and the Empire, which complicates things greatly, don’t you think?” There! He’d thrown his own question on the end. If it hadn’t been so serious, he could have howled. Both were compelled to tell the truth, and both were trying to get the other on the answering side of the questions.

  “Greatly, but doesn’t that mean that Accord is out for territorial expansion?”

  “Only in the commercial sense and not in governmental terms because the Institute doesn’t believe in large government, but aren’t several factions within the Empire out to crush us anyway? Which ones? Why?”

  “Not all the Empire; mainly the Admiral and the Ministry of Defense, probably because they’re still smarting over the loss of the Rift, and can’t we stop this farce?”

  “Yes, if we agree not to ask questions.”

  “I agree.”

  Nathaniel looked up to see the fine beads of perspiration on Sylvia’s forehead, wiped the dampness off his own brow with the back of his sleeve.

  He cleared his throat, meeting her slate dark eyes again. “How…I’d like to offer a compro
mise. I’ll tell you what I can, and you can ask me one question afterwards. That question will ask me if what I said is true. Then you say what you can or will, and I ask you the same question.”

  She laughed.

  “For a man with such a dangerous reputation, you’re certainly being straightforward, and I’d even drink to that, but I’d rather not prolong the agony.”

  Nathaniel coughed, looked down at the linen on the table, and then back at the slender woman.

  “My story is simple, as much of it as you probably want to hear. I am an Ecolitan, a professor at the Institute, selected because of my overall qualifications to figure out how to negotiate a trade agreement with the Empire before the Empire can employ the lack of such an agreement as an excuse to justify widespread military action against the Coordinate. The job is complicated because we can’t politically accept a degrading agreement. The Institute couldn’t accept any agreement whose terms might be difficult to keep because we frankly believe that some segments of the Empire don’t want any agreement. At the same time, I should reinforce the idea that armed aggression by the Empire would result in catastrophe for the Empire itself. That will be difficult because no one in the Empire really believes that Accord has that kind of ability. Nor do they want to believe that. It’s true, unfortunately.”

  He spread his hands. “I’d be happy to add any more if it’s a suggestion and not a question.”

  She grinned. “Do you trust me that much? Or do you think you could avoid answering?” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

  “No, but I have to trust someone, at least to some degree. It’s probably better to trust a professional. I could probably avoid revealing anything I really wanted to.”

  Sylvia opened her mouth, closed it, then began again. “You seem to have a great deal of confidence, a great deal of faith, in your ability to wreak havoc upon the Empire without taking much in the way of losses.” Her expression was calm and composed by the time she finished the statement.

  “I did not say that. All-out war would probably destroy Accord totally. It would not destroy the Institute nor its capability to devastate the Empire. There is a difference.”

  “Is all this true, and do you believe it?”

  “Yes… to both… with the qualification that any prediction based on assumptions of human nature has a certain potential for error.”

  Her laugh was a breeze of freshness. “My… you do sound like the professor you are!”

  He couldn’t help but return her humor with a short laugh of his own.

  “I didn’t mean to sound so pedantic, but the way you asked the question…” The silence following his words lengthened. Nathaniel half turned to stare out the wide window toward the foothills and the mountains behind. High white clouds were approaching from the west.

  As he brought himself back to meet Sylvia’s eyes, he realized he had not even touched the food on the plate before him. Not had Sylvia. He gestured.

  “Perhaps you’d like a bite or two before you begin …” Looking down, then lifting his fork, he raised his eyebrows, asking an unspoken question.

  “No… I didn’t drop anything in the food, suspicious man. Did you?”

  “No, suspicious lady.”

  Surprisingly, the fish was still warm, and the sweet-sour sauce and a spice he failed to recognize added pungency to the white meat’s delicate flavor. The side dish, some sort of vegetable, was soggy, bland, and smelled like overdone seaweed.

  It also tasted like seaweed, though Sylvia ate her portion with scarcely a shiver.

  He finished nearly all of what was on his plate before realizing she had done the same, and neither had said a word. “You know… Sylvia… I wonder if anyone will really believe what I’ve said after you walk out and tell them.”

  “Dear Envoy, it’s a relief to hear I will walk out.” Her smile was teasing.

  “Unlike Imperials,” he returned, “we don’t tease and obfuscate issues, which often leaves us at a great disadvantage.”

  “The Service already believes you.” Her face smoothed into a professional mask. “For various reasons, no one else wants to. In that sense, we’re allies. But we can’t lift a hand in any direct way to help you make your case.”

  “Why not?”

  “Since I don’t seem compelled to answer that, I won’t, although I will point out that no military bureaucracy has ever lost the opportunity to destroy rival intelligence sources.”

  “The Institute faces some of the same problems, and I would guess the same problem occurs in more cultures than not.” He cleared his throat. “What else can you, or will you, reveal?”

  “You probably won’t get much help from the Ministry of External Affairs… we feel that Commerce will try to take control.”

  “You paint a less than optimistic picture.”

  “Should I distort it, Lord Whaler? No one really likes Accord. Even the Service only supports the idea of a completed agreement because we like the alternatives even less.”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “That you’re sorry for the underhanded tactics you use …” suggested Sylvia with a twinkle in her eye.

  “When I am not… when the tactics hurt no one, except the pride…”

  “Touche!”

  “After all, Lady, my pride also was damaged.” Nathaniel managed to keep a straight face despite the outrageous statement.

  The Ecolitan looked down at his empty plate, wondering why he was regretting that the lunch was nearly over. “Why the frown?”

  “Oh… nothing. Things are never quite as they seem, but why that should surprise me I can’t quite say.”

  Sylvia pushed back her chair and stood, catching Nathaniel with the quickness of the movement, although he was standing next to her within instants. “You recover quickly,” she observed, still bantering.

  “One tries.”

  Inclining her head to the right, she gave him a quizzical look, her gray eyes clouding momentarily. “Like you, I find things are not quite what they seem. Nor are you.”

  “I am what I am.”

  She was already departing. As the portal irised, she turned back toward him.

  “Time is running against you, you know, particularly if you have to react to others.” She paused, then continued with a brief smile, “But I did enjoy the lunch.” With that, she was gone.

  Nathaniel shook his head as the portal closed behind her.

  Only a faint scent, similar to the orange blossoms of his father’s orchards, hung in the air to remind him that Sylvia had been there…

  …XVII…

  Nathaniel studied his reflection in the mirror. The shimmering tan of the semiformal tunic was not all that flattering, made him look even a bit beefy.

  “Can’t have everything,” he muttered as he tabbed the plate to dim the quarters’ lights. Was it wise to go out the way he was? Probably not.

  Instead of leaving by the private exit, he decided on going through the Legation. The staff offices were deserted except for the duty desk, captained by Hillary West-Coven, the lady whose purpose he had yet to discover. “Oh, Lord Whaler. You surprised me.” Several emotions flashed across her face, one of which Nathaniel thought might be guilt.

  “That I did not mean,” he pontificated. “Just departing am I.”

  With that, he hurried out, checking the area outside the portal.

  The corridor was nearly deserted, but the faint shadow along the far side corridor piqued his curiosity. He eased himself against the wall and slipped toward the side branch, the one that would eventually lead to the private entrance to his personal quarters.

  After dropping into a crouch, he darted a look around the corner, in time to see three plain-suited figures heading crisply toward the exit portal from his quarters.

  Nathaniel straightened, checking behind himself instinctively, and frowned.

  The military bearing of two of the three was obvious, despite their civilian attire. But wh
o was the third figure? Somehow the gait had been familiar, almost like an Ecolitan…

  “Whew!” A soft whistle escaped his lips. If he’d seen what he thought he’d seen, he was headed for real trouble. The next question was how to defuse the trap without letting onto the deception.

  If the three didn’t discover one Nathaniel Whaler exiting his quarters shortly, they would go searching, as well as alert their superiors at the Ministry of Defense.

  Nathaniel weighed the options, and as he weighed, checked the few items he always carried.

  From the inside of his belt he pulled a thin, golden film cloak and a filmy golden privacy mask. While such masks were not normally worn on New Augusta, his real purpose was to confuse his identity for a few individuals for a limited period of time.

  Next came the wooden dart pistol with which he had attempted to persuade Sergel. In addition to the lethal darts were those that sent the victims into a delirium and effectively scrambled their memories from several minutes before they were shot until several days later. The Ecolitan opted for the nonlethal variety.

  An unseen attack would be best, but if that couldn’t be arranged, surprise would substitute nearly as well.

  The corridors narrowed as they approached his private quarters, but Nathaniel trailed the three until it was certain they were staking out his quarters’ exit.

  From the corner behind which he waited, the range to the nearest “sentry,” a blond man perhaps six centimeters shorter than the Ecolitan, was roughly eight meters. The other military operative was stationed to guard the cross corridor, and the third, the one who also wore a privacy cloak, the one whose face and bearing resembled the Ecolitan himself, stood by the exit portal with a drawn stunner.

  Nathaniel eased the dart pistol around the corner and fired. “Thwick!”

  “Thwick.”

  The nearer sentry pulled at his neck, twice, before dropping his hand to look at the dissolving residue of the dart.