Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Why not in the Diplomatic Tower?”

  “Dear lady, so little I see of your city. Would you have me cooped into an even smaller orbit?”

  That created a smile from the sandy-haired Special Assistant.

  “Do you know the Plaza D’Artin?”

  “I can find it.”

  “How about 1930 at the Golden Nova?”

  “Twenty-thirty.”

  “Fine.”

  And that was that.

  Except…Nathaniel was ready to swallow hard at the aggressiveness of the woman. Not only the aggressiveness, but…he couldn’t place it, except that he was missing something so obvious he shouldn’t be.

  He had nearly two hours before Sylvia’s presumed arrival, not enough time to go anywhere, had he anywhere to go, and decided the time had come for some faxwork.

  “Mydra?”

  “If to be effective I am, I must know the people. Would you access the personnel records of all Legation employees to my screen?”

  “Now, Lord Whaler?”

  “Now is when I need them.”

  By the time he had reviewed all the records in the personnel files, he was convinced.

  Everything was too perfect, and because it was, he hadn’t the faintest idea which of the professional staff were planted. The safest assumption was that they all were.

  XIV

  “MARTIN,” ASKED THE woman behind the desk, “anything new?” She nipped a bite from a thin taper of cernadine, then another. With each chew, the room grew more redolent of the spice drug.

  “There’s a call from the Trade Envoy from Accord. Whaler, I think his name is. Nathaniel Whaler.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “That’s the Rift thing.”

  “Oh…and they didn’t like our proposal and actually sent an Envoy. How charming.” Janis Du-Plessis swivelled her seat to view the western hills, turning her back on the aide. “Do we have a counterproposal from them yet?”

  “I suspect that’s why he wants to meet with Lord Jansen. Probably wants to present it.”

  “You know, Martin, I’m not terribly fond of provincials, especially from places like Accord. They even turned down my visa.” She turned back toward the console and tapped the lock panel.

  “We’re in conference, Martin, and that’s far more important than appointment scheduling for Lord Whaler. Far more important.”

  Her eyes were bright with the effect of the drug, and fixed on the wiry blond man.

  “Why don’t you demonstrate how important?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not now? Lord Jansen is skying, and Lord Envoy Whaler can certainly cool his provincial heels a bit longer.”

  She looked from Martin to the long couch next to her console and back to him. As she tilted her head, he stood to accept her invitation.

  The console panels continued to blink, unanswered.

  XV

  THE PRIVATE SCREEN chimed, twice.

  The Special Assistant scanned the office out of habit, although she was alone.

  “Ku-Smythe.”

  “Marcella, is your dinner engagement wise?” The Admiral’s voice was level.

  “How much of the Accord Legation’s fax system do you have controlled? All of it?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Unless my techs are totally incompetent, everything here is blocked. That means it can’t be snooped until the reception point. Accord doesn’t have first-class equipment, I’ll admit, but it’s good enough to block anyone but your crew. Besides, you’ve got most of the plants on the staff. So even good equipment wouldn’t keep you from finding out…but not this quickly.”

  The Admiral smiled. “It’s a pity you wouldn’t go the Service route. You’re wasted at Commerce.”

  “Could I have gotten as high at Defense?”

  “The man is dangerous, Marcella. Dangerous. Don’t forget it.”

  “You’re exaggerating again. No man is that dangerous.”

  “I wish I could show you how dangerous.”

  “Why do you care? If you’re right, that would give you all the pretexts you need, not that you seem to mind the lack of political concern you’ve demonstrated so far.”

  The Admiral frowned. “You continue to believe that politics is more important than military capability?”

  “No. Your kind of military capabilities are irrelevant, I suspect. That’s more the kind of judgment the I.I.S. should make. But you don’t trust them either.”

  “Marcella…”

  “Why don’t you ask yourself why Accord wants to negotiate?”

  “I have. They don’t want to fight. Neither do we, but we need the trade routes to the Outer Rift.”

  “Nonsense. You’re still trying to prove that you can undo the Secession with pure military applications. Besides, Accord has never blocked the trade routes. It just happens that we can’t compete, not unless Accord is no longer a factor.”

  “As I said, Marcella, it’s a pity you’re wasted at Commerce.”

  The Special Assistant just looked through the screen at the Defense Chief.

  Finally, the Admiral looked away, and the screen blanked.

  XVI

  “CLING!”

  “Whaler.”

  “A Sylvia Ferro-Maine for lunch, Lord Whaler.”

  “Yes. Please send her in.” He paused. “And how soon will the food be ready?”

  “Shortly, Lord Whaler. I just checked on it.”

  He stood and moved toward the entry portal, which was opening as he approached.

  The woman, who at first glance might have passed for a girl, was dark haired, a brown nearly black, almost as tall as he was, well muscled, but fine boned, with the look of a dancer. Her fair complexion added to the chinalike impression.

  “Lord Whaler?”

  “One and the very same, Lady dear,” he replied with a broad accent. “And you are fine?”

  “A little rushed, Lord Whaler, but fine.”

  He gestured toward the deep office couch.

  “You have very spacious quarters here.”

  “Spacious? I had not thought about the matter, but would such as this be considered spacious here? In New Augusta?”

  “Quite comfortable.” Sylvia looked around the office, her eyes lingering at the vista of the western hills. “Quite comfortable.”

  As she sat down, he plopped himself into the chair across from her.

  “Know you much about Accord?”

  “Only the standard. What should I know?”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “So much there is to say. Where would one start? Not at the beginning, for too long that would take. Not in the middle, for too confusing that would be. And at the end, nothing would I be saying. So…” he dragged it out, “at the beginning will I start, but more quickly.”

  “Before start I, hospitality should I offer. Alas, however, my resources here limited are. I have ordered lunch, and arriving in a while it will be. Now I offer you liftea, cafe, or the wine white. You would like which?”

  “If you don’t mind,” the woman responded, carefully crossing her trousered legs, “I think I’ll wait until lunch arrives. But do go on with your story…I mean, your history.”

  The Ecolitan cleared his throat.

  “In the start, Accord settled was by those fleeing after the fall of the first Federation, and with special skills. The Ecolitan Institute founded shortly thereafter to further and to hand down those skills. All citizens must take Institute training to some degree. Fortunate enough was I to be selected for full training and later to teach there.”

  He paused to clear his throat again and study Sylvia Ferro-Maine. Odd combination, with the slate gray eyes, dark hair swept up like a dancer’s, and the light complexion. She conveyed an impression of fragility.

  “Institute does not play now so large a part in our history as once it did, though this time, at crossroads in trade talks, the Institute was indeed consulted. For that I should be most grateful, for t
hat has allowed me the opportunity to see New Augusta.”

  “Was the Institute the same as the ‘Black College’ that trained the ecological terrorists of the Ecologic Rebellion?” Her tone was casual, curious, almost uninterested.

  “All citizens of Accord did rally together at that time, but the question you have asked, dear Lady, presupposes the Empire was right and Accord wrong. If I answer at all, then I justify your assessment of us all.” He shrugged as if puzzled.

  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 stronger 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 tapping 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 I.I.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 compromise. 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.”