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. Nor 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…?”
“Touché!”
“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 tapped 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 who 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 un
seen 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.
His left arm twitched, followed by his right leg.
The further sentry, the dark-haired and taller woman, had already snapped her head around.
“Thwick!”
“Thwick!”
The first victim began to thrash on the corridor tiles, dull thuds echoing down the long and otherwise empty passageways.
Nathaniel wondered at the man’s self-control. By now, most would have been raving wildly.
The woman looked at the disintegrating splinters of the dart which rested in her hand, her eyes widening. Before she could analyze the pattern, in turn, she shuddered as the neural disruptor began to take effect.
Four shots to hit two sentries. Lousy shooting, Nathaniel thought as he reloaded the dart thrower.
The remaining Imperial, the bogus Ecolitan, turned his head from one side to the other as if to determine from which of the two intersecting corridors the shots had come.
Finally, the man made the right decision and dashed for the corridor where the woman lay thrashing, the one farthest from Nathaniel.
The Ecolitan snapped the dart gun together, waited until the other had cleared the corner, and sprinted nearly noiselessly after the man.
As he came around the corner, he saw the fleeing Imperial collide with a passerby, a mid-aged man, and knock him to the tiles. Nathaniel didn’t hesitate but used a single dart on the bystander as he passed at full sprint.
The Imperial stopped at the next intersection, the one perhaps thirty meters from the main corridor leading to the lift/drop shaft, and turned to level his stunner at the oncoming Ecolitan.
“Thwick!” Nathaniel triggered the dart pistol, knowing the distance was too great but anticipating the other would flinch. He did.
“Thrummm!”
The stunner bolt passed over the Ecolitan’s left shoulder.
Nathaniel dove to the right and into a roll. He came out still running.
His right hand went dead, but that didn’t stop him from firing the dart thrower.
Another advantage to being left-handed, he noted absently as he closed on the Imperial.
“Thwick!”
The dart caught the Imperial agent full in the throat, the only area unshielded by clothing. The man staggered momentarily, just long enough for Nathaniel to slash away the stunner and follow through with a quick elbow across the man’s jaw.
Without hesitating, Nathaniel pocketed the dart pistol, retrieved the stunner, and hoisted the unconscious but twitching form of the other over his shoulder. In less than a minute he had stowed the man in the public call booth near the lift shaft.
Only one passing couple caught his transit, the woman quickly turning her head, the man still peering back as the two descended the drop shaft.
As he tapped out the codes he wanted, Nathaniel stood to shield the body from full public view.
“Senator Helmsworth’s Office.”
The respondent was not the urbane male receptionist, but a woman, dark haired and slightly disheveled, in a pale blue tunic.
“Nathaniel Whaler for Sylvia Ferro-Maine.”
“Let me check.”
The screen blanked, only to be replaced with Sylvia’s slate gray eyes and dark hair. She still wore the green and gray she had worn to lunch.
“Lord Whaler…what a surprise.”
“Not so much as what I have for you.” He stepped aside and dragged the unconscious Imperial agent into the focus of the screen.
“Oh…and why are you faxing me?”
“I had thought that some of your friends might want to have a chat with this gentleman before he wakes up. You’ll note his remarkable similarity to me. That is, your friends might enjoy the conversation if they could pick him up before his dispatcher does.”
“Where on earth are you?”
“In the main corridor pubcomm station, right beyond the lift shaft, where you had lunch.”
“In that case, something might be arranged. Will you be there?”
“Not for long. I’ll call you later. I’ve probably been available all too long in any case.”
“I understand.”
The screen blanked.
Nathaniel shook his head. As quick as he thought he was, she was even quicker.
He let the agent slump into a heap in the back corner of the booth, hardly noticeable from outside, and strolled out and toward the drop shaft and his dinner engagement with Marcella, hoping the I.I.S. could retrieve the imitation “Nathaniel” before the military could.
XVIII
AFTER THE QUICK drop the public shaft to the tunnel concourse, Nathaniel summoned a public tunnel cab to take him to the Plaza D’Artin, the Golden Nova, and Marcella.
As he sat in the back of the cab, he flexed his right hand, squeezing it with his left. Some of the feeling was beginning to return.
Was the lady responsible for his recent reception committee? If not, why the coincidence?
He shrugged and took a deep breath, shaking himself slightly to relax muscles that were too tight.
Despite its name, the Golden Nova occupied a quiet corner of the multileveled plaza. Nathaniel was amused to note that his choice of dinner wear, while commonplace among the younger men, was definitely in style.
“I see you found it without trouble.” Marcella Ku-Smythe was waiting for him in the restaurant’s anteroom.
She wore an amber outfit with a high neck, narrow waist, and slightly flared pants. Much more becoming to her light skin than the maroon of the Imperial Commerce Ministry, he reflected. He didn’t miss the bulge of the stunner tucked into the waist folds of her jacket.
A waiter materialized and led them to a corner table. The dining area was filled, obviously with wealthy souls. The use of waiters alone attested to the price levels. So Marcella was well-off in her own right. Or the government was picking up the tab. Or both.
After they were seated, he asked that question.
“You’re too forthright even for me. Let us poor Imperials have a few secrets.”
“You’re more of a mystery to us,” he protested. “So many things puzzle me. Terra is the center of the Empire but few live here. You build towers into the sky, but seal them off and travel underground.”
“You should know.” It was the first trace of hostility he’d heard in her voice. “Or have they forgotten to teach all the history on Accord? Or don’t you recall why the war was called the Ecologic Rebellion…pardon me, the Ecologic Secession?”
“Forest Lord! Still?” he asked apologetically. The history tapes mentioned the use of ecological weapons against Terra itself by the Institute, and the techniques were still taught. But Accord had long since recovered from the war’s effects.
She waved his apology aside.
“I suppose you wouldn’t have any reason to understand the lasting impact. Terran ecology was so fragile at the time. We never really recovered from the Age of Waste and the first planetary wars. Yes, we could go outside, and some are allowed, but we’re erring on the side of caution. If you notice, all the towers—a necessary requirement of Empire—are within New Augusta. Elsewhere we try to minimize any a
dverse impact on the environment.”
After that exchange, he was more on edge.
“For a man so intelligent, so ostensibly open, you reveal little of what you are.”
He spread his hands. “My life is an open book.”
“Of blank pages,” she added with a wry laugh, “or pages written in an ancient and unknown language.”
He looked around the dining area from his position against the wall. Something about the seating arrangements bothered him, but he couldn’t pin it down.
“Marcella, you are a witty and brilliant lady, and you entertain me marvelously. Can you entertain me further and tell me how and what I need to do to follow through on the trade agreement talks?”
The smile disappeared from her face.
“Not here. Come see me tomorrow. Say around 1400.”
Question asked; question answered.
“I bow to your superior wisdom, and speaking of wisdom, can you enlighten me on what should be ordered.”
When he had seen her earlier on the vidfax screen and in person at the Commerce Ministry, she had worn her hair up and more severely. Now, with the swirl of sandy hair across her shoulder, with the light tan of her skin and the dark amber of her outfit, he tabbed her more as a golden girl, mature woman or not. Her green eyes were a shade less intense than in full daylight, but she still missed nothing.
“Their specials are always good, but I’m fond of the flaming spicetails.”
“Then I’ll have the flaming spicetails.”
“You’ll actually take the word of a hard, hard, Imperial bureaucrat?”
“On this small matter, at least.”
A brief shadow flickered across her face, so fleeting the Ecolitan wondered if she were aware of it, but it brought him back from the edge of relaxation. Marcella Ku-Smythe was not used to having her word doubted—on anything.
“How did you find your way into the bureaucracy?” Nathaniel figured it for a safe question.
“In the same way as any other bright student of applied political theory from a nonnoble family. Took the Emperor’s exams, passed with distinction, and was placed in the Commerce Ministry.” Marcella furrowed her brows briefly, as if the beginning of a career which had led her to becoming one of the top assistants in the Imperial bureaucracy was nothing unusual.
Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) Page 8
