Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Lord Nathaniel Whaler,” he announced.

  “Yes.” The cold-eyed dispatcher waited.

  “Understand you have one of my staff, one Sergel Weintre?”

  “No.”

  Nathaniel felt himself stiffen, even while trying to keep calm. Had he been set up to be discredited? Left to hang himself with the media?

  “Sure are you? Report had I that—”

  “We did have Mr. Weintre, Lord Whaler, but on the instructions of your office, we have already begun the transfer to the rehabilitative center.”

  “Thank you. Thought I that you were not quite so quickly acting. That number, do you have it?”

  He took it down, his heart still beating fast. He had to remember that he couldn’t necessarily trust anyone. So easy to forget that in the isolated and pleasant surroundings of his quarters.

  Then he called Kyra Bar-Twyla back and relayed the latest developments on Sergel.

  She took the details quickly, and once she had the facts, cut him off.

  He shrugged. Envoys didn’t carry much weight with the Imperial media, that was for certain, nor with many others either. Not in New Augusta.

  If the Empire didn’t agree to trade talks, he hoped the stories in the faxcasts would have at least some of the independent systems asking questions and further doubting the Imperial good will.

  The graceful way out would be negotiations…if the Ministry of Defense would accept a graceful way out.

  XXVIII

  THE ECOLITAN FROWNED, slammed his clenched fist into his right palm, once, twice…three times. Finally, he looked out into the darkness where the lights of the towers sparkled.

  “Flame! Flame! Flame!”

  “They want negotiations. There’s every reason to have negotiations. But it isn’t happening.”

  He glanced down at the small comm unit of the study.

  “Why? Why doesn’t anything happen?”

  He should have been in bed hours earlier, but the sense of danger, the nagging, dragging tightness in his gut had not let him rest.

  Instead, he had cleaned up and dressed, pulling on a green tunic and trousers, along with his belt and the rest of his easily concealed infiltration equipment.

  He took a last look at the view from the small study at the lights of the towers and then tapped the lockplate on the portal into his Legation office.

  The first sliver of light from the opening warned him. He drove through the portal even before it was open.

  The four figures who seemed to turn in slow motion toward him all had masks slung around their necks, not yet in position. Three were women. The fourth, on the far right, leaning against the big official console, was a man. All wore uniforms.

  The first two women sprayed away from the Ecolitan, slammed into the wall by his attack. The third Marine went down as Whaler arced his elbow across her throat.

  The man had a nerve tangler halfway from his holster before the Ecolitan slashed it from his hand.

  Seconds later, the man in green looked down at the unconscious Marine and looked around the office.

  Surprisingly, all four Marines were still breathing, and one of the women on the far side of the office was beginning to scrabble toward the stunner that lay about a half meter from her outstretched hand.

  Nathaniel reached it first, readjusted the setting from its near-lethal level, and used it, first on the one conscious soldier, then on the other three.

  The masks meant that someone was about to gas his quarters, and the fact that the Marines were in his private Legation office meant someone on the Legation staff, besides the unfortunate Sergel, had been in on the operation.

  He worried his tongue between his teeth for a moment, tried to think, while moving toward the portal to the staff office.

  He had a stunner in each hand. While their high-pitched strumm was noisier than he liked, they were quick. If another crew were waiting, he would need all the edge in time he could get.

  Before activating the portal, he adjusted the stunners’ focuses to almost a point.

  He looked at the portal, took a deep breath, shook himself gently, then tapped the lockplate.

  Again, he came barreling through the portal, low and fast, even before it was fully open.

  His first shot dropped the single Marine guarding the next doorway. His second paralyzed Hillary West-Coven’s right hand before she could touch the console studs.

  “You move, and I’ll put the beam right above your heart.”

  She froze.

  No one else was in the staff office.

  “Stand up and move back from that console.”

  Nathaniel hadn’t realized how olive her complexion was until he saw the whiteness beneath the skin tone.

  “Lord Whaler, there must be some mistake.”

  “Right. I was mistaken.”

  Her left hand drifted forward.

  “Strumm!” The needle width of the beam singed the back of her hand.

  Hillary jumped backward a half step.

  “Don’t listen, do you?”

  His eyes traveled the room. He didn’t have much time. For all he knew, whatever Marines had been at the other door to his quarters were already inside.

  Where could he go?

  He smiled, and Hillary backed away yet another step until her back was almost to the wall.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Strumm!”

  The woman crumpled.

  Nathaniel eased open the door to the hall which led to the reception area. It was empty, and he picked up Hillary and threw her over his right shoulder, stuffing the one stunner into his belt, leaving the other in his left hand.

  Although Hillary was lighter than he expected, he set her down beside the portal to the reception area and took out the other stunner.

  Shaking his head, he thumbed the portal access. Imagine, having to fight his way out of his own Legation!

  This time he waited until the portal was three quarters of the way open before snapping three quick shots. He dropped both Marines who waited—one officer, one squad leader.

  Once into the reception area, he made another check but found no other employees or bodies. Hillary had to have been the duty officer.

  The reception console’s screens showed that the exterior corridor was empty, except for the two tunnel buggies that bore the crest of the Diplomatic Tower, and except for the two men dressed in repair uniforms.

  Nathaniel snorted.

  With a series of quick movements, he laid Hillary out on the couch closest to the exterior portal and pulled off the officer’s tunic and beret. Both were too small to fit him. He slit the tunic up the back and slipped it on over his own. The beret came next.

  He cradled Hillary in both arms, her weight on his forearms while he still held the stunners, shadowed by her.

  He would not be able to carry her that way for long, but long enough to do what was necessary.

  He stepped outside and turned toward the “repair” buggies. Neither “repairman” looked up until he was within five meters.

  “Sss…what?”

  “Have a problem?”

  “Strumm! Strumm!”

  Both crumpled, their faces blank.

  He placed Hillary in the nearest buggy, climbed in, and began to guide the vehicle toward the service shaft that the maps had indicated was at the far end of the corridor.

  He wondered if the level were temporarily blocked off or if it were merely deserted in the hours between midnight and dawn.

  The service shaft was vacant, and he steered the buggy onto the drop platform, setting the level destination for the one hundred twenty-first level.

  He hoped he could do what he wanted, since he intended to get back to the three hundredth level shortly…if he could.

  Pulling Hillary off the buggy at the one hundred twenty-first level, set it on remote and programmed a course that would take it back toward the main lift shafts.

  The service shaft took them another three le
vels down, where he half lifted, half dragged Hillary out. There he wadded up the beret and the tunic and let them drop into the shaft.

  Hillary was beginning to wake up. He used the stunner again, at low power, to nick her larynx. While there was some danger it might permanently damage her voice, at the moment he felt less than charitable, and he needed Hillary able to walk.

  He gently tugged the gold film cloak from his belt and let it billow around him and partly over Hillary. With his arm around her tense body, he said, “You can’t say a word, but if you try to escape, I’ll trigger the stunner against your spine. You might not ever walk again, at least not without a long rehab.”

  He gave her a gentle shove.

  “Now, we’re just a loving couple headed back for my quarters…right?”

  He could feel her reluctant nod.

  “That’s right, dear,” he added.

  They ambled toward the lift shaft. Once or twice, he bent toward her, as if to embrace her, stopped, and looked down into her eyes, which burned green hatred back at him.

  He smiled back at her.

  They reached the lift shaft and slipped into the slow rising lane.

  The Ecolitan could see a few others in both drop and lift shafts, which indicated that the tower had not been sealed off for the attack on his quarters, which led to even more interesting speculations.

  As they stumbled off at the three hundredth level, Nathaniel checked the stages quickly but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  Sergel’s quarters were even further from the shaft than Nathaniel’s, but in the opposite direction. Once there, it took the Ecolitan less than a minute to manipulate the fields and slip inside.

  The three rooms were a mess, everything totally out of order, with abundant signs that at least several intruders had pawed through the rooms.

  Without warning, he pressed the nerves in the back of Hillary’s neck and let her slump unconscious.

  He needed the time to change the lock fields to keep anyone else from repeating his trick and to see what he could find, assuming the other searchers had left anything.

  Point by point, centimeter by centimeter, he went through the three rooms—the living area, which had a small nook for food preparation; the sleeping room; and the hygienarium. The previous searchers had removed virtually all personal effects, outside of a few small console reference tape discs, clothing, four solidio cubes, some of Sergel’s calling cards, and a package of blank and old-fashioned notepaper. Whoever had searched the quarters had apparently wanted every possible clue to the Information Specialist and to his psychology.

  The Ecolitan finally straightened, pulled at his chin, and looked blankly at the wall. Sergel had not rated an exterior view, and the lack of windows made Nathaniel uncomfortable.

  He sighed, checked Hillary, then stretched himself out on the other couch across from her, willing himself to wake in three standard hours or at the faintest sound.

  In seconds, he was asleep.

  When he awoke Hillary was still out. The Imperial standard time was 0700. He stretched and got to his feet, pacing back and forth in the cramped space for a few minutes. Finally, with one eye on Hillary he washed his face and cleaned up as well as he could.

  Once he was fairly presentable, he moved back into the living quarters to keep a closer eye on Hillary, shaking his head as he tried to think things out.

  Some things were clear. Some were not. The attempted “replacement” of the Envoy of Accord and the use of Imperial Marines in a clandestine attack on his quarters pointed toward a military involvement; and, to some degree, the fact that it was not being kept terribly quiet added to his concerns.

  Yet it wasn’t public, which meant that someone besides Accord wasn’t supposed to know all the grisly details. Since the Terran public could have cared less about the fate of either trade talks or the Accord Envoy, the military didn’t seem to want someone else to know, and if it weren’t the head Admiral…

  That left another question, which led to another answer.

  He frowned. Who could he trust? Sylvia? Could he really trust her?

  He didn’t have much choice. He needed someone with the kind of access she could presumably provide.

  With that, he tapped out the code.

  “Senator Helmsworth’s office.”

  “Nathaniel here, for Sylvia.”

  “Your business?” asked Charles, not really even looking into the screen.

  “Personal.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sylvia’s image snapped into place.

  “Where are you?”

  “Where I am, dear Lady. Two questions for you. First, are you loyal to the Emperor?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means what I asked. Whoever is after me isn’t. That’s why they’re after me.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Someone used a Marine detachment to raid my quarters. They weren’t quite successful.”

  Sylvia’s gray eyes widened. Nathaniel half ducked and turned, but Hillary was still out cold.

  Sylvia drew in the chaos of Sergel’s room and the figure lying on the stained scarlet couch.

  Nathaniel shrugged.

  “You’ve probably managed to trace where I am…which means I’ll leave. So…where do I meet you?”

  She laughed.

  “The best place would be the Legate’s dining room in the Diplomatic Tower. We could have a late breakfast there. That’s possibly the one place where almost no one would dare to create a scene. If what you have to say isn’t that compelling, however, you might have some trouble when you left.”

  Nathaniel shook his head from side to side. “So simple. I’m inclined to agree, and a friend will I bring, one with whom your friends might have much to say.” He paused. “By the way, you never answered my question about the Emperor.”

  Sylvia frowned. “You know the answer, whether you know it or not. Otherwise, why would you have faxed me? Yes. Of course. How else could it be?”

  This time, she waited to see what else he had to say.

  “What can I say?”

  He took a last look at the woman in the screen, who wore her hair down and swept back above a yellow and white tunic. Nathaniel decided he didn’t like the yellow on her as well as the darker colors.

  He smiled after the screen went blank. She would look good in either black or in the dark forest green of the Institute.

  Once again, Hillary was beginning to stir, and he didn’t really want to stun her another time.

  He waited.

  “Are you ready to head out?”

  She jerked her head from side to side.

  “You should be able to talk now, or whisper.”

  “No,” she half croaked, half whispered.

  “Why not? Just because you’re part of this crew out to discredit the Emperor doesn’t mean you aren’t hungry.”

  “You men!”

  He scowled. That was the second time around. First had been the agent who’d tried to zap him in the tunnel. Now Hillary was using the same phrase.

  Stunner in hand, he gestured to the hygienarium.

  “Clean up.”

  She glared at him but went ahead with her necessities, despite the lack of privacy, and finished up by brushing her short black hair.

  The Ecolitan checked over his equipment a last time, then unlocked the door fields and ushered Hillary out before him. Although a few pedestrians strolled by Sergel’s door, the area did not appear to be directly monitored, and Nathaniel and Hillary reached the main drop shaft without incident.

  “Keep walking,” the Ecolitan said lightly as they passed the drop and lift shafts.

  Hillary only missed one step before continuing onward.

  “I thought we were going to breakfast…”

  Nathaniel almost missed his step. He had not said anything about breakfast, except to Sylvia, and that meant Hillary had been feigning sleep. And that could mean trouble for Sylvia.

&n
bsp; “I did mention that but not exactly when.”

  Nathaniel did not miss the newly stationed pair of Imperial Marine sentries before the Accord Legation, but since his destination was further down another corridor, he and Hillary only saw the pair from the far side of the shaft area.

  At least one passerby gave the evening gold film cloak a strange look, but then shook her head and continued on. Possibly the Diplomatic Tower was the only section of New Augusta where outré clothing rated but a passing frown.

  The Ecolitan could feel the tenseness mounting in Hillary as they began to circle back toward the private entrance to his personal quarters.

  When he saw that there were no outside guards, he frowned. Were they inside? Would they expect him to strike back so quickly? Did he dare risk it?

  He nearly laughed aloud.

  Did he dare not to? Within hours, the omnipresent Imperial machine would have located him, and he couldn’t keep dragging Hillary along.

  He marched up to the portal and slapped his palm on the lock.

  Even as the portal began to open, he tensed, then in a single fluid movement scooped Hillary up and tossed her through the portal.

  He followed, stunner drawn.

  “Strumm!”

  “Strumm!”

  Nathaniel was quicker, barely, and the single Marine pitched forward out of the stool and onto the tiles.

  Hillary, who had absorbed the first shot, was flat on the tiles next to the Marine.

  The Ecolitan felt sorry for her. Too many jolts to her system. But he had already left the entryway behind.

  The bed was mussed, in the way that indicated it had not been slept in, but the quarters were vacant.

  Nathaniel palmed the lock to his office and snapped a shot through the barely open portal to the spot behind the console.

  He followed his shot, low and to the left, rolling and firing.

  “Strumm!”

  Another damned Marine!

  “Strumm!”

  A line of fire burned down his right arm.

  The stunner dropped to the floor from his numb right hand. He shifted the aim of the stunner in his left hand.

  “Strumm! Strumm!”

  Nathaniel’s first shot spun the female Marine to the carpet, and the second stilled her twitching.