He stood momentarily over the bodies, looking down at the second face of a man who looked like him. For a moment, he studied the patched wall, yet to be fully repaired from earlier explosive events.
He checked the portal to the staff office, decided that it would hold and took out the two small probes. The one he held in his right hand clattered to the floor. Even with full concentration, his pain conditioning could not override the jangled nerves in his right arm. With the single probe in his left hand, it took several minutes for him to lock the portal, though it would hold against anything less than a military laser cutter.
“Hope they don’t have that handy.”
“Strumm!”
He gave another jolt to the Marine before holstering the stunner and bending to drag his double back into his own private quarters through the still open portal.
He smiled as he glimpsed the ragged thunderclouds through the vista of the office window panorama.
Definitely prophetic. Definitely.
Back in the entryway of his private quarters with the three unconscious bodies, he knelt down, rolled Hillary over, listened to the heartbeat.
He was no doctor, but he didn’t like the sound.
Still…he had to make a few changes.
First, he focused the stunner and burned out all four visual snoops. When he finished, he laid the stunner aside. The charge was exhausted.
With his good hand, he pulled the diplomatic blacks off his double and stuffed the man into the greens he had been wearing—minus the equipment belt and gear, which he retained. Then he hurried into a set of his own blacks, pocketing the I.D.s and other “official” credentials carried by the false Envoy.
Finally, he wiped off the useless stunner and tucked it into the other’s belt holder.
The remaining stunner was down to about twenty percent charge, but he decided to keep it until he could replace or recharge it.
He straightened his stiff shoulders.
He hadn’t been thinking clearly. Too long since he’d slept well. The easiest way out was the direct way.
After a sigh, he took a deep breath. With a grunt, he stooped and swung Hillary over his shoulder, lugging her through his quarters before setting her on the couch in his office.
Next, he dragged his double back into the office and laid him out in a position on the floor, and put the exhausted stunner in the unconscious man’s hand.
Finally, he unlocked the portal and hit the emergency stud.
First through the portal from the staff office was Mydra, followed by another Marine.
“Whoever he is,” snapped the Ecolitan, “he attacked through my private quarters, he used poor Hillary as a shield, and managed to get both guards as well.”
He glared at the Marine. “Some protection you are!”
“But, sir…”
“But nothing. All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Now…the woman…I mean…Hillary. She’s in a bad way. Probably needs emergency medical care. Handle that immediately. Then there’s the other Marine in my quarters, plus that one over there. You’d better post some guards outside my private exit this time. Damn the gossip. Enough’s enough.”
The Marine saluted and thumbed his belt comm.
“Lord Whaler…” began Mydra slowly.
He nodded at her.
“What do you intend to do with the intruder?”
“Take him to breakfast, of course. Under guard.”
He could see the effort she was making to keep her jaw in place.
He chuckled, which he had never done in front of her before, and added, “Since I seem to require armed guards these days, they might as well carry my friend with me to my morning appointment.”
XXIX
SYLVIA, IN THE yellow and white that did not become her, was waiting for him in the outer lobby of the Legate’s dining room.
Nathaniel watched her eyes widen as he walked in, flanked by three red-coated Imperial Marines, two of whom supported a semiconscious figure. The Ecolitan opened and closed his right hand several times, blocking away the pain. He had full control back, but it would be several hours before he would be able to relax his controls.
“I apologize for being late, dear Lady, but I had a great deal to accomplish since we talked, as I am sure you realize.”
He gestured. “This gentleman might be of some interest to you, since he was attempting to be me.”
He turned to the three Marines.
“Wait here with this gentleman. I fully expect you to be here when I return. Then we will deal with the problem.”
“But…sir…”
“But nothing. I am certainly safe within the Legate’s dining room, especially if you are guarding the entrance and exit. True?”
He offered his arm to Sylvia, faced the waiter, and nodded.
“Nathaniel Whaler, Envoy from Accord. A table for two on the portico.”
The man’s dark eyes widened fractionally, but his thin and clean-shaven face did not shift expressions.
Nathaniel turned his head toward Sylvia.
“And this time, dear Lady, I would appreciate it if you did not sneeze. To repeat our luncheon would create an additional strain I would rather not face—not right now, at least.”
She stopped, right in the middle of the empty main dining room, and let go of his arm.
“I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I do. You’re right. I unreplaced their replacement of me, and I’m doing the best I can to get that replacement into your hands. So far, everyone either believes or is playing that I’m the replacement, rather than me. It won’t last very long. So if you can have a team pick up that gentleman…fine. If not, then the Marines will take him away. They will interrogate him and discover he is indeed not me.”
“How in Hades can I arrange that—right out from underneath the Defense Ministry—in the middle of the Legate’s lobby?”
“I don’t know, but the waiter is coming back, and we’d better get along to our thoroughly bugged and snooped table.”
Sylvia smiled and the gray of her eyes seemed to lighten.
“I could make it so the snooping wouldn’t work.”
“Fine…and then they’ll be even more suspicious.” Her face darkened.
“For Cloud’s sake…you’ve already blown any cover I had. You think those Marines won’t recognize me and tell the Admiral?”
His shoulders drooped slightly. “I should have thought of that. Too much going on, and I’m not used to the wheels within wheels.”
She took his arm, and he could smell the faintest hint of the orange blossoms he had remembered. They strolled through the nearly empty outer dining room toward the waiter.
“If I hadn’t recognized the risk, dear Envoy, I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”
Sylvia disengaged herself from his arm and let the waiter seat her. Nathaniel pulled out his own chair and seated himself. His fingers flicked over his belt, and the readouts were clear. The table was snooped to the hilt.
The view from the portico was obscured by the swirl of dirty gray clouds that dipped below the tops of the towers, and the murkiness of the light reminded Nathaniel of the mountains of Trezenia. The tightness in his gut was the same, despite the opulence of the morning gold table setting, the white and gold dishes, and the gilded table utensils.
“Would you like menus, Lord Whaler?” asked the waiter, hovering at the table edge between them, looking from one face to the other.
“Not I. I would like liftea, some fruit, if you have it, and any sort of breakfast pastry. Sylvia?”
“Just cafe, thank you.”
“Already eaten?”
She nodded, put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, her eyes studying his face intently.
“Yes. You’re you.” She leaned back. “That’s good, I think, but you realize we can’t keep meeting this way.” Again, he caught the glimpse of her smile, but only the glimpse.
“That, dear Lady, have I realized. And some pla
ns I have to take care of that…if you would care to listen.”
“In a moment…”
“I see. In the meantime, what do you think of the view?”
“Frankly, I would prefer a few words on how a senior professor ever obtained the background to be able to have survived the amazing set of coincidences that have befallen you.”
“We academics have hidden reserves, particularly when fueled by necessity.” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked into the dark gray slate of her eyes. A moment later, he looked away.
“Most of us on Accord have taken early survival training through the Institute. I liked it, as well as the academics, and one thing led to another. Only the government or the Institute have the funds for out-system travel, and there was much I wanted to see. The comparative political economy and economic history which are my academic specialties do not rate field trips…meant that I had to maintain and upgrade my survival skills to obtain the Institute’s backing for my academic studies…” He shrugged. “Call me the reluctant Ecolitan…or maybe the cowardly professor.”
“Cowardly?”
“I’m afraid of everything. So I must prepare for everything.”
Sylvia squinted and looked at her timestrip.
“In a few seconds, there will be a power failure.”
His eyes darted toward the floor beneath the nearest table and back to Sylvia.
She nodded once, slowly.
“That seems a bit unusual for New Augusta.”
“Even we have switching failures and equipment malfunctions once in a while.”
“But—”
The entire room went gray, lit just by the light from the windows.
Nathaniel dropped and rolled under the table to his right in time to miss the bolt from the waiter’s stunner.
He rolled further and yanked the man’s feet from underneath him, but the waiter dropped like a dead weight.
“He lost his balance,” observed Sylvia as Nathaniel looked up from the floor at her.
The Ecolitan scrambled to his feet and surveyed the rest of the portico. The other table in use was occupied by three Fuards, and none of the three—at the far end of the room—seemed to have noticed the disturbance, although all three were gesturing about the lack of lighting.
“Shall we return to our table, Lord Whaler?”
“If you so suggest.”
Two new waiters appeared, gravely picked the figure off the floor, and disappeared.
Nathaniel shook his head.
“You do arrange things.”
“I hope it’s worth it. Now,” and her voice hardened, “you have roughly five minutes to say what you need. Quickly.”
He cleared his throat.
“Besides what you’ve already done, I need access to a console which can transmit messages directly to the Grand Admiral and to the Emperor. Second, I need to be able to walk through the most secret Defense sections you can get me into in the Defense Ministry Tower. Not any information—just walking the halls will be sufficient. The sooner the better. The longer it takes, the more likely the Admiral will think up something else, and I honestly don’t know how many more of her traps I can avoid. They almost got me last night.”
“You seem awfully sure that it’s the Grand Admiral.”
“Couldn’t be anyone else, could it?”
Sylvia gave him a rueful grin, and he had to return the expression.
“No, but if you knew that, why did you ask me if I were loyal to the Emperor?”
“To let you know where I stood.”
Her mouth opened in a slight O.
“You’re more devious than I suspected, dear Envoy.”
He looked straight at her, liking what he saw, but pressed with the sense of the minutes ticking past, he raced on.
“Look. There’s every reason for a simple trade agreement to be ratified. The credits aren’t that significant. But it isn’t. Instead, another fleet is building, and every time it looks like I move another step forward, someone with a military bearing or connection appears to stop me. When it gets right down to it, you can’t trade with an incinerated system. That means only the military has a reason for stopping things cold, and they will, if—”
“You can’t do something to stop it. What do you have in mind? Why do you need to walk through the secret sections of the Defense Tower?”
“To deliver a message that can’t be delivered any other way.”
“No other way?”
“This time, you’ll have to trust me. Will you help?”
The Ecolitan became aware of how quiet the room was. Even the Fuards at the far end seemed to be conversing in whispers.
Sylvia seemed to be thinking over his request, but her face revealed nothing.
Finally, she looked up.
“I don’t see how what you’ve asked is that unreasonable, under the circumstances. To set it up will take several hours, and you will have to leave with me. Right now.”
“What about the Marines? Can I dismiss them and tell them to return? I’m a bit reluctant to disappear again so officially.”
She frowned momentarily.
“That might be better.”
He handed her a small capsule.
“Swallow that.”
“Why?”
“Because the information in the Imperial data banks is wrong, and because it will make your life a great deal more comfortable.”
“What are you planning? Not some sort of murder campaign?” Her voice rose fractionally.
“Forest Lord, no. But a lot of people will be very uncomfortable, and I’d rather you weren’t among them.” He didn’t like twisting the truth, even a little, especially when talking to Sylvia, but he didn’t have time to explain. “Please.”
“All right.”
She swallowed the capsule with a gulp of water.
Nathaniel realized that their food had not arrived.
“No breakfast…”
“I’ll see you get something later—while we prepare.” She rose, and added, “I’ll wait here, while you dismiss your guards—or jailors.”
XXX
THE GRAND ADMIRAL glanced back at the faxsheet that lay before her on the console.
For the fifth time in as many minutes, she picked it up again and read it through. Then she put it down.
Were her hands shaking? Nonsense!
She turned in the noiseless swivel and beheld the outer world. From her double thickness permaglassed view, she looked down and out over the golden plain, her eyes focused beyond the dome that contained the Imperial Palace.
Not looking at the words, she picked up the thin white sheet once more, and finally turned back to the console. She reached for the communication studs, then drew back her hands and read the fax message, this time slowly, and word by word.
J. KU-SMYTHE
GRAND ADMIRAL
MINISTRY OF DEFENSE
NEW AUGUSTA, TERRA
XVX-URG-CODE ONE BETA-SKV
YOUR INTEREST IN THE ACCORD ENVOY HAS BEEN NOTED. THE ECOLITAN INSTITUTE UNDERSTANDS YOUR INTEREST, AS DOES THE EMPEROR N’TROYA.
IN VIEW OF YOUR POSITION AS HEAD OF IMPERIAL DEFENSE AND SECURITY, THE SUCCESS OF ANY FURTHER ACTS AGAINST EITHER THE EMPEROR OR ACCORD DIPLOMATIC PERSONNEL WILL BE REGARDED AS A PERSONAL FAILURE BY YOU TO CARRY OUT YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES.
IN AN EFFORT TO BE HELPFUL IN THIS REGARD, WE OFFER THE MOST RECENT PROJECTIONS AT HAND. THESE PROJECTIONS INDICATE THAT MORE THAN 80% OF ALL INHABITANTS OF THE MINISTRY OF DEFENSE TOWER WILL SUFFER A LOW-GRADE VERSION OF GERSON’S DISEASE. FOR ROUGHLY 2%, THE INFECTION WILL UNFORTUNATELY BE FATAL. NO PRECAUTION YOU CAN NOW TAKE WILL BE EFFECTIVE.
THIS TOTALLY SPONTANEOUS OUTBREAK HAS BEEN PREDICTED BY THE EPIDEMIOLOGISTS OF THE INSTITUTE, AND WHILE TOTALLY COINCIDENTAL AND WHILE WE REGRET IT IS TOO LATE TO PREVENT IT, WE HOPE THIS ADVANCE NOTICE WILL BE HELPFUL AND INDICATE OUR INTEREST IN FRIENDLY AND NONMILITARY SOLUTIONS TO PROBLEMS, SUCH AS TRADE.
WE ALSO HOPE THE EMPIRE
IS NOT SO INDISCREET AS TO BELIEVE THAT WAR IS THE MOST SUCCESSFUL MEANS OF DEALING WITH ECONOMIC REALITY.
THEREFORE, THE SUCCESS OR FAILURE OF TRADE TALKS WITH ACCORD WILL ALSO BE REGARDED AS YOUR PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, LORD WHALER, THE SENIOR ECOLITAN AND THE ENVOY FROM ACCORD, WOULD BE MOST HAPPY TO EXPLAIN. A COPY OF THIS MESSAGE HAS ALSO GONE DIRECTLY TO EMPEROR N’TROYA.
No diplomat had written it, nor any functionary from any of the other Ministries. But how had the writer gotten her personal codes, down to the final and hidden authentications?
Not even the Emperor had those.
She did not doubt that the copy had in fact gone to the Emperor.
The fax was phrased as a public interest warning but was nothing more than a threat. And yet…even if she published the entire text as she had read it, who would believe it? If they did, wouldn’t she be adding to Accord’s credibility with the nonaligned systems?
She paused, then asked the console the question.
She returned to looking at the eastern plains, thinking, and waiting for the system to supply the answer.
Buzz.
“Gerson’s Disease. Pathology. Informal name for influenza polioencephaliomyelitis (D-strain), an acute, infectious, virus disease characterized by inflammation of the gray matter of the spinal cord, and of the brain, coupled with respiratory inflammation, headache, fever, muscular pains, and irritation of the intestinal tract. Mortality in an untreated and susceptible population approaches ninety percent, but baseline T-type populations have normally demonstrated an immunity that approaches unity…immunization requires a series of injections…spread over roughly three standard months…”
The Admiral read the listing on the console screen twice, and the furrow between her eyebrows deepened into a gouge by the time she had finished.
The message was either a colossal bluff, or…
The Grand Admiral picked up the faxsheet and quietly tore the message to shreds.
Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) Page 19
