Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Sylvia was silent. She glanced out at the low bean plants for a time. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, and Nathaniel had to strain to hear.

  “People aren’t numbers. I’m not an economist, but numbers can justify anything. We’ve looked at power plants and roads and harbors. We’ve looked at hydrocarbon production and conversion. We’ve been introduced to almost everyone who is anyone.” She shrugged. “What do we know about the people, beyond their positions and statistics?”

  “Not much,” admitted Nathaniel.

  “Where have we learned the most?”

  “Probably from George Reeves-Kenn and FitzReilly, the boat pilot.”

  Sylvia stopped and glanced out over the rows of beans. “Doesn’t that tell you something? People have dreams, desires. The only people whose dreams we know are George Reeves-Kenn and Anna-Marie. Why did I go with you to Accord?”

  “Dreams…” Nathaniel nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “I should have talked to you. But, I’m not an agent…not this kind. I don’t know how to land an exploding flitter. Or drop onto a strange planet and pretend to know everything about its economy.”

  “You know people, better than I do.”

  “You’re just saying that. You did fine on Old Earth.”

  “No, I made a lot of mistakes, and people died. I was lucky, and I found you. And now…now…I think I’m in over my head.”

  “You…over?” Sylvia shook her head. “I was going to be unfair.”

  “I’ve been the unfair one.”

  “Nathaniel…we can’t fight. Not and get through this.”

  “I…don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But you don’t…I think I understand.” He swallowed.

  Sylvia touched his wrist. “It’s all right.”

  After a moment, he swallowed again. “So we need to get people to talk more about who they are and what they want?”

  “That’s one thing.” She turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder, lightly, before dropping it. “I’m overreacting. The numbers are important, too. It takes both. You can’t change things without resources, and the numbers should show where those are.”

  “But,” Nathaniel said slowly, “if there’s no reason for change…”

  “It doesn’t happen.”

  “I think.” He took a deep breath. “I think it’s time you decided what we do next. I’ve managed to get people stirred up enough to try to kill us three times, and we don’t know much more than when we landed.”

  “We do…except we don’t know what we know.” She paused. “No. We don’t know how what we do know fits.”

  “Because we don’t know enough about people’s motivations…”

  “Exactly.”

  “So where should we start?”

  “The banker, and Vivienne Evanston. She knows people.” Sylvia turned. “We ought to head back. Poor Bagot is probably confused.”

  Not as confused as he’d been, thought Nathaniel, not nearly. He wanted to shake his head. Sylvia had every right to be upset. She was intelligent and competent…and he was far too used to operating alone. He needed to change, and that wasn’t going to be easy—not at all.

  They walked back toward the Guest House slowly.

  “I’ll try to do better,” he said in a low voice as they stepped into the shadows of the portico and up beside the empty groundcar.

  “So will I.” She squeezed his hand momentarily. “You call the banker.”

  “And you call Vivienne.”

  They exchanged smiles.

  XVIII

  “I HOPE YOU don’t mind,” ventured Sylvia.

  “It works out better this way. Karl-Abbe said it would give him some time.” Nathaniel glanced up as Bagot turned the groundcar onto a long drive that wound out along a ridge bordered by water on both sides. From the midsection of the ridge, below the manicured, grassed, and gardened grounds around the house, and above the rocks that bordered the gray water, grew trees—one of the few forests that the Ecolitans had seen.

  “You couldn’t find a locale like this on Old Earth,” she murmured.

  “There aren’t many left on Accord, either. Not unless you are very well off,” he answered, studying the flowers and plants that bordered the permacrete drive.

  “This is the place, sirs.” Bagot eased the groundcar under the high-roofed extension that shaded the entry to the house.

  The Evanston house was a two-story copy of something from pre-Ecollapse Old Earth. At least, reflected Nathaniel, that was what it looked like, with stone columns, and a blue tile roof, a balcony overlooking the ocean and what seemed to be a closed courtyard on the landward side. The long structure sat on a small promontory north of Lanceville.

  As he got out of the groundcar, Nathaniel glanced toward the flat gray water, nodding to himself. Without a moon, and without strong winds, there wasn’t likely to be much in the way of waves. Were some of Sebastion Reeves-Kenn’s problems linked to a form of oceanic stagnation? Could they find out from the monitoring official? Nathaniel couldn’t remember his name. Did it matter? As Sylvia had pointed out, if Sebastian thought he had a problem…he did. Still, it would be nice to confirm it. He refrained from shaking his head. There he was, going after hard facts again.

  “Nathaniel? Are we going in?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  Vivienne Evanston stood outside the double front doors, her slender form concealed by a loose-fitting short-sleeved tunic and matching pale green trousers. “It’s so good to see you both.”

  “It’s good to see you,” offered Sylvia.

  Nathaniel smiled and half-bowed.

  “The balcony is lovely today. Why don’t we sit there?” Without waiting for an answer, the blond woman turned and opened the ornately carved wooden door.

  The Ecolitans followed her through a high-ceilinged foyer with an inlaid parquet floor and down a wide corridor which separated a formal dining room from a large salon. At the end of the corridor was another set of double doors that opened onto the covered balcony.

  Three chairs were spaced around a table covered with cream linen. On the side table were a tea service and a tray of pastries and small sandwiches. “I do hope you don’t mind if I took the liberty of having tea. I also have liftea. That’s in the gold-rimmed pot.”

  “You’re very thoughtful,” said Sylvia.

  “It is most kind of you,” added Nathaniel.

  “Here…you two take the chairs that face the ocean. I can enjoy the view all the time. Too much, some times.”

  Nathaniel touched the back of Vivienne’s chair, then eased it into place as she sat.

  “Thank you.”

  He turned to Sylvia, but she had already seated herself. She smiled at Nathaniel. As he eased around the table to seat himself, he realized that the angled balcony was visible from the covered portico and that he could see a servant carrying a tray out to Bagot. He nodded, not surprised. Vivienne Evanston was the perfect hostess.

  “It was so nice of you to remember that I did want to chat with you. Geoffrey will be jealous, to say the very least. He’s out on ConTrio today, Salisville, I think.”

  “You’re kind to see us,” said Sylvia.

  “Oh, you’re kind to visit me. We see so few offworlders, and I know you both must be so very busy, with…whatever you are doing.”

  “It’s an economic study.” Sylvia smiled warmly. “But that wasn’t why we came.”

  “Gracious. I would think not. I know nothing of economics. Not much anyway, although I did take a few courses at the university, but that was years and years ago.” Vivienne paused. “Would you like tea or liftea? The tea is the milder Grawer, not at all like that awful stuff at the Blue Lion.”

  “Tea, please.” Sylvia smiled again.

  “I will try the tea.” Nathaniel hoped it would be mild, but he was following Sylvia’s lead.

  “You are brave.” Vivienne Evanston laughed melodically, and filled thr
ee china cups, transferring them from the serving table to the linen. Then she set the silver tray of pastries and miniature sandwiches in the middle of the table. “There…please do help yourself, or I will be forced to eat them all, and I will bulge out all over the place, and Geoffrey will not be pleased at all.”

  “Somehow,” ventured Nathaniel, “I think not. I cannot imagine you being one who would bulge.”

  “You don’t know my weakness for sweets, professor.”

  “I imagine it can get lonely this far out of Lanceville,” observed Sylvia.

  “It can be lonely here, at times, but I like the quiet. I work with the flowers, and three days a week, I assist at the public clinic. Years ago, I was a practicing physical therapist, and this keeps my registration current. Geoffrey laughs at me, but I could support myself if I had to. Gracious, not on this scale, but…I think it’s practical, and besides, who would they have without me?”

  “If Lanceville cannot afford a therapist…it is really small, isn’t it?” said Sylvia. “Did you come here from Camelot?”

  “Not from Camelot. I went to school on New Avalon, but on Sofssex. The University of Pierce. That’s in Exton, and then I went to work at the Medical Centre hospital. That’s where I met Geoffrey. He’d been in a flitter accident. Silly way to meet your husband, I suppose…”

  Sylvia darted a grin at Nathaniel, who almost choked, considering that he and Sylvia had met over drugged sparkling wine.

  “Exton isn’t that big,” continued Vivienne, apparently unaware of the byplay, “but that corner of Sofssex has more people than all of Artos.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “When we came here, Geoffrey was so confident that Lanceville would grow.” Vivienne laughed softly. “Like Kennis is now.”

  “Kennis does seem rather confident,” replied Sylvia, “but from what everyone says, he has done a lot. The Blue Lion is being refurbished.”

  “In blue. He favors far too much blue,” offered Vivienne. “Even his security force—those bright blue uniforms—they look more like soldiers. Security forces…we scarcely need those here. If dear Kennis feels they are so necessary, they should be clothed in something…less obtrusive. He won’t, though.” She laughed. “He’s an overgrown boy, almost playing at soldiers.”

  Nathaniel listened, trying to pick up something from the way the Avalonian woman spoke. There was something…he wanted to shake his head.

  “You’ve scarcely said a word, Professor Whaler. I do hope we’re not boring you.”

  Nathaniel smiled and shook his head. “No…an economist by trade am I, and most likely the boring one. It is good to listen to something besides external diseconomies or the cross-subsidies of interlocked transport, or the marginal disutility of heavy highway lorries.” He shrugged. “People are far more interesting.” He sipped the tea, carefully—far stronger than liftea, and the Grawer was considered mild.

  “Professor Whaler, you are so cautious with your tea.”

  “Beverages are milder on Accord. But this is good.”

  “In small doses, I think you mean.” Vivienne smiled indulgently.

  “The more precious the taste, the slower the drink,” he answered.

  Both women smiled.

  “You sound like an economist.”

  Whaler hoped so.

  “Can I ask what use your study might provide?” Vivienne rose and refilled her cup, looking toward Sylvia. “More, dear?”

  “Please.” Sylvia looked to Nathaniel.

  “Precisely, I could not say, dear lady. We do not create the reasons for studies. Usually, however, studies such as ours are used to plan.”

  “That worries Geoffrey, you know. So much of what happens here on Artos is dictated elsewhere. Geoffrey is worried that the Commons will cut the colony subsidies again.”

  “And you think our study might provide a rationale?” asked Sylvia.

  “Politics…I could not say.”

  “If anything,” Nathaniel injected, “I would say that, on a preliminary basis, a very preliminary basis, you understand, there needs to be more emphasis on infrastructure diversification. And more trees.”

  “That has a lovely sound, infrastructure diversification. So do trees, but Geoffrey once explained that to me. Something about the more immediate needs, except where nothing else will grow, as on the rocks here.” Vivienne gestured vaguely in the direction of the sea and then to the silver tray. “Please have one. They absolutely won’t keep, and then I will feel obliged to eat more than I should.”

  “Could you give Vivienne an idea of what you mean?” Sylvia paused to sip her tea. “I mean about how diversification would affect the subsidy.”

  “That is difficult to predict. I would say we will submit a good study, but,” he laughed, “fair words feed but pride, and pride goes before a fall. Now, here on Artos, the infrastructure is solid, but narrow. Transport is by land, and the permacrete highways are wide and well built. Energy comes from one fusactor complex here on ConOne and from the hydrocarbon processing plant, and the feedstocks are synde beans.” He paused, concealing a shiver as the full import of what he had said struck him, but adding a shrug. “All these are tested and common. But there is no provision for alternatives. An earthquake, and how good are the highways? An major accident at the processing plant or the complex?”

  “You make it sound as though such disasters could happen easily,” said Vivienne.

  Nathaniel shook his head. “They happen seldom, but economists are paid to outline what might go wrong, and to quantify the trade-offs.” He straightened in the chair. “To ship in more flitters, and big cargo flitters, would ensure transport under more conditions, but shipping and building such is expensive. Growing other feedstocks—that is possible, but none are so cost-effective as the synde bean. Governments do not like to spend resources far from the majority of those who vote, but they also do not wish to be blamed for troubles. So…they will take our report and read it, and decide whether keeping the subsidies and increasing the infrastructure will measurably reduce the possibility of troubles without increasing the taxes on those who are close.”

  “You make it sound so cold, but then, I do suppose it is.” The blonde set her cup on the saucer with a faint clink.

  “Politicians do not care for warmth, except as an impression. In the end, the politicians look after self-interest, while pretending to be warm,” said Nathaniel.

  “Most people pretend to be warm, and some are,” said Sylvia. “Geoffrey seems like a warm person.”

  “Beneath that courteous businesslike exterior, he is very warm. He is not always the best politician. Kennis, as I am sure you noted, has a very warm presence. He is also a very good politician, I am told. Me—I would be lost in politics, and I have told Geoffrey that.” Vivienne offered a warm laugh. “Are you sure you will not have a pastry?”

  Nathaniel had to grin, and he leaned forward and took a small cake. “My arm has been gently twisted, ladies.” He lifted the cake dramatically, then ate it in two bites. “Excellent.” He took a sip of tea. “I may have another, if you would not mind.”

  “Mind? Please, please do. And you, professor…could I call you Sylvia? Wouldn’t you…?”

  “Sylvia is fine. I’m not nearly so senior as my colleague.” Sylvia opted for one of the tea cookies.

  Nathaniel barely managed to keep from choking on the Grawer he was sipping.

  “Geoffrey will be so pleased…”

  Nathaniel continued to listen, and make a few comments, as the conversation drifted more toward shopping, the lack of amenities, and the proliferation of synthcloth.

  Sylvia finally straightened. “I do fear we’ve taken too much of your time, but you’ve been so very gracious.”

  “I’ve taken your time, and you were so delightful to come all the way out here. As I said, Geoffrey would have liked to have been here, I’m sure, but I’ll certainly pass along your words.” Vivienne rose gracefully, not quite so gracefully as Sylvia, Na
thaniel thought, and the Ecolitans followed her example.

  The three walked back through the house and to the front portico.

  “It has been an interesting conversation, and I hope we will see each other again, if not on this trip to Artos, then in the future.” Vivienne offered a slight bow as Nathaniel opened the groundcar door for Sylvia.

  “We’ll look forward to that.” Sylvia smiled.

  Vivienne waved as the car pulled away, and Sylvia waved back.

  “Did you have something to eat?” Nathaniel asked Bagot. “I should have asked before we left.”

  “Yes, sir. Quite a lot, actually, and it was very good. I know Anne-Leslie, too. We talked for a bit.” Bagot cleared his throat. “Ah…where to, sirs?”

  “The Bank of Camelot office in Lanceville.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gracious lady, she is,” offered Nathaniel.

  “Very much so,” agreed Sylvia.

  “I imagine Geoffrey Evanston is also quite a gentleman.” He looked at Bagot. “Does he have a solid reputation?”

  “Yes, sir. The family’s been here for a long time. They treat their people fair, they do. Started out as cotton factors, I heard, but cotton didn’t do well. They’ve got a small manufactory that makes cookware and electrical supplies and some other stuff…probably a lot of things I don’t know.”

  “Never do we know everything,” said Nathaniel, taking out his large kerchief and blotting his forehead.

  Sylvia covered her mouth and her grin.

  The Lanceville office of the Bank of Camelot looked like the caricature of an ancient Old Earth bank—small windows, thick stone walls.

  “I can’t imagine there have been any bank robberies here,” offered Sylvia with a look toward Glubb Bagot.

  “Not since I was a boy.” The driver paused. “Should I wait? Or come back later?”

  “Wait, I think. This will not be long, and then we will retire to the Guest House and ponder.” Nathaniel slipped out, but Sylvia had her door open before he could get around the vehicle.

  “I’ll be in the shade across the way.”

  The two Ecolitans stepped into the dimness of the bank.