The Ecologic Envoy

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The squad leader and the other two escorts used the brown car to follow his into the tunnel. “How often this do you do?”

  “About eighty systems with Legations here, I’m told,” answered the nondriving Marine. “I’m new, three weeks here. This is my second assignment for escort duty. Some of the other teams have had five or six in the past month.”

  “Just for diplomats seeing the Emperor?”

  “No, sir. All sorts of functions—parties, reviews. You name it, and we’re on call.”

  The driver glanced at the escort Marine. The young man stopped talking.

  “Many functions and reviews there are then?”

  “I really don’t know about that, sir.”

  “What after this duty will you do?”

  “That’s up to the assignment branch, sir.”

  “No desire for other duty have you?”

  “Whatever the Service needs, sir, that’s where I’ll be.” Nathaniel leaned back into the cushions. Information wasn’t likely to be any more forthcoming.

  He recalled the map he’d called up on his console. The Imperial Court had been placed on the high plain east of the main part of the underground city and towers, while the Port of Entry was to the south.

  Had he been the Emperor who’d set it up, Nathaniel would have put the court and palace in the hills to the west.

  As the tunnel car swept up from the depths into the concourse of the Imperial Palace, Nathaniel leaned forward to get a better look.

  Fully fifteen different tunnels merged into the entry area, though he could see only two other limousines.

  When the electrocougar glided to a stop, the escort snapped out of the front seat and had the rear door open for Nathaniel instantly. The other three squad members were formed up and waiting before Nathaniel’s black-booted foot touched the golden tiles.

  A red-coated woman, a striking figure with black hair, black eyes, and a deeply tanned face, stood at the head of the ramp from the concourse. “Lord Whaler?”

  “The very same.”

  “I’m Cynda Ger-Lorthian, the Emperor’s Receiving Auditor. Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the receiving and waiting room?”

  “That is where the Emperor receives?”

  “Oh, no. That’s where you will wait until the Emperor is ready to receive you and where you will be briefed on how the presentation of your credentials will be conducted.”

  “Sounds like this is done most regularly,” the Ecolitan observed as he fell in behind the Receiving Auditor.

  “Really quite simple, but we do like to make sure there are no misunderstandings and that everything goes according to plan.”

  The receiving room, about the size of his office at the Legation, featured a semicircular table surrounded on one side by comfortable padded swivels. The table and chairs faced a blank wall.

  “If you would sit there, Lord Whaler, we’ll go through the procedures.”

  Nathaniel’s fingers flicked to his belt. The chair was snooped to the hilt, with virtually every kind of gimmickry that could be crammed into it. He turned toward the chair beside the one he’d been offered. It was rigged the same way.

  Nathaniel kept the smile from his face. One purpose of the room wasn’t exactly to impart information. He eased himself into the larger chair.

  Cynda Ger-Lorthian sat next to him and pulled a small panel from the drawer of the table. She pressed a stud.

  The mist of a holoscreen appeared on the other side of the table.

  “Here’s the way the receiving hall looks from the portal.” Nathaniel watched the view, as if he were looking into the enormous room, a gold-tan carpet leading from his feet out toward the throne of the Emperor.

  “This is the actual floor plan,” continued the Receiving Auditor as the holo display changed. “You can see you have almost fifty meters to walk before you reach the bottom step of the throne.

  “You’re scheduled for a ten minute presentation. That’s longer than average, which means that the Emperor will have something more than the formalities.”

  “When starts all this?”

  “At the time the previous appointment is complete, I’ll give you a signal. You walk in the portal and stand. After you are announced, the Emperor will recognize you, and you walk to the throne. Stop at the bottom and make some acknowledgment to the Emperor, a bow, head inclined, whatever is customary for you, which the Emperor will return. You climb to the fourth step, and the Emperor will come down to meet you.”

  “Here’s the way it will look. He is addressed as ‘Sovereign of Light.’ ”

  The holo projection showed a still version of the Emperor greeting someone on the wide steps below the throne.

  “Do you have any questions?” she finished up with the rush of someone who has repeated the same words time after time.

  “When is the audience completed?”

  “The words used to signify closure will be something like ‘May you enjoy the peace of the Empire.’ It is never quite the same. The Emperor enjoys minor deviations from the protocol.”

  Ger-Lorthian checked her timestrap and stood up. Nathaniel followed her example, and the two of them were rejoined outside the briefing room by his escort of four Imperial Marines.

  The portal to the receiving hall extended high enough to admit a full-sized combat skitter, and the closed, gold-plated portal was obviously backed with endurasteel. With the depth of the casements, Nathaniel doubted whether that Imperial combat skitter could have dented the surface of the portal.

  “When the chime sounds, Lord Whaler, the portal will open. Please step through and wait.”

  A deep bell echoed from the top of the portal casement. The doors recessed into the massive casements without so much as a whisper.

  Nathaniel stepped through and placed himself squarely in the middle of the ribbon of carpeting that ran toward the throne block.

  Five portals studded the immense circular hall of equidistant intervals, and a similar carpet ran from each toward the circular stepped structure on which rested the Throne of Light.

  In all probability, the throne rotated to face whatever portal the Emperor wished or protocol demanded.

  Empires need Emperors, and the bigger the Empire, the more impressive the Emperor should be. As a practical matter, reflected the Trade Envoy for the Coordinate of Accord, Emperors only came in one size—human. At least, human emperors did. His Royal and Imperial Highness Jostan Lerann McDade N’troya, while white-haired and close to 196 centimeters, was only human.

  The Emperor of the Terran Empire, the Hegemony of Light, the Path of Progress, compensated for his mere humanity by wearing an unadorned and brilliant white uniform that cloaked him in light, making him the focus of the receiving hall in which a full-sized Imperial corvette could have been hangared.

  A crowd, gathered around and on the lower steps of the throne pedestal and large enough to comprise several subotta teams, was lost under the sweeping lightstone buttresses, and the height of the ceiling swallowed the pulsing beams emanating from the Throne of Light.

  Nathaniel waited on the tan carpet, as he’d been briefed by the majordomo. Receiving Auditor, whatever she was called.

  Several of the group gathered below the throne, a good stone’s throw away, glanced at him and pointedly turned their heads.

  The Imperial hangers-on all affected light-colored clothing. Only the Emperor wore out-and-out white, and no one wore a predominantly dark outfit.

  Nathaniel wore Accord’s diplomatic blacks. If he had worn the greens of the Ecolitan Institute, the effect and impact would have been the same. In the bright universe of the Imperial court, two colors were absent. Solid green and solid black—the colors of Accord, the colors associated with the Ecologic Secession.

  “The Lord Nathaniel Firstborne Whaler, Trade Envoy from the Coordinate of Accord. Presenting his official credentials to His Imperial Highness, Provider of Prosperity and Sovereign of Light.”

  The announcement st
illed the hall for less than an instant. “We await your arrival.” The Emperor’s voice filled the hall, overtoned and benevolent.

  Nathaniel marched up the tan carpet, which gradually lightened into gold as it neared the Throne of Light. The throne itself stood higher than he’d realized from the holo projection.

  Stopping before the bottom step, the Ecolitan bowed once.

  “Lord Whaler, the Empire is pleased at your presence.” Nathaniel climbed four steps. The Emperor stood and descended.

  From the corner of his eye, the Ecolitan could see that the Empress, who had remained in her seat below and to the left of the Emperor’s, was not in the slightest interested in Accord or in credentials. She continued her conversation with a blond man dressed in a peacock blue tunic belted in scarlet.

  “Lord Whaler.” The Emperor addressed the Envoy. “Your Highness.”

  A minor murmur circled the crowd on the throne pedestal. Protocol required the more formal “Sovereign of Light.”

  But, thought Nathaniel, we provincials can’t be expected to know everything about the delicacies of court etiquette.

  Nathaniel handed him the credentials case. “My credentials, my writ to the Empire. May we all live in peace and prosperity.”

  “On behalf of the Empire and its peoples, I accept your credentials and your wishes for peace and prosperity.”

  The smile the Emperor N’troya gave the Ecolitan was genuine enough, and so were the tiredness and the thin lines radiating from the corners of his dark eyes. “Was your trip pleasant, Lord Whaler?”

  “To reaching New Augusta, I looked forward. Seeing your receiving hall, disappointed I am certainly not. Most impressive and suited to you.” The Sovereign of Light chuckled. “I gather that’s a compliment. Lord Whaler, and in our position as royalty, so shall we take it.”

  The royal chuckle effectively stilled conversation around the Emperor for several instants, except for the fragment of small talk which drifted upward.

  “…so devilish in that outfit, but what could you expect from Accord—”

  The speaker, a lady in rust and yellow with a neckline which barely cleared her ample breasts, broke off in mid-sentence.

  “Lord Whaler,” continued the Emperor as if he had not heard the interruption, “your frankness is refreshing. What do you really think of the Empire? Honestly now?”

  Nathaniel could sense the indrawn breath from those listening around the throne.

  “Your Highness, large groups of systems organized must be. People accept the government they deserve, and many systems accept the Empire. Wise is the Empire to accept and govern wisely those who wish such governing. Wise too is the Empire which only extends its role to those who wish it.”

  He bowed slightly to N’troya as he finished. “Well chosen words, Lord Whaler. Well chosen.”

  “Your service, and looking forward to these talks on trade I am.”

  “So is the Empire. We trust you will fulfill our confidences.” The Emperor straightened. “During your stay in New Augusta and thereafter may you enjoy the peace of the Empire.” The Emperor nodded dismissal. Nathaniel bowed and waited.

  The Emperor turned and climbed back to the Throne of Light.

  At that, the Ecolitan marched back down the carpet toward the massive portal. Before exiting, he faced back to the throne and bowed again. When the portal opened, he exited the receiving hall. “Lord Whaler, your escort.”

  The same Receiving Auditor waited as the portals shut behind the Envoy. The same four Marines swung in behind him as he walked back the way he had come.

  “I didn’t catch your conversation with the Emperor, Lord Whaler, but you must have a way with words. That’s the first laugh I’ve heard during an audience in months.”

  “Truth only I spoke.”

  He didn’t offer more, and Cynda didn’t ask as the short procession made its way back to the Imperial concourse.

  Once more the charade with the guards was repeated as he entered the crimson electrocougar. The car whisked him back into the depths and to the Diplomatic Tower. Nathaniel sank into the red cushions. Smoothly as things seemed to be going, he had the feeling that pieces to the puzzle were missing. Which pieces? That was the real question.

  …XI…

  A muted brown tunic, slashed with irregular gold stripes, and matching brown trousers—with a sigh, the Ecolitan pulled the outfit from the closet. The clothes were common enough not to draw attention, and his utility belt was compatible.

  Once he had the outfit on, he checked himself in the hygienarium mirror. The looseness of the tunic gave him an informal appearance, almost touristlike. He straightened the belt before heading for the private exit. Probably Mydra or someone would wonder where the Envoy had gone for the afternoon, but a little mystery would brighten their lives, if they even bothered check. Besides, he was bored. Bored with waiting for things to happen.

  He laughed. “With one take-out aimed at you, you’re bored.”

  All told, the trip from his quarters down the drop shaft to the tunnel train level took less than fifteen minutes. Best of all, no one had given him a second look.

  Like virtually everything else he’d seen, the tunnel train level was immaculate, sparkling and shimmering in the indirect light.

  All the same, he missed the outdoors, the scent of rain or dusty air, the openness of a horizon stretching into the sky.

  The second train was the one he wanted, running south toward the shuttle port. The short train—only four cars— whispered into the concourse so silently it nearly caught him by surprise.

  Each car contained twenty-four individual seats and twice that space for standing room. Roughly half the seats in his car were full.

  Nathaniel sat opposite the rear portal, where he could observe the entire car without seeming to.

  Two seats away, carrying a slim folder, sat a blond Imperial Sublieutenant with her eyes fixed on the panel at the end of the car.

  She had not looked up when he had taken his seat, nor did she move a muscle until the second stop after Nathaniel had boarded. At the Ministry of Defense concourse, the Sublieutenant snapped out of her seat, walked past Nathaniel and through the portal before it was fully open.

  Nathaniel stretched, ambled to his feet, and barely escaped the train before the door shut behind him. The train was whispering its way out of the concourse toward the shuttle port within instants of his departure.

  Muted brown with scarlet trim struck the color scheme for the Ministry of Defense concourse.

  Unlike the Diplomatic Tower, the Defense Tower had two lift/drop shafts, one guarded by a full squad of armed soldiers, the other apparently unguarded and open to the public.

  Nathaniel watched as the Sublieutenant marched toward the guarded shaft, flashed something, and was waved through. Then the Ecolitan settled down on one of the scattered wall benches, one that had a view of the approaches to both sets of lift shafts, with a faxtab in hand, giving the impression of scanning it while waiting for someone. Within minutes, he could sense the pattern.

  Younger Imperial citizens drifted in and out, seemingly at random, and took the public lift shaft. For all their leisurely appearance, a certain tenseness underlay their casualness, showing in a quietness, a lack of chatter.

  Scarcely a handful of individuals presented themselves to the brown-clad guards at the smaller lift/drop shaft, and of that scattering, Nathaniel saw only one other person in uniform, another woman. Two other civilians were quietly turned away.

  After a quarter of a standard hour, one of the guards glanced over at Nathaniel, studied the Ecolitan, and returned his attention to the console.

  Nathaniel did not react, but kept his nose in the faxtab, with an occasional look around for his “appointment” while he continued to track the comings and goings.

  Another quarter hour passed. The guard who had first noted Nathaniel looked him over again, this time giving him an even closer scrutiny and keying something into the console.

&n
bsp; Nathaniel went on recording the arrivals and departures into his belt storage.

  A quarter hour later, almost to the second, the guard at the console looked up and toward Nathaniel. At the same instant, one of the patrols turned toward the console operator.

  The Ecolitan dropped the faxtab and folded it. Unhurriedly, he rose, stretched, peered around, looked at his wrist, shook his bead, and finally crumpled the faxtab in apparent disgust.

  He stalked away toward the tunnel train stage. It hadn’t been necessary to stay quite so long, but he had been looking for a reaction.

  Once in the train, decorated in pale golds and off whites and filled with the low murmur of music, he again took an end seat, this time to see if he could spot a tail. The train was half full, about as crowded as he’d seen any public transport in New Augusta, and he decided, since no one else had joined the small group waiting on the stage, that a tail was unlikely.

  Back in the living room of his private quarters at the Legation, he first dialed some juice from the dispenser, then settled himself into the deep chair facing the window. He felt more at ease in the living room than in the expanse of the official office of the Envoy.

  People assumed that you had to get inside a building to find out what was going on. Not always so. Sometimes a fairly good picture was painted just by who came and went.

  Item: Very few military personnel arriving.

  Item: Fewer still in uniform. Item: Virtually all public access was by young Imperials—student age—and on a continuing basis, as if by appointment.

  Item: Military access more tightly guarded than anything else seen in New Augusta.

  Item: No discernible patterns in sex of either military personnel or students.

  Item: Guards not only tracked loiterers, but maintained voiceless communications with the central communications point.

  What conclusions could he draw? Despite the low profile the military seemed to have assumed on New Augusta, they possessed a great deal of real power.

  Further, the “student” appointments implied one of two things: either the military career was respected and desirable or it was required of at least some of the population. The lack of uniforms also intrigued the Ecolitan.