The Ecologic Envoy

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  New Augusta, in spite of all the apparent freedom, was a tightly controlled society. How tightly remained to be seen.

  …XII…

  The man in black stepped into the drop shaft, angled his body out into the high speed lane, and watched the levels peel away.

  Mydra had told him what she thought of the idea. “After someone shot at you… going out alone, unescorted. Lord Whaler, is foolish. Very foolish.”

  Foolish perhaps, but a Marine escort with crimson uniforms would have been like dropping a location flare.

  On the way down, he smiled faintly as a Fuardian Military Attache tripped over his dangling sabre and pitched headfirst into the slow drop traffic, almost colliding with a Matriarch from Halston.

  Accord didn’t have lift/drop shafts, or the towers with hundreds of levels running from deep in the ground up into the lower cloud levels. For the scattered communities of Accord, such towers would have been an energy waste. Harmony was the only city of any size throughout the Coordinate, and the capital had fewer people than any single one of the New Augustan towers.

  As the Ecolitan dropped toward the concourse level, he edged himself into the slower lanes, finally swinging off onto the orange permatile of the exit stage.

  He walked briskly toward the private side of the concourse where the official tunnel cars and diplomatic vehicles waited. His eyes never stopped their continuous scan. His ears listened for any untoward sound. “Lord Whaler?” called a young driver. “From whom?” he asked noncommittally, still scanning as he approached.

  “Lord Rotoller at Commerce.” She gestured toward the car and the seal on the open passenger door.

  As he bent to enter the vehicle, he checked the energy levels but could find nothing overtly suspicious.

  He settled himself into the overpadded seat as the electrocougar dipped noiselessly into the tunnel on its trip from the Diplomatic Tower to the Imperial Ministry of Commerce.

  “How long have you worked for the Commerce Ministry?” he asked the driver. “Two standard years, sir.”

  “Like it do you?”

  “It’s part of training. If you’re a student at one of the professional or nonmilitary service schools, you’re assigned a part-time job as well.”

  “What school for you?”

  “Government Service Academy.”

  “A specialty you have, a favorite course of study?”

  “Political theory’s the most interesting. But I like economic history the best.” The young woman half turned in the seat, without taking her eyes totally off the controls and guidelights. “Do you think the Ecologic Secession was based more on the imperatives of Outer Rift trade or on the political restraints imposed by the Empire?”

  “An interesting question,” temporized the Ecolitan. “The factors which to the Secession led as in so many conflicts were doubtless many. Some of them are lost, I would suspect, and today scholars and politicians focus on what they see as important, not on what those involved saw as important.”

  “That’s what Professor Har-Ptolemkin says, that we project our own motives back onto history too much.” The driver stopped talking, waiting for a response.

  “Trade, the political reasons, the personal heritages, all factors have to be considered. No one sat down and said, ‘For these reasons will we rebel.’ ”

  “No… doubtless said they something more like, ‘We are tired of the Empire and want to be free.’ And each had a somewhat different reason.”

  “Do you think they really knew that clearly what they wanted?”

  “People say they know what they want, but often when they must choose, they choose not what they asked for.”

  The student driver did not continue the conversation, and the electrocougar began to slow and climb. After a sharp turn, the vehicle came to a halt. A man clad in a gold jumpsuit opened the door, and four others, wearing identical metallic uniforms, stood by the underground carved stone portal, ramrod straight in the artificial light.

  At 191 centimeters, the Ecolitan didn’t consider himself particularly tall, but he stood nearly a full head above the five gold-suited guards. Two were women, and all wore long knives in silver scabbards and silver-plated stunners in gilded holsters.

  A man and a woman near his own height waited for Whaler inside the portal. Both were dressed in the maroon of the Imperial Commerce Ministry. The man stood in front of the woman and, abruptly, raised his left hand in the open-palmed symbol of greeting used on Accord, almost as if he were being coached. Whaler returned the greeting.

  “Alden Rotoller, at your service. Envoy Whaler, may I present my Special Assistant, Marcella Ku-Smythe?”

  “At your service,” Whaler returned stiffly in Panglais. As he acknowledged the introduction with a slight bow and a direct look at Marcella, he was struck by the contrast between the two. Marcella was not beautiful, though her features were clear, clean, and attractive in a strong way, with a nose more aquiline than pert. Her eyes focused with an intensity common to few. Rotoller’s face was essentially dead by comparison. “Your staff?” inquired the Lord Rotoller. “The full disposal of the Legation for the purposes of any negotiation has been accorded me.”

  “Of course,” responded Rotoller. He turned and motioned toward the ornate private lift shaft.

  The dimness of the shaft surprised Nathaniel as he followed the Terran Minister, since the public shafts in New Augusta were so brightly illuminated.

  Beyond the white tiled exit stage was a stark, semicircular hallway decorated with a maroon and white tiled chessboard pattern. The walls were white, trimmed with thin maroon molding that shimmered.

  Two guards, facing the lift exit, wore stunners in black functional throw holsters and tunics and trousers of solid maroon.

  Off the hall were four portals, but only the one on the far left was open. As soon as Marcella Ku-Smythe stepped onto the exit stage tiles, Lord Rotoller turned and walked through the open doorway. Nathaniel followed. So did Marcella and the guards. Did they think he was an ogre left over from the Ecologic Secession?

  The chamber they entered resembled a private club in Harmony far more than a meeting room for the Deputy Minister of Commerce. Three deep chairs, each with a side table, were drawn up around a light fire, itself contained within flux bricks in the middle of the room. Each side table contained a napkin, real cloth, and a mug holder.

  Rotoller suddenly dropped into one of the chairs. “Take your pick.”

  Nathaniel bumped into the one closest to him, trying to see if the furniture was either anchored or snooped. Neither seemed to be the case, and he eased himself into the maroon cushions.

  The room was decorated in shades of cream and maroon, and the light fountain flared maroon intermittently.

  “Would you care for something to drink? Some liftea, cafe, perhaps some Taxan brandy?” “Liftea, it would be fine.” Rotoller tilted his head at Marcella. “Cafe,” she ordered.

  One of the guards disappeared through another portal that had opened from a seemingly blank wall, to return a moment later with three beverages and three identical plates of pastries.

  The guard, a woman with closely cropped brown hair, offered the pastry tray to Nathaniel first, letting him choose one of the three plates. She placed his liftea on the table, then served the Taxan brandy to the Deputy Minister before finishing up with Marcella.

  Silence stretched out before Whaler realized that the other two were waiting for him.

  He picked up the heavy mug and lifted it toward his host.

  “For your hospitality and courtesy.”

  “And for your kindness in coming,” the reply came automatically.

  The Ecolitan took a small sip of the steaming tea and set the mug back in its holder.

  “Such courtesy, for one such as I, most overwhelming is.”

  “No more than you deserve, particularly when it is you who do us the honor of coming so far.”

  “And on a small courier at that,” added Marcella. “How was
your trip?”

  “As expected.” Actually, he had enjoyed it and the chance to compare the courier with similar class ships of the Institute. His enjoyment had been heightened by seeing the Imperial battlecruiser tagging along as an official escort.

  “Long trip, I imagine,” responded Rotoller. “Can’t say I’ve been out to the Rift. In this job, you get tied to the faxwork, in the details, not that it all doesn’t have to be done. Marcella does all the real in-depth work, though, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  The Lord smiled faintly at his assistant, who smiled faintly back.

  “Lord Mersen will be pleased to know you have arrived safely and will take great interest in what you have to offer.”

  “Most kind, most kind,” returned Nathaniel. “Did you bring any staff with you?” Again, it was Marcella.

  “Ah… the question of staff. Such a joy, and so helpful are they, and so determined. A thousand pardons to you, Lady. Would I not mean to offend, in any circumstances.”

  “No offense, Lord Whaler.”

  “But your question… no… answer it I did not. Staff, besides that of the Legation, as you meant, have I none at this moment.”

  Before the growing silence became totally oppressive, Rotoller jumped in.

  “Guess something like New Augusta must be a new experience for you. Understand your government isn’t fond of large bureaucracies or diplomatic establishments.”

  “Our government has not the numbers or the systems with which to deal as does the Empire. Our Envoys are not numerous but deal with more than diplomacy we do. Some other cities and systems have I seen, but none so large and impressive as your capital.”

  He inclined his head toward the light-haired Special Assistant. “And none with officials so enchanting.”

  Nathaniel took another sip of the liftea and began the last pastry, interposing nibbles with broad and idiotic smiles. “Haven’t spent the time we should have,” continued Rotoller, “since matters between Accord and us have been going so smoothly recently. This trade imbalance thing sort of crept up on us, and I gather that’s been the same sort of feeling in Harmony, from what our Legate’s reported.”

  “True. One hesitates to rock a boat floating with a smooth tide, not when so many other disturbances evident are. The Delegates were not aware of the extent of the problem facing the Empire and so the request caught many unprepared. Trade can be the lifeblood of an outer system, and what is a small imbalance to the Empire reflects more heavily for us.”

  “Do you think some of the other systems are waiting to see what happens?”

  “Trade affects us all, and Accord understands such effects, as do you and others in your Ministry. One thing does lead onward to another. That is known. Most important will be these talks to those affected.” The pattern continued.

  “Can’t tell you how pleased we are to have a chance to chat before the talks get underway …”

  “Is your Legation here much different from the people back home, really?”

  “Understand Accord hasn’t changed too much lately …”

  “Is the Ecolitan Institute an all-around university now?” Nathaniel responded in kind. “Pleased am I to have such opportunities …”

  “People they are people, and much help can be anyone.”

  “The changes, they happen. Everywhere are changes, but on Accord we take the best of the old, we hope, and the best of the new…”

  “Ah, the Institute… not exactly what you would call a university… nor even a training school… more an experience, a way of combining a look at the past and the knowledge of today.”

  The atmosphere changed ever so slightly, and while Nathaniel couldn’t pinpoint it, the tete-a-tete was over. “Regret we couldn’t talk all day. Lord Whaler. You’ve given us a most fascinating insight, but there’s far too much waiting for both me and Marcella at our consoles.”

  The guards stiffened as the two Commerce officials rose from their chairs.

  Nathaniel followed.

  “So kind have you been in your courtesy, and much too much of your time have I taken today.”

  “Our pleasure, Lord Whaler. Our pleasure.” While the guards were alert as the three drifted to the drop shaft, their hands poised near their stunners, the Ecolitan almost found himself shaking his head at the sight. If he’d really wanted to dispose of the pair, holding their hands near their weapons wouldn’t have done them a bit of good.

  “Hope to see you soon,” finished off the Deputy Minister as Whaler climbed back into the electrocougar. “And I you.”

  Ignoring the frescoes in the tunnel and the driver, an older woman who seemed to want to ignore him, Nathaniel leaned back in the cushions and tried to think.

  Why had the two Commerce officials wanted to meet him?

  He shook his head and waited until the limousine came to a stop in the private concourse. Rather than using the front entrance of the Legation, he took the back side exit from the lift shaft which led to his private quarters.

  The corridor was nearly deserted. He passed a woman and two men on the way to his private door. The belt detector showed the snoops on the portal were still operational.

  From the entry, he walked to the study where his datacase had been left. As he half expected, someone had been through the material, despite the privacy seals on the suite locks and on the datacase itself.

  What surprised him most was that only a rudimentary effort had been made to replace the case and the material within in the same positions where he had left them.

  On the one hand, great technical sophistication had been involved in analyzing the palm-print codes to open the doors and the datacase without destroying the locks or triggering any alarms. Yet the material had been replaced carelessly.

  By angling his belt light at the smooth surfaces of the cases, he could tell that fingerprints remained, without any evidence that the intruders had attempted to wipe them off.

  That confirmed the general identity of the intruders as government operatives of some sort or another. He shrugged. At the moment, there was little enough he could do.

  …XIII…

  Nathaniel set his mental alarms for 0700. The switch to Terran standards hadn’t affected his own internal timing. He was awake at 0659.

  Once in his office, he tapped several studs on the massive desk console. He hadn’t figured out all the possible button combinations yet, but with the aid of the local directory he’d called up into the console memory, he was managing to make direct calls without having Mydra or someone else place them. “Sergel, come on over, would you?”

  “Envoy Whaler, with the other Accord staff gone, matters are somewhat involved …”

  Nathaniel knew he was lying. The entire Legation staff was grossly underworked.

  “I can understand that. This won’t take long. I’ll be expecting you in fifteen minutes.”

  Sergel Weintre arrived on time. Nathaniel couldn’t miss the dampness on his forehead.

  He pointed the younger Information Specialist at one of the deep chairs. Perching on the edge of the desk, the Ecolitan stared down at the man and began in the Old American of Accord. “First, the situation stinks. I know it stinks. You know it stinks. Second, I don’t have time to play games with you. Third, everything we say is being monitored by at least two different groups. Fourth, it doesn’t matter. Is all that clear?”

  Weintre screwed up his face into a puzzled look. “No, Envoy Whaler. I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Nathaniel ignored him.

  “I realize the position you’re in, but that’s between you and them. I have several questions I expect you to answer.” Weintre shifted his weight, expression blank. “Who stirred up the question of revision of Accord’s trade terms with the Empire?”

  “It was the Emperor’s decision.”

  “As I recall, my official presentation of credentials to the Emperor was largely ceremonial. And somehow I doubt that the Emperor could be greatly concerned about the terms of tr
ade with a small third-rate system, even a former colony.”

  The Ecolitan smiled pleasantly at Weintre. “So… someone had to push. Who?”

  “The order was signed by the Emperor.” Nathaniel repressed a sigh. He pulled a compucalendar from the console drawer.

  “Weintre, I really don’t have time for polite evasions. This is a lie detector, new and improved model. Now… why is the Imperial Ministry of Commerce—or is it the military crew—supplementing your already too-generous stipend?”

  The Information Specialist swallowed, just once. “This is totally out of hand. Whaler, totally. You think you can just walk in and threaten? You may have some authority, but you can’t do that!”

  Nathaniel let the all-wooden dart gun slide into his hand. The weapon would not register on any known detector. “You know, Weintre, it’s too bad you sold us out.”

  “You wouldn’t…”

  “I not only would, but will.… Have you ever studied the Articles of Ecological Warfare of Accord? They’ve never been suspended, you know. In matters of State, they may be called into force by any Legate or accredited representative of Accord outside the Coordinate… and executed by any Ecolitan. Not that they ever expected one to be both.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Nathaniel cocked the dart thrower and fired in one fluid motion. The dart buried itself in the chair less than a centimeter from Sergel’s left ear. “The next one will be closer… a lot closer.”

  “The Empire—”

  “Can’t do a thing, except declare me persona non grata and deport me to stand trial in Harmony, where I’d be acquitted.”

  Sergel needed more of a push. “Weintre, I’m truly sorry…”

  “No! Reilly-Shiroka contacted me. Aide to Lord Mersen. Helmsworth wants to throw a slide-strip into the talks, hold them up to get better terms for the Empire.” It was the Ecolitan’s turn to frown. “You’re making no sense at all, Sergel.”

  “Look… Corwin-Smathers, staff director for Helmsworth, is out to get Commerce. We’re just a pawn to force Commerce to deal with Helmsworth’s problems.” Nathaniel waved a halt to the flow of words. “So why involve you? Why pay you off?”