The Ecologic Envoy

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Peculiar?”

  “Peculiar to us. First trade talks with the Empire in seventy years, and only the second in over four centuries. I forget this sort of thing goes on day in and day out here in the Empire.”

  “Scarcely that often, and certainly not with an outsystem with the, shall we say, prestige of Accord.”

  “Now you’re overdoing the honor business,” protested the Ecolitan.

  “I don’t think so. For a system which has but three nationals here normally to send such a highly qualified individual for trade negotiations honors us greatly. The fact that you have also contacted one of the most interested Senators shows how close you are to the pulse of things.”

  “We’re just trying to chart all the orbits.” Courtney did not reply. She smiled. A hush, almost absolute silence, settled on the office. “I assume you do have a reason for asking to see me.”

  “Alas,” began Nathaniel, “a glib charmer like most Envoys, I am not. Someone who can say nothing while saying everything, that I am not.”

  “That’s a pretty good start.”

  He shrugged. “I have come to talk about trade. And what Accord would like is clear. Clear it has been from the beginning. So why no one will talk is difficult to understand. All tariffs? Are they the question? Or trade policy? Perhaps the overall trade balance? I know not.”

  “Are we talking appearances or realities? Politics or economics?”

  “I don’t know your politics. From outside New Augusta how could anyone really know? And why on poor Accord does the Empire center? After seventy years of quiet, we are protested, instead of I Found It!, the Fuardian Conglomerate, Halston, or other independents.

  “As for economics—we do produce a few microcomponents for export, but by themselves why such a fuss they would create I cannot see.”

  “Really, Lord Whaler, dealing with the Empire is not that difficult.”

  “About that, you might ask the former Envoy from Haversol. His negotiations, they did not go well, and that precedent worries Accord.”

  “If you are that worried, why doesn’t Accord merely accept whatever proposal the Empire has offered?”

  “As I recall, dear Lady, the Empire has offered nothing. Nothing except the declaration that the present terms of trade most unsatisfactory are. So here we are, and I am here also.”

  “That puzzles me. You are a full Envoy. You have had lunch with a staffer of mine, then requested an appointment with me, prior to any substantive talks being started. Why not the Senator? Why not the government?”

  “When requesting an appointment of the Senator, I was told it might be some time before he was free. Some time no one has, whether they know it or not. Also I have had some talks with the government, so far going to no destination.”

  “Why are you here? Really here?”

  “To see you.” She was so intent he couldn’t resist the jab.

  “Lord Whaler, while I appreciate the flattery, you have not told me what you want, why you want it, and why I should help you, if indeed that help is what you want.”

  Her sharpness brought Nathaniel up short. He looked at Courtney, evaluating what he saw.

  The dark eyes, deep set under heavy black eyebrows and lashes, dominated a smooth white face and pale lips. The tightness of her skin and the fine lines radiating from the comers of her eyes emphasized the energy she contained. Her black hair, cut short well above the standard Imperial collar, showed silver streaks. Since standard cosmetology treatments allowed anyone to retain their natural hair color for life, either Courtney didn’t care or hadn’t had time for recent treatments.

  “As you know,” he went on, “Haversol refused to negotiate, and the result we all know. We would be willing to negotiate, within reason. Profession of willingness appears with the government, but no negotiation, only buildups of the Imperial fleets. While diplomacy has not been a strength of Accord, try it we would hope, even though some members of the House of Delegates are opposed. We judge that Senator Helmsworth might play a critical role, perhaps in creating momentum. You are the critical assistant to the Senator.” The Ecolitan waited.

  “Lord Whaler, one thing comes through clearly. You are racing against time. Why?”

  “Dear Lady, perhaps I continue to underestimate you. You have said nothing, committed nothing, and demanded everything. For that, I must have underestimated your power.”

  “You do me far too much credit.”

  “Only that which you are due.”

  “Perhaps, also,” she returned, “I have not been as courteous as I should have been, but on the surface there seemed to be no problem, and I hope you understand that right now, particularly with all the Parthanian Cloud questions, the ad valorem tax changes, and the Force Command tax proposal, things have been a bit hectic.”

  “I understand, but much lies beneath the surface. And everyone avoids what lies there.”

  “And just what do you mean by that?” A frown creased Courtney’s forehead. “I doubt that the Empire wants another ecological war. While it would mean the end of Accord, history shows that the Empire as you know it could not survive another such conflict. Now, I’m not advocating anything, just pointing out that failure to reach an agreement could lead in that direction.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Rather than answer directly, he handed her one of the folders.

  She looked it over, then laid it down. “It appears rather generous on the surface. That means there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

  “We can make concessions now that would be somewhat more difficult two years from now when the one-year Delegate selections take place. Economically, it doesn’t make that much difference, but…” he dangled out the implication.

  “You’re implying the present political conditions on Accord will turn for the worse, from the Empire’s point of view, after the next elections. Is that a fair assumption?”

  “Obviously, any prediction of any election result more than a year in the future is little more than a guess, but recently the Orthodoxist extremists have been making a comeback. The failure of the more moderate Normist majority to obtain a trade settlement might well increase the appeal of the Orthodoxist party.”

  “Isn’t that blatant pressure?” Nathaniel cleared his throat.

  “Ms. Corwin-Smathers, it is obvious that talks we are approaching from totally different backgrounds. For you, trade with small systems can be pushed into the background. You view Accord as a fifth-rate out-system with no real right to question the almighty Empire, and with no real military options.”

  For the first time, Courtney leaned forward, as if she were interested.

  “Let me assure you, madam, that while Accord would be the first to wish to avoid the use of military means, ecological or not, ethical or not, we have the means to prevent the Empire from making us another dependency. We will not be bullied, and we will not hesitate if pushed to the brink.

  “The Empire has made such a mistake once. I sincerely hope, for all our sakes, you do not try again. We would prefer to negotiate, and we will, if anyone is willing.”

  He pointed to the folder she had laid carelessly across her console.

  “Those are the facts as Accord sees them. If you feel otherwise, then I am certain you and the Senator will indeed let us know.” Nathaniel ended with nearly a military snap. “Accord is fortunate to have you. Lord Whaler.” She smiled coldly. “I wish you luck in all your contacts. I trust you will be as forthright with them as you have been with me. Who do you plan to see next?”

  “The Ministry of Commerce. Then the Ministry of External Affairs.”

  “I assume you’re seeing Marcella Ku-Smythe.”

  Courtney’s statement was not a question but a declaration. “Before I leave,” Nathaniel added in a softer tone, “do you or your staff have any changes you would like Accord to consider?”

  She shifted her weight. “It’s not really up to us, you know. Ms. Ku-Smythe could endorse your terms, and
the Commerce Ministry would approve her recommendations, if that’s what you wanted.”

  “I would prefer your candid appraisal,” responded the Ecolitan, backing away from the implications of Courtney’s comments. “At the moment, we do not feel anyone should be excluded, since a consensus agreement would raise fewer objections. For example, if we had chosen to exclude you and the Senator, you could easily have suggested a long and drawn-out investigation and hearings that could block any agreement. Drawing things out would not help anyone, except the Federated Hegemony, Halston, the Fuards, or anyone else who was left to pick up the pieces.

  “Your candid recommendations could ease the way for a more easily accepted settlement.”

  “Wait a moment,” she commanded as she picked up the folder and rose from behind the console.

  Nathaniel nodded, but as she left, let the stunner slip down from inside his wide cuffs to a point above his left wrist.

  Courtney was on her way to contact Imperial Intelligence, the Noram microprocessors, or both.

  While she was gone, with one eye on the portal, he studied the office in detail, from the Cereberium eternal clock to the real leather desk pad to the all-wooden desk and matched credenza. He also took the liberty of leaning forward slightly and memorizing the two private line numbers on the console.

  Again, the nagging questions were piling up, but behind them was an obvious fundamental assumption, something so glaring he was overlooking it, something so common he couldn’t see the swamp for the water. He knew it was there. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  It wasn’t the arrangement of the office or Courtney Corwin-Smathers herself, as arrogant as she seemed to be.

  Courtney was absent fifteen standard minutes. By the end of the fifteenth minute, Nathaniel was ready to leave. She returned with a smile.

  “I was able to reach the Senator, and the general terms of your proposal, provided the facts are as we think they are, will probably be acceptable to the Senator and the External Relations Committee as a sound beginning point. The staff will have to work out more specifics, but by tomorrow I should have a better idea. Can you give me a fax then?”

  “That should be no problem. Do you have any objections to my giving the same information to Commerce?”

  “Why should I? We’re poor innocent bystanders as far as Commerce is concerned.”

  Nathaniel rose to his feet and gave Courtney a half bow. “I appreciate, your candor and your willingness to work toward a mutually acceptable agreements.”

  “Lord Whaler, you have been most forthright and very gallant under what I know must be very trying circumstances. Appearances in and among the various bureaus and Ministries can indeed be complicated and deceiving.” That was the second double message. “I’m learning that.” He laughed as he turned toward the portal, keeping an eye on Courtney. “I hope we’ll have a chance to talk again before long.”

  “Sure hope you’ll come to see us again. Lord Whaler,” chimed in Charles, the receptionist, who brushed against Nathaniel as he returned to his console just as Nathaniel was trying to get past.

  For some reason, the Ecolitan felt on edge, the same way he had during jump training or when he’d been in the Trezenian Police Action, the time he’d avoided leading his patrol into ambush.

  This is the Empire, he told himself, not the outback of Trezenia. Out of habit, he checked the people in the corridor as he left the Senator’s office.

  Only a handful were in the throughway to the drop shaft.

  Dropping quickly into the high speed section, he plummeted toward the concourse level where the tunnels cross-connected.

  The drop shafts were one of the few things he enjoyed about New Augusta.

  Swinging out onto the permatile of the bottom level, he looked for the flashing indicators of the tunnel cabs, rather than heading for the tube system. The tunnel trains reminded him too much of the Institute’s fast troop carriers.

  As he walked toward the tunnel cab dispatching point, which superficially resembled organized chaos with the cabs flicking in and out of wall tunnels in some sort of nearly random order as the passengers inserted their universal credit cards into the dispatch gate, he wondered how the system really worked.

  The tunnel cabs worked—no doubt about it—but the intricate traffic patterns leading up to the dispatch stations seemed decorative rather than functional.

  Nathaniel inserted the Legation credit card into the slot, punched in his proposed destination, the Ministry of Commerce, and waited.

  A silver electrocougar glided out of the third portal and whispered to a stop directly in front of him.

  The driver was a woman, dark hair severely cut, the Ecolitan noted as he bent and eased into the rear seat. “Ministry of Commerce?”

  “Right. Main Tower.”

  The electrocougar pulled away from the silver walls of the Senate Tower concourse and dropped into the cab tunnel.

  Nathaniel looked at the back of the driver’s head. From the back seat, he could see the high, dark brown collar of her tunic, so plain it almost resembled a uniform, and the squarish cut of her hair. She was nearly as big as he was, far bigger than any of the cab drivers he had seen so far.

  Something was wrong. Of that he was convinced, and it was linked to the growing feeling he had overlooked something so incredibly basic that he and everyone else in New Augusta took it for granted, whatever “it” happened to be.

  As the tunnel cab hummed through the frescoed tunnel toward the Ministry of Commerce, he tried to take stock, mentally ticking off the possibilities.

  Both Marcella Ku-Smythe and Courtney Corwin-Smathers were more powerful than their titles would indicate. Everyone deferred to a limited degree to him as an Envoy, but no one seemed to expect much from him. A small flashing light interrupted his reflections. “Destination approaching. Please insert credit card.” He complied, and the dispenser promptly burped the card back into his hand. He slipped the square plasticard into his belt pouch. Abruptly, the cab halted.

  Already tense, Nathaniel flipped open the door and stepped out before realizing he was not in the concourse area of the Ministry of Commerce, but in the flat area outside the tunnel, a good hundred meters away from the brightly lit portal where other tunnel cabs were entering.

  As quickly as he turned, the driver had been quicker and was pulling away before the cab door was fully closed.

  The spot where he stood, datacase in hand, was lit sporadically, patches of light and shadow alternating.

  A low scrape registered. He ducked and whirled, dropping the case and letting the combat training assert itself automatically. Without thinking, he kicked aside the force-blade, grabbed the other’s arm, momentarily paralysed the hand nerves with a grip above the elbow, snapped his left hand across the opponent’s opposite wrist in time to send a small hand weapon skittering across the plastistone pavement.

  He finished by sweeping the other’s feet and leaving the would-be mugger in a heap. Only after the fact did he realize his assailant was a woman almost as tall and heavily muscled as he was.

  He reached down and ripped the belt pouch from her jumpsuit, kicked her feet out from under her again, and flipped through the contents.

  Miniature knife, tube stunner, Caesar notes, change… nothing.

  “Any reason why I shouldn’t break your leg on the spot?”

  “Just like all men. If you’re going to do it, do it. Otherwise don’t talk about it.”

  Why hadn’t he seen it? In this crazy Imperial society, the women held all the real power. Why hadn’t he noticed?

  He gritted his teeth, pulled the woman to her feet with his right hand, keeping his weight balanced and ready for any trickery. As soon as she had full weight on both feet, he let go of her hand and with a fluid kick-through shattered her left knee. She collapsed without a sound. Deciding that retreat was the better part of valor, he pulled the tube stunner from the attacker’s pouch and turned it on the woman, who slumped back into a heap.
He then wiped off all the items he had touched, replaced them in the belt pouch, and dropped it by her feet.

  Shrugging and taking a deep breath, he picked up his discarded datacase and moved quickly toward the tunnel portal.

  Was Courtney out to get him? Or had she been trying to warn him that the situation was beyond her control?

  As he edged through the cab portal, narrowly avoiding a speeding tunnel cab whose small driver gaped at him open-mouthed, he wondered just how many people wanted him out of the way.

  Several cab passengers stared at him as he vaulted over the barrier where they waited by the dispatch stations. Someone would doubtless report the incident, but, one way or another, his mission would be over before any investigation could be concluded.

  …XXII…

  The last thing Nathaniel wanted was to stay around long enough for some public-spirited citizen to link the unconscious woman in the tunnel with the character in black who vaulted the public barrier in the concourse. Not that the linkage wouldn’t occur, but the later, the better.

  Cowardice was the better part of valor, and he walked quickly toward the lift shaft.

  With the time only 1200 local Imperial, he needed to kill some time before appearing on Marcella’s doorstep. And he was hungry.

  His stomach rumbled as he strode into the circular take-off area for the Commerce Tower lift shaft. He paused, turning his head to search for the directory. Surely, there had to be a directory for services in the tower.

  He found it on the far side, flashing in muted maroon, the ever-present color of the Commerce Ministry.

  Advertised on the directory were both a public foodomat and an official servarium. The public foodomat had the advantage of speed and relative anonymity. At the servarium, if he could use his official Accord credentials to get in, he’d have more time to think things over and a somewhat quieter atmosphere.

  Acutely conscious that he was beginning to react to situations rather than controlling them, he decided on the servarium, listed as being on the forty-first level. As he eased into the upward lift, he felt watched. “Come on, Nathaniel,” he muttered to himself, “you’re getting paranoid.”