The Ecologic Envoy

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The Ecolitan could see the relief on the Deputy Minister’s face.

  “Our offices are not that much more spacious, but if you would like to come here, I would be more than pleased to send Ms. Du-Plessis and put a tunnel limousine at your service.”

  “That would be most gracious. I regret our situation, but you know the damage we have suffered.”

  “I understand, Lord Whaler. I certainly understand.”

  “A time we have not agreed upon.”

  “There is a saying about striking while the iron is hot,” responded Jansen.

  “Cancelled my appointments because of the damage, since I knew not when it would be repaired. I am free today.”

  “Right after midday? We could meet and settle some of the points.”

  “That would be fine.”

  After another ten minutes of phrases within phrases, it was agreed that at 1230 Janis Du-Plessis would arrive to whisk one Nathaniel Whaler off to the tower housing the Ministry of External Affairs.

  The Ecolitan leaned back in the swivel momentarily. Then he leaned forward and began to rummage through the remaining datacase, the one that hadn’t been blasted to shreds by Sergel and his friends. Enough files and holo slides remained for his purposes.

  He went back to the authentication of student comms, obviously foisted off on him by Mydra. Envoys weren’t supposed to look out windows and enjoy the views.

  A standard hour later, he’d finished and turned the screen back to his history studies of New Augusta. Before he reached the last few centuries of the glorious and stupendous history of the capital of the Empire of Light, the intercom buzzed.

  Nathaniel shook his head. The closer to the present the text got, the preachier it became. “Ms. Du-Plessis has arrived.”

  Nathaniel did not acknowledge the announcement but picked up the datacase and marched to the portal door. “Where is she?” he asked Mydra. “At… the main desk.”

  “See you somewhat later.”

  He interrupted a conversation between Heather Tew-Hawkes and Janis Du-Plessis at the front desk with his sudden appearance. “Ready to go?”

  “Uh… is anyone else coming?”

  “Not immediately,” lied Nathaniel. “Later?”

  “Later,” lied the Ecolitan, “and shall we go?”

  “Yes, Lord Whaler.”

  As he left for the drop shaft with Janis, he could see the puzzled look on Heather’s face from the comer of his eye.

  Janis Du-Plessis did not make a single comment during the drop to the concourse level or on the way to the External Affairs electrocar, except a curt, “This way.”

  The driver was not the black youngster he’d had before, Nathaniel observed with regret, but an older woman with short cut black hair flecked with silver. He couldn’t tell whether the color was natural or applied. Janis sat on the far side of the rear seat of the limousine and pointedly stared out the window at the murals as the electrocougar dipped into the tunnel.

  “Amazing it is how things are governed by impressions and appearances,” mused Nathaniel. “Sometimes, the slave is the master, and sometimes the master is the slave, and sometimes both master and slave think they are the master.”

  He wasn’t getting a reaction and didn’t expect one. He just waited.

  “How did you get selected as Envoy, Lord Whaler?”

  “That is a rather long story. An authority on trade was required, but one not indebted to the bureaucracy or to either political party. I was available. The Empire indicated the matter was urgent, and I was sent.”

  The Assistant shifted her weight and turned to face him, her face pale in the dim light of the electrocar. “Always, it seems as if Accord is cloaked in mystery.”

  “It is not that mysterious. I am concerned. One of my staff has been mind-wiped. I have been attacked and bombed.”

  Nathaniel cleared his throat, pulled at his chin, and said nothing further. The car hummed onward through the tunnel. “You indicated your staff would meet us. How can we finalize the agreements?” Her voice rose slightly as she finished.

  “Staff is a luxury.”

  “A luxury?”

  “Does the lion tell the owl his business? Does the star-diver instruct the glide-ringer?”

  Janis displayed the puzzled look he had seen all too often over the past few days. He wondered how she had gotten as far as she had. Was her mother a General of the Marines?

  He let the silence draw out, wrapping the stillness around him like a blanket.

  The official electrocar began the climb out of the tunnel and into the concourse area of the Ministry of External Affairs. “What will I tell Lord Jansen?”

  “That everything is under control. That you have the situation in hand. That is true… is it not? Of course it is.”

  Four ceremonial guards in rust and tan, three women and one man, waited at the private concourse entrance.

  Alexi Jansen stood by the door of the conference room on the one hundred forty-first level. Through the portal, Nathaniel could see a projecting faxscreen and two technicians. “Greetings, Lord Whaler.”

  Jansen looked at Janis, who returned the glance without expression, then back at Nathaniel. “Will… uh… others… be joining us?”

  “I fear that some misimpressions may have been conveyed. While others might wish to be here, I am indeed the expert on trade, and we can proceed, I assure you.” Jansen raised both eyebrows.

  “Do you think that wise… that is… without supporting technical staff?”

  “Lord Jansen, I am empowered to act solely, if I so choose. Let us go ahead, and we shall see what we can work out.”

  The Ecolitan marched around Jansen and into the conference room. Janis looked at Jansen with a look that said, “Don’t blame me”.

  Nathaniel placed his case on the table in front of the chair that was his, letting the case push a green and black name placard into the middle of the polished wood surface. He opened the case and removed four of the files, snapped the case shut, and put the datacase on the carpet next to his chair. “Shall we begin?”

  Jansen, who had followed the Envoy into the room but still stood, opened his mouth, shut it, opened it. Finally, he closed it and nodded.

  Janis Du-Plessis handed a card to Jansen and sat down. “The first item,” she announced in a businesslike tone, “is the proposed schedule on microminibits.”

  The technician fiddled with the controls of the projecting faxscreen, and a holo of the list appeared above the end of the table.

  “That is the schedule as it presently exists. You will note the Imperial tariff is the highest on the combined minibits, though still very low under the circumstances— around eight percent of assessed valuation—and decreases with complexity to a low of four percent on the single minibit.”

  The holo projection changed to show a second set of figures, displayed in green, next to the first set.

  “The green figures represent the change suggested by the Coordinate of Accord. Those maintain the present rate of graduation, but increase the top rate to ten percent and the lowest rate to around six percent.”

  The Ecolitan looked at his file and checked his figures against those on the screen. They matched. He’d known that immediately, but if he hadn’t made the overt comparison, his lack of response would have been misinterpreted as knowing the numbers inside out. He knew all the figures cold, and the real and allowable leeways, without consulting the folders, but Jansen and Du-Plessis wouldn’t have believed it. If they did, they would ask rather embarrassing questions.

  “Correct those figures are,” he announced in a self-satisfied tone.

  “External Affairs,” continued Janis Du-Plessis, “would like to suggest a further change, increasing the rate of graduation and raising the base scale to eight and a half percent so that the full rate of twelve percent is first assessed on quintuple units, as is now the case.”

  The latest projection added a set of figures in red beside the green figures that had bo
rdered the original tariff rates in black.

  Nathaniel pointedly looked at the holo chart, then bent down and retrieved his datacase, from which he extracted a miniputer. He began entering figures into the instrument, either frowning or nodding as the results came up.

  He stopped for a moment and let his eyes flick around the room, from the rust hangings to the nondescript tan fabric-covered walls to the rich dark wood of the conference table, then back across the faces around the table.

  Lord Jansen wore a politely bored expression, sitting back with no real interest in the various projection figures.

  Janis Du-Plessis twitched as his eyes crossed hers. Nathaniel realized she had been studying him. The other staffer, not the fax technician, was running numbers through a small console, which had to be linked with the main External Affairs data banks.

  The projection tech’s expression matched Jansen’s, but on her the boredom looked contemptuous as well.

  The Ecolitan glanced back at the figures. The Empire, or External Affairs, reasoned the more complex the minibit, the greater the advantage that Accord possessed, the reason underlying the graduation of the tariff schedule. A twelve percent tariff rate effectively meant a fifty percent increase in the rate.

  “A twelve percent rate means, dear friends, an increase of fifty percent in the tariff rate.”

  “These figures were developed after long consultations with the affected Imperial industries and with regard to the calculated rate of return to Accord’s suppliers.”

  “A twelve percent rate will reduce many imports to nothing, and the purpose of the talks was to further trade, to make it fair, but not to stop it.”

  Actually, Accord’s industry could make money so long as the top rate stayed below fifteen percent. In any case, the minibits were important but not the entire battle.

  “Lord Whaler, here are the supplementary figures. Chart One B, please, Devon.”

  Chart One B appeared in place of the microminibit tariff schedule. On it were the volumes of Accord exports to Terra, the existing tariff rates, the revenue to the Empire, followed by a second column showing the volume of imports from Accord projected under the External Affairs proposal.

  “As you can see, even with our proposal, the volume of imports from Accord will decrease only ten percent, but the increase in the effective price will give our manufacturers enough leeway to compete.”

  The problem with the External Affairs proposal was that it put too much duty on the more complex minibits, where the emerging and continuing market was likely to be, and too little on the simpler, lower profit minibits. Plus, accepting the idea of a more steeply graduated schedule left the door open for further steepening and set a dangerous precedent.

  Nathaniel dug a memorandum from his datacase. Stripped of all the technical nomenclature, it basically stated that the Accord microprocessing industry had developed the capability of producing triple minibits which could do the work of Imperial quintuple minibits produced by the Noram microprocessors. The terms triple and quintuple were misnomers, since a single minibit referred to a million gate choice, and each level multiplied by ten. He handed the memorandum to Janis. “As this indicates, there is likely to be a problem of description.”

  He sat back and waited for her to read the two page technical summary.

  After Janis read it, she passed it on to the console staffer, who scanned both pages into the data banks and passed it on to Lord Jansen.

  “He’s right,” announced the data tech after several minutes at the console.

  Jansen, beginning to lose his bored look, started to lean forward in his swivel.

  “This could set us back to square one, Lord Whaler. Why did you even bring it up?”

  “Several reasons. First, not to bring it up risks the Empire declaring that we have bargained in bad faith. Second, the information points out the error in using a graduated tariff based on an artificial distinction. Third, the problem has to be resolved.”

  “See your point,” observed Jansen. “So what do you suggest?” snapped Janis. “You brought the problem to our attention. You must have some suggestions.”

  “Already, it appeared likely some questions were arising over the point at which the maximum level of the tariff should be assessed. Is that not true?”

  “That’s true. That’s a question on any graduated schedule. What does that have to do with this?”

  The Ecolitan shrugged, as if the answer were obvious, even to a dullard like the Envoy from Accord.

  “Simple Envoy that I am, it seems obvious that the problems lie not in the articles being taxed but in the tax structure. If the schedule is not graduated, then using different names for equipment all doing the same job will not matter.”

  “Are you suggesting a flat rate for all minibits?” Nathaniel avoided a direct answer. “What would be the average of costs to Accord, given a flat rate of nine percent?”

  “That’s low,” answered Janis, “but let’s see it, Devon.” Nathaniel already knew the answer. Under the current trade flows in microminibits, a nine percent rate would reduce the tariffs Accord paid the Empire by about two percent. Assuming a decrease in Accord exports to the Empire of ten percent, a tariff rate of nine and a half percent would give the Empire a comparable increase in tariff revenues.

  The numbers flashed up into the midair holo display. “You’ll get even more of a break at nine percent,” protested Janis, “and the present situation is already unacceptable.”

  “Nine and one half,” offered Nathaniel. No one said anything until the next display appeared, showing the figures outlining the results of his suggestion.

  “That would be somewhat of an improvement, but I hope that Accord would be somewhat more flexible,” said Jansen, “particularly given the higher volume of trade in multiple minibits.”

  Nathaniel began to play around with his computer, finally threw up his hands. “What about ten percent?”

  At the ten percent rate, the Imperial figures showed close to a twenty percent reduction in imports from Accord, and slightly more revenue to the Imperial treasury.

  Nathaniel’s estimation of the economists at the Ministry of External Affairs took a nosedive. No commodity was that price-elastic over a half percent. Plus, it was apparent that no one had calculated the impact of technological change. He frowned. “Nine and three quarters as a final offer?” he asked. “Ten!” Jansen declared before Janis could say anything. “But the loss! A true increase in tariffs… this represents nearly forty percent… but—” protested Nathaniel.

  “Lord Whaler, for several years now, many of our microprocessors have been suffering because tariffs were too low. It’s not just the present situation the Emperor must consider. There are many other factors …” Janis let her voice trail off.

  “Ah, yes, I understand ‘other factors.’ While I would prefer the nine and three quarters rate, for the sake of agreement, we will accept ten percent. What else can I do?” The Ecolitan shrugged.

  “For the sake of making progress, let us close the discussion on this item,” suggested Jansen. “Of course, we will have to clear this with the Emperor and the full Ministry staff.”

  Nathaniel made appropriate notations on his file. “I will also check.”

  “The next item,” droned Janis Du-Plessis, “is …” Nathaniel fumbled through the files again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  …XXXVI…

  The negotiation sessions went on and on, with weekend interruptions, scattered breaks for “clarifications,” then, like everything else in New Augusta, ended abruptly on a mid-week day.

  The whole agreement had been packaged and readied for transmission to the Imperial Senate and the tender mercies of Senator Helmsworth and his colleagues.

  Nathaniel found himself behind his Envoy’s desk with a full day looking at him. After more than a standard month, Marlaan was still on vacation, and Witherspoon, reputed to have just finished his “consultations” on Accord, was planning to take ho
me leave before returning to Terra.

  “They certainly gave me enough vine to swing cliff clear,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  He glanced out the wide window at the clear sky, absently wondering why the Imperials had preferred to negotiate in a windowless room, then looked back at the faxscreen and the authentication lists for the outgoing communications. He suspected that Mydra piled up the lists whenever she thought he spent too much time staring out the permaglass. The intercom buzzed. Nathaniel looked up from the second faxscreen, punched the accept stud.

  “Marcella Ku-Smythe for you. Lord Whaler.”

  “Thank you.” He jabbed at the flashing plate. “Ms. Ku-Smythe?”

  “Yes, Lord Whaler. Let me be among the first to congratulate you on the progress I hear you have been making with External Affairs.”

  “Only talks, dear Lady, long and involved, wherein everyone must check with everyone.” He shrugged. “And progress? Who can tell?”

  “You’re too modest.”

  “A mere fumbler with numbers am I.” Nathaniel glanced up at the bare wall, out through the open portal to the staff office, looked back at his fingers, and finally clasped both hands before looking back into the screen.

  Marcella dropped her eyes for a moment. “How long do you think it will take you to complete the talks?”

  “If nothing unforeseen arrives, if no further difficulties are observed, then most of the work is done,” he hedged. “But for your sake and mine, I hope nothing unforeseen occurs.”

  “For my sake?”

  “We are what we are, Lady, not what we would like others to see or what they would like to see. Me… a mere fumbler of numbers, a professor doing what he can. You… a most competent Special Assistant.”

  “Were the Commerce Department to take a more active role?”

  “I defer to your superior knowledge and to that of your associates and family. Doubtless you know best. For my part, humble as it is, so long as the talks result in the mutual agreement of Accord and the Empire on tariffs and the continued independence of Accord, your presence would always be welcome, whether in an official or in an unofficial capacity.”