The Ecologic Envoy
Page 24
She grinned at him, and there was no mistaking the openness of the humor.
“Before we could figure that out, you make fools out of some very competent security agents, among others, and the media starts asking us very embarrassing questions.
“Lord Whaler, loyal and obtuse, stumbles along trying to explain that ‘he is trying to help’, but no one is interested. The faxhounds keep asking about bombings, secret agents who failed, jurisdiction, and why the Empire can’t get its act together when Imperial industries are suffering. Now we have a trade agreement which gives the Empire sufficient short-term gains to quiet everyone, while reinforcing Accord’s long-term position and independence.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat. Loudly. “Too kind, much too kind, gracious Lady—”
“And,” Marcella plunged on, “since the treaty doesn’t cost the Empire too much and avoids the possibility of getting involved in another ecological war, no one is about to admit that a bumbling and stumbling Envoy from a third-rate system is really an extraordinarily capable agent from the only independent, first-rate power of a nongovernmental nature. Besides, and this is Strictly personal, it serves Janis right.”
The Ecolitan relaxed fractionally. Marcella wasn’t talking about the real military aspects behind the treaty, but she’d definitely picked up on the power of the Institute, which was interesting since most of Accord’s House of Delegates didn’t understand that. And since Marcella didn’t have to bear the final responsibility, as Janis might, she would let things slide.
“I guess that’s it, Lord Whaler. Don’t be too surprised to hear from me.” The screen blanked. Nathaniel shook his head.
He supposed he ought to feel sorry for Janis Du-Plessis. She was outclassed by virtually everyone, from Mydra to Marcella to Sylvia, who, in her own quiet way, was the class act of the lot. Sylvia!
He glanced around the console, then jabbed at the controls, letting his fingers flicker over the keyboard to pick out the information he needed.
He smiled as the screen printed up the answers he was hoping for.
While he waited for the system to dredge up the last responses to the questions he had posed, he looked out again through the wide window, out at the mountains in the distance, at the blue of the sky, and at the thunderclouds piling up over them. The intercom buzzed.
He ignored it while the screen scripted out the last of the clearances he had requested. “Whaler,” he muttered, “you’re assuming a lot.” He shook his head.
“You’re also being impetuous, which is not at all healthy in your line of work.”
Having refused to persuade himself, he committed the clearance numbers and codes to memory, then, as an afterthought, jotted them down on a note sheet, which he folded carefully and placed in his belt pouch. That done, he stabbed the intercom stud. “Lord Whaler, the Marine Guard will be arriving shortly.”
“Thank you, Mydra. I’ll let you know the final arrangements shortly.”
He tapped out another number, one he wasn’t supposed to know.
“Ferro-Maine… Lord Whaler!”
“Nathaniel,” he corrected softly, taking in Sylvia’s face, the wide clear gray eyes, and the strand of dark hair dropping over her forehead. “What… can I do for you?”
“Where are you?”
“At the office… you know that… that’s where you called,” she stammered. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I am. That is, I may be shortly. Please stay where you are, dear Lady.” He grinned happily and broke the connection. On the screen he could see the confusion running across her face as her image faded.
“Mydra, please have my luggage delivered to the shuttle port by the Marines and tell them that I will meet them there.”
“But… Lord Whaler! You can’t do that!”
“Dear Mydra… I have to… but don’t worry. Not this time.”
He was already moving toward his private quarters and the outside exit when he tapped the intercom stud.
By the time he raced through the quarters and into the corridor toward the drop shaft, he was nearly running. He slowed only after he was actually dropping toward the concourse and the tunnel train station below.
The platform concourse at his destination station—the Imperial Senate Tower—was moderately crowded but melted away from him as he marched toward the lift shaft.
“Seem to draw back from an Ecolitan on the march,” he mused as he watched a number of citizens edge away from his path.
Sylvia’s office was only fifty meters from the exit stage. “Lord Whaler, how good to see you,” burbled Charles, the friendly receptionist, half rising from his chair and leaning toward a small panel on the console.
Nathaniel reached the man before Charles’ hand could hit the warning plate.
“This is a friendly visit, Charles,” announced the Ecolitan as he hoisted the other away from his console. “Friendly?”
“As a matter of fact,” noted Nathaniel, he tapped the flat plate labeled, F-M.
“You’re here? Here?” asked Sylvia on the small screen. “Nowhere else. Do you want to come out or invite me in?”
“I’ll be right out.”
Nathaniel returned his full attention to Charles and set the receptionist down in a swing chair away from the main communications console. “Lord Whaler?”
“Yes, Charles.”
“Why… I mean… to what do we owe…?”
“To a happy occasion, I hope.” Nathaniel kept his eye on the console and on the portal from the staff offices, wondering if he should have charged all the way through, hoping that Sylvia wasn’t ducking out whatever back ways existed. “Happy time?”
“I hope,” the Ecolitan added under his breath, wondering what he was doing literally hours before he was to catch his shuttle home.
His head snapped up at the whisper of a portal. Charles looked at the console, then at Whaler, and decided to stay put.
Sylvia was wearing the same blue and white trimmed tunic she had worn when they had gone sightseeing together. Did he smell the faint tang of orange blossoms? What was he seeing in those gray eyes? He shook his head. “I’m impressed. You came to say good-bye in person.” Her voice was polite, but he could sense an undercurrent, exactly what he couldn’t identify. He shook his head again. “No. I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not to say good-bye.” He shifted his weight, looked at her for a long moment, then at the floor, before finally taking the slip of notepaper from his belt and handing it to her. She unfolded it.
“This is supposed to mean something, dear Envoy?”
“Nathaniel,” he corrected automatically. “Sylvia, you know I’m not good at speeches… and there’s not much time—”
“So don’t deliver a speech. Say what you have to and go.”
“Those codes represent your visa, your clearance, and your immigration permit to Accord.” From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel could see Charles’ mouth drop wide open. “Me… an ex-imperial agent?”
“No. You… the person… the woman… Flamehell! We’ve got less than three hours to catch the shuttle.”
“For what?”
“For Accord. For us.” Sylvia smiled, and her expression was guarded. “Why us?”
“Because I want you to come with me!” The guarded look was replaced with a fuller, yet somehow more tentative smile. “You haven’t asked me.”
“Would you please come with me?” He finally managed to grin himself. “Even if you hadn’t planned to emigrate for a few more years yet?”
“But I’m scarcely—”
“Sylvia.”
“Yes.”
Without realizing what he was doing, Nathaniel reached for her, only to find she had the same thing in mind. They collided in mid-step, grabbing at each other to keep from falling.
“I think this time you beat me to it,” he murmured in her ear.
“Not now. We’ve only got three hours to catch the shuttle.”
; She kissed him slowly full upon the lips and then stepped back from his arms.
Charles shook his head from side to side as the tall man and the dancer walked from the office, hand in hand.