Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Yes, Lord Whaler, I’ll tell him.”

  Two to one, thought the Ecolitan, Sergel isn’t going to get that message.

  In the interim, he decided to check the trade figures and review the presentation materials he had brought with him. Not that he expected anything to be overlooked, but the way things were going, who could tell?

  After spending close to an hour rechecking the quota figures he worked out before leaving Accord, he took out the “confidential” briefing folders and placed them on the top of the pile inside the datacase he was going to leave by the console. He set the internal counters, and locked the case.

  Then he took the “official” briefing folders, three sets worth, and placed them inside the case he planned to take with him.

  The “confidential” figures showed the same basic statistics on trade flows between the Coordinate and the Empire, but the projections showed a far more adverse effect on the economy of Accord than the set he was going to present to both Corwin-Smathers and later to Marcella.

  He wondered who would get the confidential figures first. If he had to bet, his choice would be on the military types who were slinking around.

  That brought back the question of Sergel. Sergel didn’t seem to understand that the third-ranking officer of the Legation of a third-rate power didn’t rate the kind of attention he was getting merely for his irresistible charm.

  He shook his head and looked at the western hills.

  With all the angles subdivided by angles, he had the feeling he’d be fortunate to find out all the real questions in six years, let alone in the few weeks he probably had.

  Could it be done before Witherspoon wandered back, before the political compromise on Accord eroded, before the Empire figured out a way to militarily moot the whole question?

  The second time around, after the experience of the Secession, the Empire just might be willing to sacrifice a fleet or two and several dozen planets for a millennium or two to eliminate permanently a thorn in its side.

  He brought himself up short and checked the time. 0940—almost time to depart on another trip through the tunnels for his appointment with Corwin-Smathers.

  Sergel still hadn’t called in.

  He flicked the code for the Information Specialist’s quarters.

  “Weintre,” a sullen voice responded. The faxscreen remained blank.

  “Whaler here. Let’s have the screen, Sergel.”

  The picture came on. Sergel stood there, stripped to the waist, showing a small paunch over the black waistband of his too-tight rust trousers.

  “Why didn’t you answer my message?”

  Sergel’s mouth opened, moving back and forth soundlessly. Finally, he sputtered. “No message…I mean…no one left a message for me.”

  “The way everything else works around here, I can’t say I’m surprised. Not that important, but what I have to say now is. I don’t know what you were doing prowling around my quarters last night, but you’d better have a damned good explanation. I don’t want any more phony answers. Face it, Sergel. You can’t lie to me and make it stick.”

  He glared through the faxscreen at the younger man to reinforce the growling tone of his lecture.

  “Well…umm…I hate to say it, Lord Whaler, but I got pretty stung. Thought I was somewhere else. I really did.”

  “Sergel, you’re lying. Don’t try to bluff through it again. If an explanation of what you were up to and the report I asked for aren’t both on my console by the time I get back this afternoon, you’re leaving on the next ship for Accord. Even if it’s via the Alparta and takes two years objective. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

  Nathaniel could almost see the thoughts in his head. Sergel was wondering who had caught him out. He knew Nathaniel would have dispatched him, possibly without a trace.

  Let him stew, thought the Ecolitan. He deserves it, and then some. In the game of mass confusion, perhaps some by Nathaniel might give Sergel, and his underground paymasters, some second thoughts.

  “Remember, Sergel, those reports or you’re on your way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The look on the Information Specialist’s face told Nathaniel one more thing. Sergel was more afraid of someone else, much more afraid.

  He broke the connection and looked at the blank screen a moment before returning his attention to the datacase he intended to take with him. The locked case was still beside the desk console.

  He finally marched out into the general staff office.

  “Mydra, sometime this afternoon will I be back.”

  “Is there anything else, Lord Whaler?”

  “Not at this moment.”

  Nathaniel waved pleasantly to Heather Tew-Hawkes as he left the Legation and strode down the main corridor to the drop shaft.

  He wondered if he were being tailed. It didn’t matter at the moment. He slid into the high speed section and savored the fall. Almost like using a jump belt, except there was no risk in the drop shaft, no worry about enemy fire.

  Out in the underground concourse, he caught a public tunnel cab driven by a man with long and silver-glittered hair.

  XX

  “WHAT WERE THE results of the interrogation?”

  “He’d been totally blocked. If we’d gone any deeper, it would have turned his mind to mush. Didn’t want to risk that, particularly since it’s obviously a Defense conditioning job. So we released him, ostensibly after treating and detoxifying him. And we sent a confidential report on the detox results to the Ministry of Defense.”

  “Detoxifying?” asked the Director.

  “Whatever Whaler used, we couldn’t analyze. Even with a blood sample as soon as we got him, all we had left was molecular soup. Could have been a dozen things, but we think it was a short-term synthetic virus that acts as a temporary neural disruptor.”

  “How can you have a temporary and synthetic virus? And how could you develop one that wasn’t fatal?”

  “Damned if we know, but that’s what it looks like.” The Research Chief shook his head slowly.

  The Director turned in her swivel. “That’s the sort of weapon we’d give a dozen agents for, and Whaler doesn’t mind using it right off. That says a couple of things. First, that it’s something that they don’t mind revealing. Second, that the trade talks or whatever Whaler is really doing is more than just important to Accord. And third, that Defense doesn’t understand what we’re up against.” She snorted. “And Admiral Ku-Smythe thinks that we could win a war with Accord.”

  The Research Chief nodded, then added, “There’s one other item. Their agent—and his profile matches Idel’s, but who can tell—says he hit Whaler with the stunner. Not full, but enough to deaden one hand, maybe part of the arm.”

  “So?”

  “Idel used a military stunner, set close to a lethal jolt, and Whaler still ran him down, apparently slugged him unconscious, and called Sylvia without betraying any discomfort.”

  “He can override pain to a fantastic degree…or our stunners just don’t affect him…is that it?”

  “Those are the only two explanations I can think of. Do you have a better one?”

  “Idel missed.”

  “When was the last time a military Defense agent totally missed a target running straight at him?”

  The Director shook her head. If only the Defense Ministry would understand, but that was like asking a tunnel roach not to scavenge.

  XXI

  THE OFFICES OF the Imperial Senate occupied an entire tower of their own, Senator Helmsworth was listed as having half the two hundred and third level to himself.

  Nathaniel swung out of the lift shaft with fifteen minutes to spare and studied the directory before realizing that Corwin-Smathers’ office was only fifty meters from the drop shaft.

  The young man sitting at the front console of the staff office labelled External Relations Committee Staff greeted him eagerly.

  “Lord Whaler! What a pleasure
! Ms. Corwin-Smathers is tied up, but she’ll be right with you. You know, it’s a pleasure to meet someone like you. It really must be different outside the Empire, to be from a faraway system like Accord, and to be a Trade Envoy.” He smiled brightly.

  “Now, Charles,” interrupted the dark-haired woman as she appeared from the side office, “you’ll have Lord Whaler teaching you all the secrets of his success, and then what will I do to replace you?”

  The Ecolitan offered the finger touch gesture he’d seen used. He thought it was between equals, and that wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’m the one who should be honored,” she replied, “but I do appreciate the flattery.”

  “Only according you your due,” he replied, suppressing a wince at his unintended pun.

  She motioned toward a portal at one side of the reception office—not the one from which she had emerged a moment earlier—and paused, waiting for him.

  From what he had seen thus far in the Imperial bureaucracy, her office was modest, although not a great deal smaller than his.

  Restrained browns, contrasted with touches of brighter colors, set the tone. The console, chairs, and receiving table were modeled along the clean lines of fortieth century functionalism, but the dark shade, similar to stained lorkin, indicated it was from a later period.

  Nathaniel selected the nonreclining pilot chair, rather than one of the deeper, ostensibly more comfortable sink chairs, but stood beside it for a minute, studying Courtney. By her posture, he could tell she was waiting for him. After standing for a few seconds longer, he settled into the pilot’s chair.

  “I appreciate your courtesy in seeing me on such short notice and for understanding the peculiar situation.”

  “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 out-system 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 corners 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.