“Most interesting. Does this happen often here?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of another case.”
The Ecolitan shrugged and entered his office.
The room had been searched, thoroughly, and more than once. Items were fractionally out of place, and the datacase on the table had been moved. He scanned the case with the belt multitector. A rather large mass was inside, doubtless something unpleasant and explosive.
Sergel had left his report in the in-tray, and Nathaniel swept it up as he walked back to the portal and began to scan the office.
Two new full-scale snoops showed, one right above the console and the other almost over his head, plus a fluctuating energy concentration right between the two.
He’d seen the pattern before.
Not waiting to see the needle peg off the scale, he dove out the doorway and into the main office.
“Down! Hit the floor!”
The first explosion cut off his words, and then the gimmicked datacase followed with a roar, the second explosion bulging the wall outward.
As Nathaniel picked himself up, he ran a quick sweep of the staff office. Three standard snoops, period.
He hadn’t been back in the Legation for more than ten minutes, and he’d been delivered three messages—two explosive ones and a veiled threat through Mydra.
Was Mydra working for the Imperial Intelligence Service or someone else? Was the I.I.S. telling him they didn’t care what he knew? Was the military behind Sergel…and the bomb he’d planted?
Mere trade negotiations couldn’t be that explosive, could they?
“Lord Whaler! What happened?” demanded Hillary West-Coven, her left arm bleeding from a long scratch.
“Fortunes of trade, Hillary. Fortunes of trade.”
Mydra was standing at the door from the hallway to the staff office. How much coincidence had her temporary absence been?
Nathaniel almost shook his head.
“Mydra, my office has been somewhat damaged, and to my quarters I will repair. Would you arrange for the necessary repairs?”
He marched out, going straight through his shattered office and into his private quarters.
Once inside, he swept the rooms for snoops, but found only a single additional visual. He used his tool kit to disable it.
After that, he turned up the background music and used the private comm.
“Ms. Du-Plessis’ office.”
“Lord Whaler, Accord Legation. Is she in?”
“I don’t know, sir. I believe she is in conference.”
“Find her. That is, if she expects either to retain her position or to have some trade talks with Accord.”
An ivory-skinned, black-haired woman of the indeterminate age range that had characterized Courtney Corwin-Smathers appeared on the screen.
“Lord Whaler, aren’t you overly free with the positions of the Ministry and their disposition?”
“Ms. Du-Plessis, the situation is deteriorating and called for drastic measures.”
“Oh?”
“Madam, Accord, you, and I are running out of time for reasons unclear to me. I do not have time to fence with words, nor words to fence with. How many times have you tried to reach me, and what were you told?”
“Five or six, at least, and I was told you were behind in returning your calls. I told…I mean…Lord Jansen also called and received the same response, which was most puzzling.”
“I can see that it would be, considering I’m here to talk with you and Lord Jansen. Where is your office? External Affairs Tower?”
Janis Du-Plessis nodded.
“What room?” snapped the Ecolitan.
“Uh…room 203, C-4.”
“I’ll meet you there as soon as I can get there.”
“But—”
“Madam, you will be there.”
“I don’t understand, and I don’t like orders from outsiders.”
“Ms. Du-Plessis, I do not think you want to understand. Or you are putting me on. I have been on this Imperial planet less than one standard month. During the past two days, there have been two attempts on my life. Before that, an assassin almost needled me on the day I arrived. A bomb just destroyed my office with me almost inside it. And you don’t understand.
“All my calls to you have been rerouted, and you indicate that yours to me have been blocked. Now…do you understand my urgency?”
“I find this rather difficult to believe.”
“Then let me explain it again…in person.”
Nathaniel broke the connection and checked his belongings. So far as he could tell, nothing had been tampered with.
He picked up Sergel’s report again and folded it inside his tunic. Still he hadn’t had time to read it.
He left the datacase in the study, only pulling out the remaining trade terms file. No more lugging around unnecessary baggage when all the warnings had been laid out.
The private comm line buzzed. He debated answering, finally jabbed the Accept stud.
“Whaler.”
The face on the other end, filling his screen, was that of Sylvia Ferro-Maine, slate gray eyes, dark hair and all. She was not smiling.
“Lord Whaler, since your office line is strangely out of order, I thought I might be able to reach you here.”
“Yes. My office line is out of order. As a matter of fact, Sylvia, my entire office is out of order. An explosion of rather large dimensions has rendered it nonfunctional.”
“You’re all right?” Her tone was perfectly even, as if she were asking about the weather.
“Fortunately, I seem to be together.” He paused. “And to what do I owe this call?”
“I had only wanted to let you know that you made quite an impression on Ms. Corwin-Smathers, and that she will be taking up the matter with the Senator shortly.”
He repressed a sigh.
“Glad am I that such an impression was created. Unfortunately, such impressions seem to be spreading, since the explosion within my office was not of an unplanned nature.”
“Given those circumstances, Lord Whaler, you are indeed fortunate.”
The Ecolitan did not respond immediately, just looked back at the woman. She could be anything—the staff aide she said she was, an intelligence agent, the brains behind Courtney, or the representative of yet another party.
Today, she wore a formal dark blue tunic with a high collar that set off her high cheekbones and delicate features, and added an elfin edge to her image. He could almost smell the scent of oranges.
He shook his head.
“You seem most doubtful, Lord Whaler.”
“More to everything on New Augusta is there than meets the eye.” He smiled. “But I appreciate your interest, your concern, and your news, and hoping I soon will see you am I.”
“I would hope that matters would work that way, Lord Whaler, but those determinations are over my head and with you and the powers that be.”
Sylvia’s control relaxed enough for a faint smile to escape onto the screen before it went blank.
The Ecolitan shook his head again, more violently.
Something more than trade was riding on the trade talks, at least for the Imperial players. The question was what.
He stood and looked down at the console, then turned away and checked himself. Dart tube and darts, belt fully charged, file folder on the trade talks…he was as ready as he could be under the circumstances.
He let the private portal to the corridor edge open, half-expecting to see the Diplomatic Police, an Imperial Monitor, or the Imperial Marines. With none of the agents of Imperial authority present, he marched out and down to the drop shaft and into the high speed descent lane. He had decided on a tunnel train, much as he disliked them, because there was less chance of either the Imperials tracking him closely or waylaying him.
“Still paranoid,” he muttered as he waited in the concourse for the train.
Finding it hard to believe that it was still afternoon
, he checked the time. 1550. Things were moving, probably too fast, and he wasn’t having much of a chance to think them over. Neither were the other players, but they didn’t have to. They just had to eliminate one Nathaniel Firstborne Whaler.
No obvious snoops or tails were planted on him, but after the day’s events, they would be the best and virtually invisible, and he certainly didn’t have the time to check out every speck of dust after every time someone got close to him.
Nathaniel had been trained for war—guerilla, conventional, and total—not for espionage. He felt more and more out of his element with each new addition to the cloak-and-dagger routine.
The tunnel train hissed up to the platform. The Ecolitan took a single seat in a row between the two doors. When the train had left the Diplomatic Concourse, half filled with what seemed to be Imperial supplied staffers to various Legations, he pulled out Sergel’s report and began to read.
After the first quick skim, from what he could tell, at least three groups were involved. Sergel claimed he had been contacted by Sylvia Ferro-Maine’s direct superior, Alia Herl-Tyre, because of the interest of the External Relations Committee of the Imperial Senate. Alia claimed that the Ministry of Commerce might act unilaterally on the Accord question and cut out the External Relations Committee…and the Senate. A Commerce agreement was not a treaty and did not require Senate approval.
According to Sergel, Ferro-Maine had previously been attached to the Imperial Intelligence Service. The I.I.S. was not under the control of the Emperor, but reported to the Senate directly. More precisely, to the staff of the Majority Leader, the Elected Consul. The separation was designed as a check on the powers of the Emperor and on the military branch.
At the first stop, the Ministry of Ecology, the Ecolitan took a quick look around the train. A few more junior bureaucrats climbed aboard, but the majority of passengers kept staring into space or reading folded faxtabs.
Sergel claimed he had not received anything for the routine information he provided to Alia and Sylvia, but did so to open up a “two-way communications flow.”
Nathaniel didn’t believe it. Sergel was about to get sent on a one way trip to Accord, provided Nathaniel survived the next few days to do the scheduling.
Courtney had hinted that there were two aspects to everything, and Marcella had told him to be careful. Both conversations would indicate that neither of those obviously powerful women were totally in control of the situation.
He shook his head. Despite his recognition of the female control angle of Imperial society, he still didn’t have enough information. He doubted that Janis Du-Plessis would have any answers or be willing to share them, but he needed to complete the first round and to ensure all the players were fully involved.
The train hissed to a second stop—Ministry of Defense—where several nonuniformed types marched aboard with a bearing that contradicted their civilian attire.
For an Imperial capital, Nathaniel hadn’t seen much evidence of the military, outside of the ceremonial Imperial Marine guards and the scattering of military types in the Emperor’s throne room, receiving hall, whatever it was, when he had presented his credentials.
For an Empire with ten major fleets, and Forest Lord knew how many strike forces, it seemed odd that none of the military had surfaced directly on the trade questions. And odder still that so many indirect leads seemed to point to the scarcely visible Ministry of Defense.
The third train stop was the Ministry of External Affairs. A handful of passengers left with Nathaniel—a white-bearded man in a russet cloak, a pregnant woman in a ministry tunic he did not recognize, two youngsters in glittertights, and a man and a woman who appeared to be tourists from Sacrast, from the sticker on the carrying case the woman shouldered.
Nathaniel outpaced the lot to the lift shaft and took the high speed center lane to the two hundred and third level.
The Security Gate was just beyond the exit stage portal.
“It’s after hours, citizen,” announced the guard.
“I know. Nathaniel Whaler, Envoy from Accord. I have an appointment with Ms. Du-Plessis.”
“They don’t give appointments after 1530, citizen.”
“I’m not a citizen, and I do have an appointment.”
“I’m, sorry, citizen, but I’m not allowed to admit anyone. Orders, you know.”
The Ecolitan studied the guard. Male, mid-aged, sagging slightly in the midsection, armed with both stunner and blaster, lounging back in the chair.
Nathaniel leaned forward so that he was half over the console, eyeing the layout.
“Quite a control board you have here,” he observed, noting the open channel and input plates. The guard began to sit up and lean forward.
“What would happen if I,” asked Nathaniel, as he reached over and tapped out Janis Du-Plessis’ number, “called Ms. Du-Plessis to see if she were still here?”
The guard grabbed for the stunner. Nathaniel half vaulted, half circled the console and pinned the security man’s arms in place.
“Why don’t we just wait and see if she answers?” he asked as the guard began to struggle.
The screen unblanked and displayed the features of Janis Du-Plessis.
“Guard, what’s going on?”
“This citizen—”
Nathaniel let go of the man with one arm, keyed the screen, then used his forearm to choke off the guard’s response.
“I apologize for the direct approach, but this guard was interpreting his orders so literally I found it impossible even to announce my arrival.”
The guard broke one arm free and grabbed for the laser blaster.
Regarding that as a uniquely unfriendly move, Nathaniel shifted his hands, caught the nerves behind the man’s elbow and twisted.
“Yiii!” The laser skidded from the guard’s limp fingers across the permatile.
The Ecolitan observed the surprise on Janis’ face as she saw the weapon.
“Perhaps,” gasped Nathaniel as he half lifted, half turned the guard from the chair and slammed a stiffened hand into his opponent’s solar plexus, “I’m being over-dramatic, but I do believe that either you or someone else doesn’t want me to see you.”
“Not me…not—”
“Fine. Are you in room C-4?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“What about the guard?”
“He’ll be fine…at least for now,” commented Nathaniel, looking down at the slumped figure. He hadn’t hit the man that hard. “Now, would you send whatever signal is necessary to open the gate?”
“Oh, of course.”
The gate opened. Nathaniel broke the screen connection, yanked the semiconscious guard out of the chair, hoisted him over his shoulder, and marched through the gate. It buzzed but shut behind him anyway.
C-4 was less than fifty meters away, but the guard’s weight had the Ecolitan breathing heavier than he would have liked by the time he got there.
Janis Du-Plessis was waiting, open-handed, as he marched up.
Without a word, Nathaniel dumped the guard into one of the chairs. By now the man was nearly alert.
“I apologize, madam, but I need to ask this gentleman a question or two. While I do, you might want to study this folder, which someone doesn’t want me to deliver to you.”
He pulled the folder from under his tunic.
“I also apologize for its slightly bent condition, but I feared I might need two hands on the way over, and, unfortunately, I was correct.”
She stood there, black hair slightly mussed, in her rust and tan tunic, as if she did not believe the spectacle of an Accord diplomat having to fight his way through her own guard for the sake of one thin file.
“I find this whole…episode…rather disgusting.”
“So do I, madam. So do I, but apparently these trade talks have been escalated to a level beyond mere diplomacy.”
He turned his full attention to the guard.
“
All right, time for a few answers.”
“Can’t,” protested the man.
“Who told you not to let me in?”
The guard just smiled. Nathaniel reached down and grabbed the nerves at the back of his neck, applying pressure. The sensation should have been acutely unpleasant.
“Who told you…” The Ecolitan stopped. The man was unconscious.
He shook his head and reached for the guard’s belt stunner. Pulling it from the holster, he set it on mid-range.
“Strumm!”
“What happened? Why did you do that?”
“He’s been pain conditioned. Any attempt to get information from him through tiredness, torture, pain, and he’ll immediately black out. There are ways around it, but not without time or special equipment. It’s very effective for this sort of thing.”
He centered his attention on the Special Assistant to the Minister of External Affairs.
“Do you know most of the guards? Is he someone new?”
“I don’t pay that much attention, but I don’t recall seeing him before.”
Nathaniel looked up to make sure the portal to the corridor was still closed.
Janis Du-Plessis had once been pretty. With her ivory complexion and long black hair, she was still attractive, but her cheekbones and nose weren’t prominent enough for her to retain her prettiness as she grew older, despite the cosmetology of the Empire.
“Ms. Du-Plessis, as you may have noticed, my safe time in any one location appears to be limited.”
“Why don’t we go into my office?”
Nathaniel dragged the man in with him, laid him out by the doorway.
The woman was standing by her console, as if waiting for him to finish.
“Lord Whaler, I would appreciate some background. You place calls to me and to Minister Jansen but won’t accept the return calls. All of a sudden, you claim it isn’t your fault, give me some outlandish story about two attempts on your life, and insist on disrupting my private life in order to personally deliver what seems to be a quite routine set of terms for a trade agreement. It seems so reasonable on the surface that everything else seems totally unreasonable.”
Nathaniel nodded, hoping she would go on.
“I decided to cancel my evening and see what would happen, but I certainly didn’t plan on you attacking one of my guards, dragging him in here, questioning him, and having me cover up for you!”
Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) Page 13