Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter)

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He looked at the blank faxscreen for several minutes, shook his head. Desirable woman but definitely the strong-willed type.

  He shook his head again, violently. Enough wool-gathering. Getting involved with anyone, Sylvia or Marcella, at this stage of the game, while the final terms of the agreement were hanging before the Senate, could be highly counter-productive, to say the least.

  He flicked back to the scan screen and the list of authentications Mydra had dredged up. They had helped fill the hours, not necessarily pleasantly, while External Affairs had wrangled with the staff of the External Relations Committee to ready the package for full Senate consideration.

  He tapped on the intercom.

  “Yes, Lord Whaler.”

  “Sergel? Isn’t he due for release shortly?”

  “I checked this morning, and he could be sent back to Accord any time now.”

  “Would you make the arrangements? For later this week?”

  “I’ll take care of it and let you know.”

  The Ecolitan froze the seemingly endless stream of authentications on the second screen, putting them in temporary storage, and flicked on one of the faxnews channels.

  “…in one of the more surprising developments during the hearings on the Purse, Senator Helmsworth proposed close to a fifty percent increase in the budget for the Imperial Intelligence Service. Helmsworth, when questioned, cited reasons of Imperial security and offered to display evidence in secret debate. For the first time in more than a generation, public debate was halted for the secret session. The sole outsider present was Grand Admiral Ku-Smythe. After the presentation, the chamber was opened, and the motion passed unanimously.”

  The screen switched from a view of the Senate chambers, hung in shimmering red and paneled in dark wood, to a mid-aged woman wearing the cream tunic with the red slash of an Imperial Senator.

  “Senator Re-Lorins, before the secret session, you questioned the need for such an increase in funding. Yet you voted for the increase. Why?”

  “Both the Senator from Noram and the Grand Admiral showed evidence of a persuasive nature. Rather startling and shocking evidence, I might add, even to me.”

  “Can you reveal the nature of that evidence?”

  “No. I cannot.”

  The screen cut back to the commentator and her studio console.

  “That was the only statement from Senator Re-Lorins, Chair of the Intelligence Committee. No other Senator would comment, including Senator Helmsworth.”

  The screen filled with a panorama of dying plants in their fields.

  “The synde bean virus is still on the move. These bean fields on Heraculon are the latest victims of the gypsy virus which seems to appear at random. Botany pathologists are puzzled at the spread of the resistant species of the virus, which was formerly controlled with a derivative of antoziae.”

  The next scene was an empty warehouse.

  “At this time of year, the warehouses on Heraculon are normally beginning to reach full capacity. As you can see, that’s far from the situation now.

  “Bryna Fre-Levin on Heraculon.”

  As the screen switched again, this time to an orbit scene centered on an Imperial battlecruiser, martial trumpets blared in the background.

  “Admiral of the Fleets, Jorik Ypre-Tanelorn, transferred his flag to H.M.S. Gold Prince, which will lead the new Eleventh Fleet through its shakedown cruises before it takes station.

  “Admiral Ypre-Tanelorn,” and the screen featured a still shot of a black-haired, thin-faced man with a pencil mustache and black eyes under bushy eyebrows, a picture of perfect formality with the Admiral in his dress red and gold uniform, the starburst of the Empire above his left breast. “The Admiral declared the Eleventh Fleet will serve as the vanguard for continuing peace and stability for the Empire and its allies.”

  The screen dropped back to the studio.

  “Back in New Augusta, the Empress welcomed an unusual delegation, a talking centaur troupe from Alpha Megara—”

  Nathaniel flicked off the faxnews and leaned back in the swivel.

  He wondered if he should let the media take another shot at Sergel’s situation. They’d probably take it, but he shook his head.

  Sergel’s example was tragic but not permanent. And Sergel might well turn out better the second time around, in any case.

  The late afternoon sunlight through the filtered permaglass warmed his no longer quite so crisp diplomatic blacks, yet the selective polarization let him see the golden disc of the sun hanging over the western hills without requiring him to squint.

  The other towers rose, dark gold, before the western hills, like so many obelisks, or so many pillars of dark fire shedding flickers of reflected light.

  He put his feet up on the console, leaning further back in the chair to watch the play of light over the towers.

  The intercom buzzed, and he sat up quickly, realizing that over an hour had passed as he had let his thoughts drift.

  “Ms. Corwin-Smathers for you.”

  “Lord Whaler.”

  Courtney was wearing a cream tunic with rust piping and banded scarlet flecks at the cuffs.

  “My pleasure, Lord Whaler.”

  “And mine also, to hear from you, although I am puzzled at the reason for your courtesy.”

  “No real reason, Lord Whaler. Senator Helmsworth would have liked to call himself, but right now things are rather hectic over here.”

  “I heard about the Intelligence Service…”

  “That was just another incidental, for which, by the way, we thank you. Your actions were most instrumental in helping the Senator, though not in the way you probably intended. That and the synde bean problem…”

  “Coincidence has been helpful to many throughout history.”

  “But that was not the reason I called on behalf of the Senator, you understand. He did want me to convey our appreciation for the way in which the trade negotiations have been handled and to let you know that we look forward to an early ratification vote in the Senate.”

  “Only doing my humble best, dear Lady, and without the help and advice you and others have provided, indeed I would have been lost. You are most kind, and I look forward to a successful vote.”

  “Lord Whaler, you are too unassuming.”

  He shrugged his now-habitual shrug. “We do what we can, and hope for the best for all.”

  “The Empire is doing its best also, Lord Whaler, and Senator Helmsworth and I, and the Emperor, I’m sure, look forward to the successful and peaceful resolution of the trade talks in the weeks ahead.”

  “Your concern and reassurance lift my spirits.”

  “That’s all I really wanted to say. The Senator wanted you to know that the agreements will be coming before the Senate shortly and to convey that to your government. We all understand your talents and your sense of restraint, and wish you well.”

  “Thank you.”

  Courtney nodded, and once again, Nathaniel was left looking at a blank screen. One thing he’d never get used to, no matter how long he stayed in New Augusta, was the abruptness with which most friendly fax calls were terminated.

  The synde bean thing…was that something the Institute was involved with? If it were, he’d be the last to know, sitting on Earth. Certainly, that sort of mutation was well within the capabilities of the Institute. If it had been the work of the Ecolitans, and the Emperor thought so, so much the better.

  He wondered if the offhand reference he’d made to the synde bean situation had been construed to mean more by Courtney. Not beyond the realm of possibility.

  With a quick tap, he called Mydra on the intercom.

  “Why don’t you finish up the authentications tomorrow, Mydra?”

  “All right, Lord Whaler. If you say so.”

  “Is there anything special I should do?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then to your superior judgment I defer.”

  Nathaniel turned back to watch the late af
ternoon change into evening and to watch as the evening crept from beneath the hills toward the base of the westernmost towers like an incoming tide of darkness. So unlikely his return to New Augusta would ever be that he wanted to fix the spectacular images firmly in his mind.

  XXXVII

  NATHANIEL TOOK ANOTHER look around the Envoy’s office. His three bags and datacase were stacked up by the exit portal, ready to be picked up.

  The signing ceremony at the Emperor’s Indoor Garden had gone off without a hitch, although he’d been surprised to find himself greeting Lord Fergus, rather than Lord Mersen or Rotoller. For whatever reason, neither Janis nor Marcella had been at the Indoor Garden. Nor Sylvia, though there was no reason why she should have been.

  For that matter, neither had the Empress, which probably reflected her feelings about provincials from Accord.

  “Lord Whaler?”

  He turned.

  Heather Tew-Hawkes, Hillary, and Mydra were standing in the doorway.

  “The Marines will be here in about an hour for you and your luggage,” said Mydra. “May we come in?”

  “Of course, dear ladies.”

  He gestured to the chairs and couch.

  The three women walked into the office but did not sit down. Mydra, in the center, had her hands clasped behind her back.

  “Lord Whaler,” began the office manager, “I have a confession to make.”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “When Legate Witherspoon left and when Mr. Marlaan abruptly took leave, I was deeply concerned about the continued effectiveness of the Legation—”

  “As you had a right to be,” interrupted the Ecolitan gently.

  “And I couldn’t help but wonder how an inexperienced professor from an out-planet university was going to deal with a complex set of negotiations. When you first came in, I thought my worst fears had been realized.” Mydra paused.

  “Mine too,” chimed in Heather.

  Hillary smiled a shy smile of agreement.

  “After your arrival, things just got worse. The violence, the bombings, and all the strange goings-on, not to mention the dreadful thing that happened to poor Sergel, all of those were enough to make me want to leave.”

  Nathaniel nodded again. “But you did not, and stayed to help me through the difficulties.”

  “You were so calm, even when you were certain the Empire was courting disaster, and so determined to work things out for everyone.” Mydra gave a sheepish grin.

  Heather was smiling also. “I heard from my friends who work in some of the other Legations how much people who really count were impressed with what you did in such a short time. I don’t think any of us here really understood all that was going on.”

  I hope not, thought the Ecolitan as he listened. I hope not.

  “At first,” Mydra went on, “I wondered why no one had been sent to check on you. But that became obvious later on.”

  “When you were the one who stayed and picked up the pieces,” added Heather.

  “Especially after the bombing and when someone tried to kidnap you,” added Hillary.

  “Do what we must.”

  “That’s true, Lord Whaler, but we did want you to know that we, all of us on the staff, understand how difficult your job has been and how careful you had to be. We wanted to give you this before you left.” Mydra brought her hand from behind her back and opened it. On her palm was a small black box.

  “But…” he protested.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” prompted Heather.

  “It won’t explode.” Mydra laughed.

  He opened the jewelry case gingerly. On the green velvet was a collar pin, done in black and green, a miniature of the formal crest of the Ecolitan Institute.

  He studied the pin, realizing that it was not enamel or lacquer, but that the colors came from the depths of the two metals themselves.

  “Beautiful…but…I don’t deserve such…such a magnificent…not I…” he stammered.

  “Everyone here chipped in,” said Heather.

  They had to, and then some, realized the Ecolitan. The pin was solid lustral.

  “For doing my duty, I could not accept something like this. Not something so beautiful.”

  Mydra gave him an even broader grin. “You can’t refuse it. Gifts of personal jewelry authorized by the Emperor are acceptable. Failure to accept such a gift would amount to an insult to the Imperial Court.”

  Nathaniel turned the pin over.

  “From the staff, Accord Legation, and from His Imperial Majesty. J.L.M. N’troya, in sincere appreciation.”

  A tiny imprint of the Imperial Seal appeared beneath the inscription.

  Why would the Emperor add his name in “sincere appreciation”?

  “Why would the Emperor…?” he asked out loud.

  “That’s the second part of my confession,” admitted Mydra. “That afternoon when you were so depressed, when you were talking about how the Empire didn’t understand Accord and its abilities, and how Accord couldn’t understand how the Empire didn’t understand…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well…I recorded it. I couldn’t say it the way you did. So I recorded it, and I sent what you said to a friend who has direct access to the Emperor.” She spread her hands. “I know I shouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t have admitted it in public, and if you’d said it straight out, no one would have believed it. And you were so right and so depressed.”

  “Don’t be either. Just accept it,” advised Heather.

  “We wanted you to have something, and it almost wasn’t ready in time,” added Mydra.

  “Go ahead. Pin it on,” insisted Hillary.

  He started to, but his fingers felt a meter wide.

  “Here,” said Heather, “let me help.”

  “Looks good on your blacks,” observed Mydra as Heather stepped back.

  “Bet it will go with his greens, too.” That was from Hillary.

  “He’s blushing, Mydra. He’s really blushing.” Heather giggled.

  Nathaniel shrugged, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the flush that spread across his face.

  “What can I say?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all,” answered Heather. “Just enjoy it.”

  “You deserve some recognition, Lord Whaler. I doubt that Legate Witherspoon, Mr. Marlaan, or anyone on Accord will fully understand all you did for them, and the rest of the Empire certainly won’t either.”

  The Ecolitan stood there helplessly.

  “Come on, ladies. We’ve still got a Legation to run. For once, we’ve left the Envoy speechless.”

  All three were smiling self-satisfied smiles as they marched out of his office.

  Nathaniel collapsed into his swivel, wondering how much they really knew, and more important, how much anyone else knew. The answers would be largely academic, since the trade agreement revisions had been signed and approved by the Empire, and the House of Delegates wasn’t in the mood for suicide by refusing to hold up Accord’s end.

  He switched on the faxnews. One channel was discussing the synde bean shortage. He flicked the selector.

  “…in a quiet ceremony at the Indoor Garden, the Emperor signed the new trade agreements with the Accord Coordinate. While observers termed the agreements ‘routine,’ the talks literally exploded earlier this year when the Accord Legation was bombed.

  “Although the investigations by the Imperial Intelligence Service and the Ministry of Defense failed to uncover the reasons for the bombings or the individuals involved, the evidence uncovered led to a revamping of the Intelligence Service and the resignations of Lord Rotoller and Lord Mersen from the Commerce Ministry…

  “The revised tariff and trade terms are expected to benefit the Imperial transport and microprocessing industries—”

  Nathaniel flicked the newsfax program off the console. Time to go. As soon as the Marines arrived, he’d be on his way to the port and the shuttle that would carry him to the Accord courier that waited for him. Three
subjective weeks, and two objective days, and he’d be home, along with the agreement to be ratified by the House of Delegates.

  He fingered the collar pin, possibly the most expensive personal possession he’d ever owned.

  The private circuit on his console chimed. He debated not answering, but touched the plate with his forefinger.

  “Lord Whaler.”

  The caller was Marcella Ku-Smythe.

  “Congratulations, Lord Whaler.”

  “The same to you. All is going well with you?”

  “I think it will. I’m working with Lord Fergus now, and I learned a lot from watching you.”

  Very convenient system, reflected the Ecolitan. Change the figure-heads and leave the structure, with the women still in control.

  “You’re leaving soon?” She pointed through the screen toward the bags behind him.

  “A short while.”

  “I’m very glad I reached you. You know, I’m scheduled for a trip to Accord later on to close down our section of the Imperial Legation in Harmony and to make a final evaluation. Perhaps I could look you up.”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “And,” she looked straight at Nathaniel, “I expect some explanation of your specialties.”

  “My specialties?”

  “How to sell nonexistent tariff reductions, for one. I just finished analyzing the final terms. You eliminated the Accord duties on all Imperial microprocessors. Very generous, but how will that help? We can’t compete here on Terra. Then there was the increase in Imperial multichip duties to ten percent. The market is so competitive that nothing less than a fifteen percent rate would offer any real protection. All two hundred plus reductions and changes follow the same pattern.”

  She smiled and waited for his response.

  “You do me far too much credit. I only followed my instructions to the best of my ability. You are far more expert than I am.”

  “Perhaps I am overstating the case. But I really do admire you. There’s always the tendency to underestimate men these days, no matter what we say, no matter what I told you about not underestimating you. But no hard feelings—you did what you had to, and as delicately as possible, all things considered.”