“Politicians want to nail everything down. If there’s a murder or a scandal, they immediately want to make another law, conduct another study, do something to prove it isn’t their fault. All those laws reduce freedom and trust.”
“How does the Institute handle it?”
“We tell the truth. If we don’t want to say more, we don’t. We try not to mislead.”
“That’s why you limited my briefing to the actual facts?”
“The Prime was insistent that you not have his speculations or mine. He’s worried enough that he wants you as an independent check, and that means that the stakes are high. He’s afraid our background may mislead us.”
“A definite backhanded compliment.” Sylvia’s lips quirked. “And what does the Institute do to its own members who violate such high principles?”
“Effectively, either exile or death, depending on the severity of the problem. We impose the same standard on the politicians.”
Sylvia winced.
“Look, if you want people to trust one another, you have to protect them from those who abuse their trust. Personal profiles indicate most people don’t change, and you have to base a society on the most probable patterns. Trying to create formalized exemptions only encourages people to find other ways to abuse trust legally. The Institute has to set and maintain a higher standard. That’s part of the reason why we don’t engage in politics. That’s why an economic study that’s a cover still has to be first rate.”
“The other parts?” she asked.
“No matter what anyone says, politics doesn’t work without compromise. Most people aren’t strong enough to not be affected by the continuing pressure of daily compromise. Politicians are generally worse than the average person because they need the adulation, and that makes them more susceptible to ethical compromise and abuse of the public trust. The Institute acts as a brake, partly by example, and partly because the politicians know we reserve the right to protect the public interest. That’s why we have to follow the Iron Rules. That’s the Ecolitan Enigma—the riddle of how to maintain enough power to ensure ethics, yet not to be corrupted by that power.”
“You reserve the perpetual right to overthrow the government? That’s worse—”
“No. Not the government. Not the form of government. We reserve the right to remove any politician who abuses public trust or who would narrow the institutional freedoms set forth by the Charter.”
“That’s worse meddling in politics than running for office.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s happened five times in four centuries. The Institute doesn’t like to exercise that power, and every Prime who has done so resigned immediately. Two voluntarily exiled themselves.”
“The threat of such a power has to be chilling. I don’t know.”
“It is chilling,” Nathaniel admitted. “It’s intended to be. The first post-Secession Prime made the point that government must always serve all the people, not just a handful and not the other way around, and that the Institute would guarantee that balance.”
“I still don’t know.” Sylvia shook her head.
“You’re right to question. I did at first.” Nathaniel hesitated, wondering whether to hit her with the rest of it. He swallowed before he spoke. “There’s more.”
“More?”
“The Institute reserves the right to act first, as we did on Old Earth.” He rushed on, wanting to get it over with. “Look, historically, governments and people are reactive. They have to depend on popular consensus of some sort. That means that when a tyrant or a madman or a system looks evil, they have to wait. It’s been the same throughout history. There’s this feeling that you can’t use applied or deadly force to head off a disaster because you can’t absolutely prove there will be a disaster. So…Accord couldn’t act against the Empire in the Secession until the Empire destroyed the entire planet of Sligo and millions of people. In the Marundan rebellion, the Empire couldn’t act until after five million Mareks had been slaughtered in Marunda’s processing camps. Yet Marunda had published a manifesto detailing his plans. There was already documentation of over fifty thousand deaths. The Imperial Senate refused to act.” Nathaniel shrugged.
“You’re telling me that you—the Institute—has the almighty wisdom to predict the future?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Not always. Sometimes. We…assassinated two dozen radical political operatives being supplied by the Empire on Hernando. It prevented a coup and bloody civil war. The system is regenerating.” He shrugged. “It seems to me that doing that was better than military action after thousands were killed.”
“That’s like playing god.”
“Is it? Is it worse to do nothing so that you can claim you are justified to act after thousands or millions die? When even more people die and suffer?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Delusions of grandeur.”
“Why do you think the standards are so high for Ecolitans? We don’t take it lightly. We’re willing to take responsibility for acting before the fact. Sometimes, we’re wrong. So is everybody. But if we’re wrong, a few people die. Following the traditional course ensures that thousands and millions die.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.” She glanced out across the flower beds. “Governments can’t do that. They’re designed with checks and balances.”
“The Institute isn’t a government, and we are a check on governments. The checks on governments are largely designed to preserve their institutional acceptability to the public. That means a government can do anything its people don’t actively oppose—like massacring millions of dissidents, taking over powerless adjoining systems, and killing any troops that oppose them.”
“You’re implying that people are responsible for the actions of their government, no matter how despotic and tyrannical.”
“Sylvia, has any government ever stood against a people where a majority were actively willing to fight against it? There isn’t an instance in recorded history.” He shrugged. “If a people has the means to stop a slaughter, warfare, or whatever…and doesn’t…if they allow the government to carry out atrocities, don’t they share in the responsibility?”
“How would they know?”
“There’s no legal system anywhere, that I know of, where participation in a crime is excused out of ignorance.”
“Either you’re crazy, or I am.” Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Nathaniel forced a laugh. “Sorry. I’m too much of an ethical evangelist, and I’m throwing too much at you too quickly. Back to the Artos problem?”
His question got a nod from Sylvia…a very tentative nod. She was clearly stunned at his statements, but saying more wouldn’t help, not now.
“I can’t believe that the Avalonians want an Ecolitan economist, except as a cover, and we don’t know what the study is a cover for. Who uses economic studies, anyway?” Nathaniel shifted his weight on the bench, all too conscious of the mixed fragrances of orange and trilia.
“They don’t say why they need this study.”
“No, they don’t. There are several possibilities. First, the government needs an outside evaluation that will be impartial. The Institute’s impartiality is recognized, enough that almost fifteen percent of our income is derived from that sort of consulting.”
“That much?”
“It’s not widely talked about because those who use us don’t want to admit they can’t trust their own people to be objective and because if we advertised, that would destroy some of the basis of that impartiality.” He offered a wry smile. “Second, it’s a test for something bigger, to see how good we are and to give them a feel. The Institute hasn’t done any projects for New Avalon in more than a century, and there may be some hard feelings from the Trezenian mess.”
“Accord backed the rebels, rather successfully, I recall.”
“No, the Institute did. The Coordinate looked the other way.”
“How? Why?”
“The
New Avalonian government had imposed an Imperial-style reeducation team on the planet. We don’t like that, and the local merchants offered to pay us and grant an open-trade agreement to the Institute and Accord. We insisted on a veto power over any provisions of their proposed constitutional charter we thought were too restrictive.”
“You do meddle in other people’s politics. All the time, it seems.”
“Not exactly. We don’t insist on copies of our system. Our price is always the same. Freedom of the people to choose their government, but with the unconditional freedom of people to leave.”
“That’s meddling.”
“I suppose so, but we make no secret about it. Those are our terms up front. Anyway, the fact that the New Avalon government would hire us—or even allow us on Artos right now—either means that they have a large economic problem or that they want somehow to use the study against the Institute or that there’s an even bigger problem lurking in the background. That’s what we suspect, something to do with all the systems bordering the Three System Bulge. But we don’t know. Or there’s something we haven’t figured out yet. Or some combination of the above—all of which pose serious external diseconomies.”
“You’re sounding like an economist again. But you keep skipping over the other more personally nasty options.”
“Such as?”
“Providing a way to get rid of you permanently. Or setting you up to prove how dangerous Accord really is to the entire human Galaxy. You’ve just admitted that the Institute is the most dangerous institution in the Galaxy to every single government.”
“You think big,” he said with a laugh. “But I’m not that important. Even the Institute isn’t.”
“It’s more deadly than I ever imagined, and I’m not exactly sheltered, Nathaniel. If these unknown forces can show that as a symbol…symbols move people, and even the Institute couldn’t stand against the massed forces of the Empire and its neighbors.”
“Do all former associates of the I.I.S.—”
Sylvia firmly and gently put her forefinger to his lips. “You said my past was past, and you’re assuming too much.”
“All right,” he said as his fingers closed around hers and removed them. “With all these nasty options, do you still want to go to Artos?”
“Of course. I told you I intended to pull my weight. Besides, someone has to go along and put a check on your delusions of grandeur. Finally, you’re not used to the subtleties of prolonged intrigue, and this sounds like it’s very intriguing.”
“Terrible pun.”
“Awful, not terrible.”
“I did all right on Old Earth.”
“After you confused people with a great and excessive amount of applied force.” Sylvia forced a grin.
He shrugged. “I stand corrected. As usual.”
Sylvia leaned over and kissed his cheek, almost fraternally. “I like that about you, too. In spite of your misguided ethics.”
Nathaniel wanted to kiss her back, more enthusiastically. Instead, he returned the kiss, equally fraternally. Despite her facade of warmth and charm, he’d definitely upset her. But if he didn’t let her know, up front, then the eventual disillusionment would be worse, far worse. Once again, which was the lesser of the evils? He’d taken the Ecolitan way, preempting the issues, but would she see it in that light?
VII
“THINGS DON’T LOOK that much better, even with the Accord mess defused,” announced the I.I.S. Director, her eyes flicking around the small circular conference table to each of the three others in turn.
“Why not?” asked the redheaded man whose eyes the Director had caught last.
“We still have the Matriarchy, Orknarli, Olympia, and New Avalon talking about formalizing their informal mutual defense agreements. The Franks and the Federated Hegemony have all but finalized a customs, infotech, and defense union. And the popinjays in Tinhorn haven’t changed in four hundred years.”
“So whom do you think that the Grand Admiral will push against next?” asked the blond.
The Director tapped the terminal plate and waited.
“With the simplified assumptions noted in the appendices, the probability of some form of armed conflict between the Empire and an out-system coalition within twelve standard calendar months approaches unity.” The terminal voice was melodic, yet firm, but the words were too evenly spaced to be human.
“Rank the probabilities,” ordered the Director.
“Probability of conflict with Halstan-Reformed GraeAnglish systems thirty-seven percent. Probability of conflict with RomanoFrank systems twenty-eight percent. Probability of conflict with Coordinate of Accord twenty-five percent. Probability of conflict with Fuardian Conglomerate twenty-three percent. Other conflictual probabilities individually are less than five percent.”
“I know probabilities aren’t additive,” said the redhead, “but I get nervous when they total more than a hundred percent. The probability for Accord bothers me. Why is it that high after everything we just went through? Is that the Grand Admiral’s influence?”
“Admiral Ku-Smythe is an old-style, power-is-everything militarist, but the Admiral has some basic political sense,” answered the dark-haired woman. “So long as the Admiral holds the eagles, that will reduce the probability of conflict with Accord.”
“The Admiral also has a daughter with more than basic political sense…and connections,” added the Director. “And they talk.”
“The way the younger Ku-Smythe eased out that idiot Rotoller and got him replaced by Fergus was brilliant.”
“Envoy Whaler took care of most of that,” pointed out the Director. “He also alerted every outsystem to Commerce’s power play, and strengthened the Emperor’s hand.”
“I don’t like the way he manipulated Ferro-Maine into going with him,” said the blond.
“That wasn’t manipulation. It was love, and more intelligence has been torqued over by hormones than we’d want to integrate. Even the Imperial Intelligence Service can’t stop love.” The Director’s tone was dry. “If she had to go anywhere, better Accord than Halstan.”
“Love or not, I don’t like it.”
“What additional harm can it do?” asked the dark-haired assistant director. “He’s a part-time professor, part-time agent who’s pulled off a major coup for Accord. She’s a former dancer and part-time agent who’s wanted to get off Old Earth for nearly a decade. Good as he is, and much as she knows…there’s no problem out there that’s likely to draw them in. And if there is, who else would you rather have involved? Accord doesn’t want war, at least the Institute doesn’t—”
“What about the probabilities of the Coordinate government trying to dump the Institute?”
“They’re high,” admitted the Director. “We can’t quantify that, but,” she added with a laugh, “the Coordinate politicians have been trying that ever since the Secession. So far, the Institute’s outmaneuvered or outpowered them.”
“It’s scary how much power the Ecolitans wield,” said the redhead. “There’s no way to touch them?”
“They have the capability to annihilate the ecology of every human world in the Galaxy. Their ships and bases are so small and so dispersed over so many systems and light-years that no one could find them.” The Director paused. “Would you care to take them on?”
“That just makes them worse.”
“Accord would be even scarier without them. That nut Quaestor would hold their House of Delegates and have the whole Rift in conflict. However, I’m more worried about what we don’t see.” The Director glanced around the table. “Like the Hands of the Matriarch, or the goose-stepping popinjays in Tinhorn, or the separatists in the Federated Hegemony.”
“What about Marshal Illydara and his fixation on expanding the Three System Bulge?” asked the blond. “Won’t that drag in New Avalon?”
“The Fuards have been agitating about that since before the Ecologic Rebellion. What else is new? Besides, it’s three sectors away,�
�� said the assistant director.
“I just have a feeling.”
The Director gave the slightest of nods, but remained silent.
“We can’t afford to go on feelings,” answered the assistant director.
“We still need to consider the Matriarchy problem first.” The Director glanced around the table. “Stats says that infotech traffic between New Avalon and Anarra has increased by nearly fifty percent over the last two years. The traffic between the Fuardian conglomerate and New Avalon is also up, but only about twenty percent.”
“Those are big jumps in information technology transfers.”
“They are, aren’t they?” asked the Director dryly. “Infotech transfer increases of those magnitudes usually go with trouble.”
VIII
NATHANIEL STEPPED OUTSIDE the shuttle flitter into the glare of Artos, automatically slitting his eyes and studying the sun-bleached white permacrete that intensified the nearblinding light. His fingers touched the shoulder strap of the datacase.
“It’s bright here,” said Sylvia.
“Too bright.” His eyes slowly adjusting, the Ecolitan took the two steps down off the shuttle and onto the permacrete. Less than a hundred meters away stood the receiving building, white-walled with a vaulted roof. Artos had a bare-bones orbit control station, enough for only four ships, and just a handful of comm-relay satellites, indications of the relative poverty of the system—and another part of the enigma behind the infrastructure study.
Matching Nathaniel’s longer strides, Sylvia moved across the permacrete. Both wore the lightweight field greens of the Institute.
He took a deep breath, then another, wondering if he hadn’t recovered as thoroughly as he had thought, before he remembered. Sea-level atmospheric pressure on Artos was only eighty-five percent of T-Norm, and oxygen content was a shade over sixteen percent. Carbon dioxide levels were triple those on Accord but well below any concern for acidosis. In short, he and Sylvia shouldn’t expect good performance in running marathons.
Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) Page 28