“That the job was never really finished,” suggested Sylvia when Nathaniel did not answer.
“The atmosphere is correct and improving,” answered Oconnor, his voice neutral.
“Was it lack of funds or the political pressure of the old age interests?” asked Nathaniel.
“I’m not one to speculate, and I’m not in a position to,” said the biomonitoring official.
“All right. Then perhaps some ecological questions. What is the largest predator on Artos?”
“I’d have to say the wild dog. Some escaped early on, but the ranchers shoot them on sight.”
“And after that?”
“There is a juaranda cat—maximum of eight kilograms—but its principal prey classes are all rodents.”
“No snakes? No large mammalian or reptilian predators?”
“No.” Oconnor smiled under the long straight nose.
“What about plant diversity?”
“Above the microbic level, the diversity drops off more than in the normal pyramidal distribution.”
“I’ve also noticed almost a monoculture in terms of major crops, a heavy emphasis on synde beans.”
“Four crop families, if you will, comprise about eighty percent of all cultured areas. Tops are the synde beans, but that’s to be expected on any planet at this stage, both for the energy requirements and for the supplemental soil scavenging and the oxygen enhancement properties.”
“Grass and food crops—maize and wheat.”
“Zima grass, and the others are as you observed.” Oconnor touched his chin. “To reduce the coverage of those eighty percent in a balanced fashion to a more normal distribution would require an annual investment of close to a billion credits for at least a decade. The large growers have been subsidizing forestation at a level of nearly fifty million, but…” The monitoring chief lowered his shoulders.
“It’s not enough, and it appears unlikely that they can continue that level of investment. You mentioned earlier, an emphasis on ‘output’ by the growers.”
“That’s their favorite word. ‘Output, Detsen, output.’ Given the constraints they face, I must give them credit for the ecological contributions they have supported.”
“Anything extensive besides the forestation?”
“G-H Factoring has begun a small rain forest effort on ConTrio. That’s very promising.”
“Is there anything else?” asked Sylvia.
“This is a large planet.” Oconnor chuckled. “Even a small planet is large, ecologically speaking. It takes time.” He hopped off the stool.
“Have you talked to any of the outsystem agricultural factors recently?” asked Nathaniel quickly. “Sonderssen or the Fuard?”
“I talk to all of them at one time or another,” responded Oconnor after a pause.
Nathaniel wanted to nod, but asked instead, “How do you think the ecological development, ideally speaking, ought to go from here?”
“More forestation, diverse forestation. I’d like to see a stronger base in the marshlands. You get good solid marshlands, integrated properly, and established marine diversity, and an ecology can take a great deal of disruption.”
“You’ve made that point forcefully enough,” said Nathaniel with a chuckle. “Even George Reeves-Kenn’s rovers know it by heart.”
“I’m glad someone does.” Oconnor glanced toward the closed door. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer, but I’m glad you stopped by. If you run across Professor Hiense, please give him my best.”
“We will,” promised Sylvia.
Outside, some scattered cumulus clouds were forming out over the eastern ocean, but the sun remained bright.
Nathaniel blotted his forehead.
“Not that again.” Sylvia laughed.
“Yes, this again.” He put away the overlarge kerchief. “He’s not as forthcoming here as he was at a totally snooped party. Interesting.”
“He doesn’t worry about Kennis. Here…he worries.”
“You think the Avalonian government has put a thumb on him?”
“Someone has.”
“One of the factors?” asked Nathaniel.
Sylvia lifted her eyebrows.
“You’d rather not speculate?”
“You aren’t,” she pointed out.
“I can’t. It can’t be his superiors—there haven’t been any Wendsor ships since the reception, and that means no messages or messengers. Local, then, and probably commercial, and some form of personal pressure, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Neither can I.” Sylvia frowned.
Nathaniel rapped on the side of the groundcar.
“Wha…? Oh, sirs!” Bagot rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“Do you know where the trade factors have their offices or warehouses?” asked Nathaniel.
“Yes, sir. All of them are at the shuttle port. They have to have one there, anyway. That’s a Port Authority requirement.”
“Back to the shuttle port, then.”
Bagot dropped them outside a door in a long building. Beside the door was a blue-and-red plaque: AgriTech Galactic, Sonderssen & Company, Representatives, licensed factors.
Jimson Sonderssen stood from behind a small console as the Ecolitans stepped into the comparatively dimly lit room. “The Ecolitan economists…I do believe.” The lanky man bowed from the waist. “And you were lucky, if that is the word, to find me actually here. In what might I be of service?”
“I find myself somewhat confused,” began Nathaniel. “You are an agricultural factor, but trade in agriculture is usually unprofitable between star systems, except for new species or breeds of agricultural animals. Is this not so?”
“The basics you have correctly, professor,” answered Sonderssen.
“And you have been a factor here for several years?”
“That is correct. Eight, almost to the day.”
“Ecologically, Artos is less advanced than some planets still in planoforming, and agricultural diversity is low.”
“Also true.”
“Yet diversity is necessary for trade.”
“That is an accepted fact.” Sonderssen bowed slightly.
“I understand you’ve recently been talking to the biomonitoring office.”
“Recently? That is so.” Sonderssen offered a dazzling smile. “I often consult with them. Who else could advise this poor factor?”
“Do you handle the luxury beef for the Hegemony?”
Sonderssen spread his hands. “You can certainly surmise that I do. There is no one else accredited to the Hegemony.”
“Yet the beef trade has been falling off.”
“You would like to know what a poor factor such as I might do to justify his existence in economic terms?”
“You’re obviously prosperous,” pointed out Sylvia.
“Good I might be at appearances.”
“Neither the Hegemony nor its merchants reward appearances,” suggested Nathaniel.
“A wit you have, professor.” Sonderssen smiled. “And that is rare among Ecolitans and economists.”
“You seem very close to the Fuardian factor, Fridrik…” Nathaniel could see Sonderssen would only say what he wished to say.
“VonHalsne. Yes.”
“He wears an informal dress uniform.”
“So do you, professor. All Fuards in semiofficial capacities outside the Conglomerate are representatives of the state. For sure, is that not known to all?” Sonderssen smiled. “And why am I close to him, when our governments are, shall we say, less than perfect friends? Because I adhere to an ancient maxim. It is better to hug your enemies closer than your friends, for it is difficult to lift a blade when held tightly.”
“You’re also good with the words.” Sylvia’s laugh was almost bell-like.
“Is your friend Fridrik around somewhere?”
“His office is the third down, but he is not there. I believe he has returned to Clava for several weeks.” Sonderssen looked at the door. “It has been plea
sant seeing you once more.”
“And you, too,” lied Nathaniel.
Sylvia offered a slight bow, which the trade factor returned.
Fridrik VonHalsne was not only absent, his office was closed and locked.
“Not good,” murmured Sylvia.
“Not at all. So…was it Sonderssen or Sebastion or Kennis that put the touch on Oconnor?”
“What do you think?”
“Sebastion. I think he told Oconnor that he’d never see another cent from the growers or the big ag interests if he said a single meaningful word to us. That’s only a guess.”
“I’d have to second that, but it’s only feel.”
“What a pair! Guesses and feelings, and the sky’s about to fall.”
“At least we know that.”
They exchanged wry smiles.
Port Chief Walkerson was waiting by the groundcar when the Ecolitans returned. “Things are getting nasty, Whaler. You didn’t catch your boat ride with one of the FitzReillys, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, we did. Why?”
“Someone just fired their barge this morning while they were loading. They were both killed, and it’s a flaming mess—raw synde oil in the river, a grass fire…” He shook his head. “Sebastion Reeves-Kenn denies being involved, but he claims that it’s a blessing in disguise, that the pods carried this synde bean plague. He says it’s been ravaging the Imperial planets, and even Halstan. You know anything about that?”
Nathaniel pursed his lips. Synde bean plague on Artos? How had it ever gotten across four sectors?
“You look like you know something.”
“Oh…I do. There’s been a bean plague in the Empire—Heraculon, as I recall—but I couldn’t figure how it could get here, and none of the plants I saw looked diseased, although I wouldn’t know one plant disease from another.”
“Well…Sebastion wants me to set Oconnor on it, and quarantine the small growers’ fields. He was almost screaming.”
Nathaniel shook his head. Now what?
“And by the way, old chap, just for the record, where have you been today?”
“We spent most of the morning at the biomonitoring station—or going to it and returning. We had a long discussion with Dr. Oconnor.” Whaler didn’t mention the visit to Sonderssen’s small office, or the attempt to see VonHalsne, although Walkerson could certainly see where they had been.
“Good. Good. Terrible business, this. Do you two know anything more about this?”
“The FitzReilly woman told us that they carried cargoes for both the small growers and beef for R-K Enterprises. She said that the larger haulers overcharged the small growers.”
“That’s all?”
“We got a lot of information on barge traffic patterns and capacities.”
“Port Chief,” added Sylvia, “you might remember that we had walked some fifteen kays before we found the barge, and it was the end of a long day. We collapsed and slept most of the trip back to Lanceville.”
“Right…forgot about that. Well…let me know if you think of anything.” He paused. “Are you sure you don’t know more about this bean plague thing?”
“Walker,” said Nathaniel tiredly, “I told you. I’m an economist. I wouldn’t know one plant disease from another.”
“Well, I had to ask.”
The Ecolitan just nodded.
“Now what?” asked Sylvia, as Walkerson marched back toward his office.
“We might as well get something to eat. Bagot needs it, and so do we.”
They needed more than that, but a solid late lunch was a start.
XXIV
NATHANIEL SLIPPED INTO the bed in the darkness.
“Not again,” whispered Sylvia. “We talked over everything before.”
“You know I think we need to get out of here while it’s still relatively safe and possible. Do you think I’m overreacting?” He touched her shoulder.
“Yes, but you’re male.” Then she giggled and whispered. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist, and I don’t mean that the way you think.”
“How did…do—”
“After four attempts on our lives, is anywhere safe?”
“New Avalon is likely to be safer than it will be here, once open fighting breaks out.”
“You don’t think this is really a fight between the large and small growers, do you?” She twisted, and her lips brushed his ear. “Really?”
He tried not to shiver, and forced himself to concentrate on his words, not her warmth and closeness. “It is, but they haven’t all the resources they need. Sebastion’s as worried about Kennis as he is the small growers. I think the outsystem types who do have the resources don’t want to complicate things at the moment. They’d rather pick up the pieces. That’s what I’m gambling on. Things will have to get messy. New Avalon won’t want to spend the credits…so they’ll get messier.”
“And then someone will step in with their snow-white ships of mercy, so to speak?” Her hand massaged the back of his neck, and he tried to resist the impulse to draw her closer.
“I believe that’s the agenda. So the sooner—and safer—we can get to New Avalon, the better our chances to head this off.”
“I thought you—we—were here to do a study. Not in my bed, either.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to talk this over.”
“That’s not all you want.”
“No. But I’m not asking or insisting on anything else.” He took a long slow, quiet breath.
“Stop puffing in my ear.”
“Sorry.” He swallowed. “We will do the study, but…we’re also here to stop what could turn into a mess, with the Institute being blamed for it all.”
“You’re stretching.” Sylvia shook her head, close enough to his face that he could smell the trilia…and her. “Just how does this impact Accord and the Institute?”
“Someone wants the study. We show up. A revolt or something starts. The bodies of two Institute members are found. One has a nasty reputation, and the other is a former I.I.S. agent. Whoever’s behind this then accuses New Avalon of throwing in with the ecologic butchers of Accord and the Empire, and uses that to justify liberating the poor oppressed small folks.”
“You really think people will fall for that?”
“Smart people won’t, but there aren’t many of them in any society, and politicians live by the numbers.” He found his hand massaging her shoulder and moving downward. “Besides, rationality is usually only used to develop logical arguments to support existing beliefs and prejudices.”
“You are cynical.”
“Realistic,” he whispered.
“About some things.”
“We’ll also not tell Walkerson until we have to.”
“That’s realistic,” she conceded.
“Very realistic.”
Her fingers ran along his cheek. “Things are going to get worse.”
“Probably.”
“I think so, too.” Then her lips were on his.
XXV
AT THE RAPPING on the door, Nathaniel crossed the room from the fresher wearing his greens but still barefoot.
“Who’s that?” Sylvia peered through the connecting door. She was already fully dressed, so efficient that he felt sluggish.
He shrugged and said in a low voice, “I don’t know.” Then he raised his voice: “Yes?”
“A call for you from the Port Authority, sir.”
“I’ll be right there.” He sat in the chair and yanked on socks and boots.
“The Port Chief said it was urgent.”
“Just a moment,” whispered Sylvia. “Hold it a moment.” She vanished through the door.
He frowned, but waited, then stepped to the side of the door, before starting to edge it open.
Thrummm! A line of fire seared his lower right arm.
Even as he kicked the door shut, he could hear another dull thump, then quiet. Waves of pain radiated up his right arm, and he p
aused to take a deep breath before easing back toward the door.
“You can open it now.” Sylvia’s voice came through the heavy wood clearly. “I got her.”
With his left hand, he pushed the lever handle down and opened the door. Sylvia stood above the limp figure of the serving woman in green-and-maroon tunic and green trousers. The dark-haired Ecolitan lifted a stunner and smiled at Nathaniel. “It’s Imperial issue, set pretty far up.”
“I know.” He massaged his lower right arm with his left for a moment. “Let’s get her inside.”
“Good idea.” Sylvia slipped the stunner into her waistband, and they dragged the woman into Nathaniel’s room and laid her flat on the floor.
He watched closely as Sylvia locked the doors of both their rooms, but the woman still seemed unconscious. He began to search the woman, starting with the bulge in a capacious hip pocket.
He lifted the small, flat slug-thrower. “Another toy.”
“Stunners work better through doors or at odd angles.”
“And this was meant to finish the job.”
“Maybe…”
He straightened. The woman carried nothing else of import, except the groundcar placard that he set on the table. Somehow he couldn’t see a weapon being concealed in the tube of lip gloss or the package of tissues.
“Quite a wake-up call,” Sylvia observed, settling into one of the straight-backed chairs.
Nathaniel set the slug-thrower on the table next to the placard, sat on the edge of his bed, and looked down at the Artosan woman, then at Sylvia. He massaged his throbbing right arm. “Forest lord—I should have seen.”
“You were meant not to. Who pays any attention to servants, especially in a GraeAnglo culture? Especially to women servants. And she figured you’d probably be less alert this morning.” Sylvia’s lips tightened. “I don’t like voyeurs.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not your fault.” Her expression softened momentarily. “I don’t regret last night. If anything, this just shows I was right. But I don’t have to like people watching.” She paused and glanced toward the door. “The question is, now what do we do with her?”
“I can handle that.” The older Ecolitan fumbled out the miniature dart gun.
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