“There’s more.” Sylvia turned to the Prime.
“After you left, I put a team on the bean plague,” added the Prime. “I’ve followed their progress, and we’ve got a couple of resistant strains. But it’s a nasty bug, one that’s there’s no effective remedy for, once it hits an area. All you can do is replace the beans with the resistant strains. There’s already a resistant strain out there, and we’ve tracked it back from Camelot…”
“Through an outfit called AgriTech.” Sylvia’s eyes were bright. “Which has a small office in Harmony.”
“Who sold out?”
“We can’t prove it yet, but it seems clear that Verlingetti somehow got access to someone who could develop the bean plague and later, maybe even access to plague-resistant synde beans. What about Dr. Hiense?” asked Sylvia.
The Prime nodded. “Once you mentioned the contact, I had it followed up. There’s nothing there—not directly. Hans Hiense is a noted authority on post-planoforming adjustments, but not on plant genetics. He’s considered one of the best anywhere. The same contract for fifty years. Three children—all with the Institute, all with outstanding records. Liu Hiense is a martial arts instructor—applied hand-to-hand.” Pittsway smiled.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Hiense and Verlingetti play boxball twice a week—regularly. But that’s all.”
“That might be enough,” mused Sylvia, “at least to give Verlingetti an idea of who else to subvert.”
“I thought so, too. We’re still checking. There are also some credit transfers from AgriTech to several foundations, and all of them have Verlingetti on the board.”
“That sounds like an Imperial intrigue,” Nathaniel protested. “Accord isn’t like that.”
“Accord isn’t a come-lately society,” pointed out Sylvia, “no matter how much you claim that it is. It might have been when your ancestor took on the Empire, but that was four hundred years ago, and from what all cubes and tapes I’ve had to digest—”
“Sorry.”
“—It’s been even more stable than the Empire. Stability always leads to intrigue.”
“So what are we going to do?” asked Nathaniel.
“Take a trick out of your bag, dear.” Sylvia smiled. “We’re going to hold a conference for the media to lay all of this to rest. The Prime has persuaded the top four officers of the House of Delegates, on both sides of the aisle, plus Commerce Minister Restinal, to be on the panel with him to answer all the media questions.”
“They agreed?”
“Not exactly willingly,” admitted the Prime. “But I was able to persuade them that Accord could not afford internal dissention and squabbling at a time when much of the Galaxy would like an excuse to incinerate or otherwise remove us, and that we needed to get this behind us and provide a united front.”
Nathaniel didn’t even want to guess at the methods of persuasion.
“It really wasn’t that difficult,” said Pittsway softly, “since I could say to Elder Torine that it was clear he had personally done nothing wrong.”
“Stupid, but not wrong,” agreed Sylvia.
“And how will a media conference resolve this mess? All we have is speculation and logic—no real proof at all,” pointed out Nathaniel.
“If we’re correct,” continued the Prime. “The media conference tomorrow will resolve everything.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Then…things will get resolved in another way, one not necessarily in our best interests.”
“We take the fall?”
“Ecolitan Whaler,” said the Prime somberly, “the Institute will always take the responsibility. The only question is whether we are perceived as thoughtful and responsible killers or weapons-addicted, unstable idiots. That is what tomorrow is all about. For the moment, for the next several days, I only ask that you remain silent about anything you may have done after you completed the economic study on Artos. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir…but…”
“I promise you that I will explain, openly and publicly, and that there will be no evasions, no justifications. The Institute must face this with a responsible, united position. If, after I have acted, you feel that I have not acted ethically and responsibly in any fashion whatsoever, you will be in a position to take any actions your conscience dictates.” The Prime rose and nodded toward Sylvia. “Time is short, and I have much to accomplish.”
Sylvia rose.
“No. You two spend some time together. Try to enjoy it. Such moments get fewer as life demands more of us.” A smile creased his face, and his eyes carried the same warmth for a moment. Then he slipped out.
Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed, bent down, and kissed Nathaniel’s cheek. “He’s right.”
“He’s always right.” The Ecolitan shook his head slowly. “Once…I thought I might like being Prime. Then you discover…I don’t know. I just don’t know…”
“We will have time to think about it.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low. “A long time.”
He put his arms around her, and she leaned back, her cheek against his, in the dimness of the hospital room.
LI
NATHANIEL WATCHED THE holo images in the corner of the darkened hospital room. He’d always been a day person, but he wondered if that would last with the sensitivity of his eyes to intense light. He’d start to find out when he was released within the next few days, according to the doctors.
He’d also start to discover if he could sleep better, and with fewer nightmares. He shook his head.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself…you did it…no one else…” His eyes went back to the holo images.
The faxers centered on Gairloch Pittsway as he rose from where he sat behind the center of the table. The hologram image seemed to fill the corner of the hospital room.
“Before we open the conference to questions from the media, as Prime Ecolitan, I have a brief statement to make.” The white-haired Prime surveyed the unseen faxcasters and reporters and who knew who else, then cleared his throat and spoke directly, without notes, without hesitation.
“This conference is not being held to allow those responsible to point fingers elsewhere. Nor is it held to allow a parade of excuses. Nor is it being held to justify actions. The plain fact is that as Prime Ecolitan of the Ecolitan Institute of Accord, I directed that certain actions be taken to forestall what I determined could lead to Galacticwide war. At the time I took those actions, tens of millions of individuals across the human Galaxy had died or were dying from what I determined was the onset of biological warfare undertaken by the Conglomerate. I did not delegate, nor did I debate. I acted to stop what I believed and still believe would have been an even greater human tragedy. And yes, I also acted to preserve the Coordinate.
“Whether the circumstances would have led to a larger war no one will ever know. Because those circumstances have been drastically changed, no one can know. I determined that actions were necessary, and I am responsible for those actions. Some Ecolitans have died, and others were critically injured. The entire command structure of the Fuardian military and roughly ten million individuals in the Conglomerate have perished as a result of my decisions and actions. It was my decision, and I stand on that decision.”
The silence was absolute—but not for long.
“Prime Ecolitan, how can you possibly justify any action that caused the death of ten million civilians, no matter what the provocation?”
Pittsway’s eyes went to the unseen questioner. “I am not trying to justify that action. I made the decision on the basis of the information I had. It is my responsibility. This is not the forum for debating justifications or morality. But in the interests of laying that issue to rest, I will answer the question—once. When people invoke morality in these issues, they haven’t the faintest idea what they really mean. The most moral action would have been to take out the entire Fuardian High Command ten
years ago, before twenty million people died across a hundred systems. Such an action would scarcely be considered moral. When people talk about morality in interstellar politics, what they really mean is justification. It may be justified that I ordered an action that killed ten million civilians because twenty million had already been killed. Justification is not morality. The only moral aspect is that the action I ordered prevented millions more deaths and a Galactic war.” The Prime bowed slightly. “The remainder of the conference is devoted to factual questions. Next?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Are you saying you do not have to justify your high-handed actions?”
“No. I am saying that any action which creates deaths can be debated endlessly as to its justifications. Justification is always after the fact, and, in that sense, is largely irrelevant. I gave the orders. Some people lived who would not have, and others died. For both the living and the dead, I am responsible. Next?”
“You are going to stand here and refuse—”
“I’m not going to debate whys and wherefores today. I’m responsible. No one else is. I’d like the next factual question please.”
The hospitalized Ecolitan smiled grimly. Pittsway was what a Prime should be.
“Some analysts have suggested that the attack on Tempte was designed to placate the Empire, rather than a response to a real threat. Would you comment on that?”
“Distribution of the synde bean plague has been traced to a Conglomerate-controlled outlet, as noted in the background materials distributed a short time ago. All Fuard planets began growing and harvesting plague-resistant beans more than a year ago. Deaths in the Empire and other outsystems are nearing twenty million people. Materials implicating the Conglomerate in this and other associated efforts have surfaced in at least three other independent systems. I seriously doubt that the Institute could persuade the Matriarch, for example, to reveal such information were it not so.”
A faint laugh echoed through the hall.
“Analysts also suggest that a battlecruiser was used. The Institute has claimed it has no battlecruisers. Could you clarify that?”
“A large cargo-carrier was employed, filled with high-mass cargo. The total mass was greater than that of a battlecruiser. The Institute does not have, nor has it ever had a battlecruiser. Next?”
“Who was the pilot?”
“Until the next of kin of all those involved have been notified, names will not be released. In any case, the names are irrelevant, since they carried out my direct orders. Next?”
The predictable questions continued as Nathaniel watched and listened. The Prime remained cool under the glare of what had to be hot lighting and pressure.
“Are you claiming that a mere cargo ship…?”
“Were the trade negotiations merely a pretext…?”
“What effect will this have on outsystem relations…?”
“How can other systems trust the Coordinate after this terrible disaster…?”
Abruptly, the Prime held up his hand. “The questions for me are rehashing those already asked. I would suggest that you now ask any questions that you might have of the elected Delegates.”
The images almost jerked to pan down the line of Delegates, showing the ascetic Quaestor, the hearty-looking Torine, a sad-faced Werlin Restinal, and a thin-faced—almost ferret-faced—Delegate who sipped from a glass of water a slender Ecolitan—Sylvia?—had placed at his right hand. The name plate before him read Delegate Gaetano Verlingetti.
Nathaniel peered forward before the images shifted back toward Torine. Sylvia? In plain greens, with the darker green stripe of a support staff?
“Elder Torine, the briefing materials indicated that much of the Conglomerate war plot was discovered through a study commissioned by the House of Delegates. Is this true?”
Torine cleared his throat. “So far as the House leadership can determine, that is correct.”
“Who suggested this study, sir?”
Torine coughed, shifted his weight before answering. “Both Elder Quaestor and I had discussed this.”
“Elder Quaestor, why did you think such a study might be necessary?”
Quaestor shifted his weight as well under the glare of the lights. “While I would like to claim forethought—all politicians would—I assure you, I cannot. The idea surfaced because…we were seeking an opening with the new government of New Avalon…possibly for agricultural and technological-transfer development trade on Artos. Such trade would not make sense if the need were not there, and a study—an impartial study—was necessary.”
“It’s been said that Delegate Verlingetti actually suggested the study?”
“He did bring it to my attention.”
The images shifted again, moving in on Verlingetti.
“Delegate Verlingetti, could you explain why you approached Elder Quaestor and suggested that the Institute conduct the economic study that apparently led to the Tinhorn…disaster?”
Nathaniel swallowed as Verlingetti opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Delegate Verlingetti?”
A panicked look crossed the man’s face.
“Verificants…” murmured Nathaniel. Sylvia had dumped fidelitrol into Verlingetti’s water, just as she once had to his drink—at a time that seemed so long ago.
“Was the Conglomerate involved with your suggesting the study?”
A slight flutter and sighing intruded over the unseen questioner’s words before he finished.
“We…were approached by the Conglomerate. They had…an agreement with the ArchTories, but the ArchTory government…fell…before the agreement could be broached or implemented.”
“Why would you consider an agreement with the Conglomerate? What would you gain personally…”
Verlingetti glanced helplessly into the lights, then stammered, “The leadership of the House of Delegates…”
“Would you explain that?”
Verlingetti bolted upright and started to move across the table behind the podium.
At the end of the table, Elder Quaestor buried his head in his hands.
The one set of images vanished, immediately replaced by the image of a young man at a console, a smile plastered on his face.
“The remainder of the conference here in Harmony has been closed to the media and public. We return you to our normal programming.”
The hospitalized Ecolitan shook his head slowly, hoping that Verlingetti’s inadvertent truth-telling would be enough to ensure the media followed the story to its true end.
After what he’d seen of human nature, he wasn’t certain…but he could hope. That and wait for Sylvia to return.
In the meantime, the sooner the hospital doctors declared him well, the better…nightmares or not.
LII
THE WOODEN DOOR of the Institute hospital opened, and Sylvia stepped inside, followed by the trim, silvered-haired Prime, who closed the heavy door behind him with a firm click.
“What happened after they closed the conference?” blurted Nathaniel.
“What would you expect?” Gairloch Pittsway smiled crookedly and stepped toward the window, looking out into the late afternoon for a moment before turning back to Nathaniel and Sylvia. “Verlingetti is claiming he was drugged, and the media wants to know why he’s opposed to telling the truth. Quaestor’s insisting he didn’t know, and Torine’s saying nothing. Neither is Restinal.”
Nathaniel squinted slightly as he looked toward the Prime and the window. The doctors had told him he’d always be sensitive to bright lights, and that the sensitivity would probably increase with age. He hoped the nightmares of boiling planets wouldn’t…but he supposed he deserved those.
“The media has already figured out that Verlingetti was trying a literal coup and they’re chasing him, and Quaestor for being his dupe,” added Sylvia.
“Do you think Torine wanted the study done because he wanted us to discover the ties between Verlingetti and the Fuards?”
“We d
on’t know that for certain,” said the Prime. “But if he did know, Torine couldn’t have revealed what he knew because, first, he got the information by less than ethical means, and second, because the Institute is regarded as impartial. If we revealed the connection, then the Normists could take advantage in the upcoming elections. If Torine had to suggest that, then it would have been an unfounded political charge.”
Nathaniel winced. “He was willing to start a war, rather than lose an election?”
“What else is new?” asked Sylvia. “That’s been going on since humans were all clustered back on Old Earth, and before probably.”
“I hate to mention this…but verificants aren’t legally accepted…”
“They don’t have to be. With a statement appearing in everyone’s house, the media will take it from here. Or Quaestor will, to save what’s left of the Orthodoxists.” The Prime smiled wryly at Nathaniel. “I’m not sure that any member of the Institute has created as much havoc as you two since your distant ancestor. Are you sure he was that distant?” Pittsway turned toward Sylvia. “Are you sure you want to be associated with such a Galactic menace?”
“Can you think of anyone else better suited?” Sylvia returned the smile.
“Oh…and do you still have a few copies of that economic report you completed—on the economic infrastructure of Artos?”
“Yes, sir.” Nathaniel took a deep breath.
“Good.” The Prime paused. “The Matriarch of Halstan has asked for a copy. So has the Imperial Ministry of Commerce. The Commons of New Avalon wants another two hundred…as part of the support documentation for chronicling the disaster.”
“They were sent a dozen,” said Sylvia.
“Those were mislaid, and now they desperately need copies.” Pittsway’s voice was dry. “Oh, and the Frankan Union has requested a dozen as part of their economic redevelopment effort now that they have occupied Artos. They’ve appointed a local—a Geoffrey Evanston—as their interim Gouverneur General. So I hope your report is very detailed, detailed enough for all such uses.” The Prime winked at Sylvia, then smiled again.
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