Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (12 page)

For the first time, it seemed, the receptionist was a woman, small, coming to his shoulder, with long black hair and brown eyes, olive skin, dressed in a maroon and cream tunic with matching maroon trousers.

“Lord Whaler?”

“The same.”

“You are early, but Ms. Ku-Smythe will be with you shortly. Please have a seat. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No…but do you have the latest faxtab?”

“Standard, Ministry, or Court?”

“What’s the difference between Ministry and Court?”

“Not much. They have the same columns and gossip.”

“What do you recommend?”

“The Privy Council reads the Ministry edition.”

“And the Court edition is mainly for socialites and appearances?”

The receptionist smiled, one of the first genuine smiles the Ecolitan had seen since he’d arrived in New Augusta…except perhaps for Sylvia.

“I’ll take the Ministry edition.”

She tapped several studs on her console, and with a series of buzzes, three pages burped forth, which she delivered to Nathaniel.

“There you are, Lord Whaler.”

About half the faxtab consisted of factual briefs a paragraph or two long in relatively simple Panglais. Fifth Fleet dispatched to Sector Eight in support of the Sector Governor on Byron. Would Senator Rysler retire and turn over his Agriculture Committee to Ngnoma?

Failure of the synde bean crop on Ferne II and the need for Imperial aid. Possible breakdown of the Parthanian Cloud talks. Need for tax reform more urgent and might appear on the Emperor’s Legislative Calendar for the new Senate. Repeal of the sex determination ban to be brought up again by the pro-choice faction.

Nathaniel skipped to the “personality” section or “Scandalous Sam.”

Nothing mentioned about Accord or one Envoy Whaler. That was a relief after such bits as: “…should we tell you which Assistant Deputy Minister, after being seduced by his luscious receptionist (what a man!), asked his contractmate for a dissolution?” Or “…it’s rumored that the coronary arrest suffered by the Delegate from Greater Srik Nord wasn’t.”

“Lord Whaler?”

“Yes?”

“Ms. Ku-Smythe will see you now. Through the portal on the left.”

He folded the faxtab, laid it on the table, slipped to his feet, picked up his datacase, and strode through the left portal.

The office, with cream wall hangings and a sweeping panoramic window, was three times the size of either his own office as Envoy or that of Courtney Corwin-Smathers.

Marcella was attired in a formal cream tunic and matching trousers, with a set of gold Commerce pins on her collars. A single maroon ring circled each tunic cuff. Her hair was upswept, severe, and she stood behind her wraparound console, formally, not advancing to meet him.

The console, at the far end of the office, allowed Marcella to survey both entry portals and the window.

He bowed and could feel the portal shut behind him.

“Greetings again, Nathaniel.”

“Greetings to you, Marcella.”

She gestured to the padded antique leather wing chair across from her console. He wondered at the real age of the chair with the new maroon leather, but sat down with the datacase at his feet.

“How’s the business of Commerce with the Special Assistant?”

“As well as can be expected. What about you?”

He hesitated. Should he tell Marcella anything?

He let his face show some indecision.

“Not terribly well received somewhere, is that it?”

“More complicated than that. I’m not sure where to begin, and beginning at the beginning would take much time.”

He pulled at his chin. “This business is getting more involved than I’d anticipated, and did I not think I would have any illusions about the degree of difficulty.”

Marcella sat back in the swivel, waiting, seemingly ready to let him take his time to get to the point. He doubted she had that much patience. But she was capable and a good actress to boot.

“Yesterday, Courtney Corwin-Smathers suggested I come by today to discuss Senator Helmsworth’s interests in trade negotiations. I arrived at the appointed time, was warmly greeted, explained our interests in arriving at a favorable settlement without antagonizing any of the parties involved, and left her a copy of our preliminary proposal.”

He thought Marcella’s eyes narrowed slightly, but went on.

“Rather politely, and oh-so-pointedly, Ms. Corwin-Smathers suggested that while I certainly could let the Ministry of Commerce see such a proposal, I would be well advised to put my faith in the Senator.”

“Did she put it exactly that way?”

Marcella leaned forward in her swivel, brushing a strand of sandy hair back over her ear.

Nathaniel chuckled. “Are you serious? Let me see if I can recapture the essence of the conversation. I am not much on innuendos, you know, but try I will.”

He composed his face into a stern mask.

“I do wish you luck with your contacts…we’re regarded as poor innocent bystanders…and Commerce could certainly ratify your agreement if that is
really
what you want…Ms. Ku-Smythe would surely be pleased not to deal with other influences…”

“She mentioned my name?”

“As I recall.”

“Did you say you were coming to see me?”

“No. I made a point of being vague about my appointments, but she seemed to know I had an appointment with you. And that leads on to the next thing, which was even stranger.”

“Stranger?”

“I took a tunnel cab over here from the Senate Office Tower and was dumped out in the tunnel outside the concourse—”

“Outside the concourse?”

“Outside the concourse. With a stunner, a woman strange to me tried to attack me. The tunnel cab took flight.”

“Obviously, you survived.”

Nathaniel shrugged and spread his hands. “Some luck, I think. But left I in a hurry. So why should someone be after me? If Senator Helmsworth wanted one set of terms…if you another…and External Affairs another…but before anyone has said anything? This it would seem would mean that someone wants no talks.”

Marcella frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Why would you have me assaulted? I would think you would want to see what Accord had to offer. Is that not so?”

“That’s true. It wouldn’t make sense, not from my point of view.”

“That implies that more than one point of view there is within the Commerce Ministry.”

Marcella looked straight at him.

“I have this feeling you’ve been underestimated, Lord Whaler. I’ll try not to make the same mistake.”

“Lucky I have been, so far.” He leaned back in the leather chair. “Secondary to something else are questions of trade, and to some facet of Imperial politics not immediately obvious to outsiders.” The Ecolitan bent down and lifted the datacase into his lap.

“Imperial politics do become somewhat involuted,” added Marcella, “and could be rather confusing to an outsider.”

Nathaniel didn’t like Marcella being patronizing any more than he had Courtney Corwin-Smathers, but he only opened the datacase and pulled out a trade folder before closing the case and returning it to the floor. He stood abruptly and leaned toward her, watching her hands flick down toward the edge of the console. Ignoring the danger, he read the private line numbers and memorized them.

So…the console had a full protective system, and dear Marcella didn’t trust him all that much.

“Here’s the folder with our proposal,” he said as he extended it slowly. “I’m sure you can handle far better than I the intricacies of Imperial politics. After you study it, I would be most interested in your thoughts.”

“After we study it, I’ll be happy to talk with you.”

“You know, Marcella, you can trust me or not. But if you really need a console protective system, the controls ought to be in the arms of the swivel.”

He bowed to her. “Your leave, Marcella?”

He could see the play of emotions under her tightly controlled face. No secrets there at the moment. He’d gotten to her, and she wasn’t pleased about it.

“You do me honor, Lord Whaler.”

“The honor is mine, and outside the questions of diplomacy.”

She flushed ever so slightly at the compliment, but so quickly he almost missed her reaction.

He gave a mental shrug as he walked out through the portal, case in hand, to the reception area.

“Lord Whaler?”

He looked at the receptionist.

“Did you leave anything at the security gate?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Ms. Ku-Smythe arranged for your return transportation in one of our tunnel vehicles to spare you the rush period congestion. I am to escort you.”

“Indebted I am.”

The small woman led him through a corridor vaguely familiar. He caught a glance of a receiving hall, and the memory jibed. This was the hall he’d come up to meet Rotoller and Marcella.

They stopped in front of the small lift/drop shaft.

“Now where?” he asked.

“We’ll go down to the Commerce official concourse.”

“Indeed a step up over the public transport,” he commented inanely.

While several guards patrolled the corridor, none seemed to take notice of either Nathaniel or the receptionist.

She stepped into the shaft, assuming that he would follow.

He did.

As he exited, the receptionist handed him a small flat envelope.

“I think you dropped this in the shaft. It floated past me.”

Nathaniel hadn’t.

“Thank you. I was careless.”

He surveyed the guards around the concourse, both men and women, as they walked to the embarking platform.

An electrocougar was waiting.

The receptionist stayed until he was inside with the door closed.

The car was upholstered in maroon, but the fabric was less yielding than that in the official car that had brought him to his meeting with Rotoller.

The male driver was in a plain maroon tunic.

As the car pulled away, the receptionist waved before she turned. No one had done that before, not on Terra. He turned the envelope over,

The heavy cream paper was without name or address, except for three intertwined initials on the reverse flap, and was barely sealed…just at the tip of the flap. The three initials were MKS.

Before opening the envelope, Nathaniel looked up at the back of the driver’s head as the limousine dropped down into the tunnel. Nothing he could tell.

Holding the envelope gingerly, feeling stupid about his qualms, he used his belt knife to flick it open. He turned the envelope, and a small card fluttered out onto the seat cushion.

A single word appeared on the blank card, handwritten:
CAREFULLY
.

He resealed the envelope and card and put them in his belt pouch.

The writing might be Marcella’s, but since he’d never seen it, how would he know?

And for Cloud’s sake, what specifically was he supposed to be careful about? He was already too cautious.

The more he found out, the more he didn’t know.

A
LERT TO THE
possibility of another tunnel cab incident, Nathaniel spent the ride back to the Diplomatic Tower fully ready for anything. The Commerce Ministry electro-cougar delivered him to the Diplomatic Tower without mishap.

“Your destination, sir.”

“My thanks.”

Despite all his suspicions, he made it up the lift shaft and to the Legation’s front entrance without an obvious tail, and without anyone else attempting to take any potshots at him.

“Good afternoon, Lord Whaler. Were your meetings successful?” asked Heather as he walked past.

“Everything went as expected.”

He didn’t recall telling anyone he had a single meeting, let alone two. He sighed audibly. In New Augusta, if more than one person knew a secret, it wasn’t a secret.

“Greetings, Lord Whaler,” added Mydra, as he paused outside his office.

“Any calls for me?”

“No. Things are relatively quiet here. Have you seen the faxnews?”

“Too busy have I been. Why?”

“I wondered if anyone else from Accord was in New Augusta. The afternoon casts reported a strange man in black assaulted an Imperial Intelligence agent in a tunnel, broke her leg, stunned her, and escaped. The Imperial Intelligence Service is denying the report. No one has seen anyone in black in the area.”

Mydra was giving him a calculated look.

“You know, Mydra, after days like today, sometimes one would wish to be more violent. But professors, we are not known as such. Today I have talked to too many who say, ‘Maybe yes. Maybe no. Let us think about it.’”

He went on. “I do not think I should like to meet such an Imperial Intelligence agent. I hear most competent they are.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Lord Whaler. After the report hit the fax, I called a friend of mine. She’s an office manager at I.I.S. I asked her about it. She couldn’t say much, but the agent who was allegedly attacked was one of the best. The next time they go after that fellow, they’ll go with lethal weapons, I understand.”

“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.”