Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (33 page)

The Ecolitan opened the door.

A sandy-haired woman stood there, holding two red folders. “And these were dropped off for you as well.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to take the call below.”

“I’ll be right there.” He stepped toward the connecting door, rapped, and peered into Sylvia’s room.

“What was that?” Sylvia looked up from the table and her datacase.

“There’s a call from the Port Chief. I’m headed downstairs to take it. You might look at the…material…in my case while I’m gone. Also we got folders from the hydrocarb facility.”

She raised her eyebrows, then nodded. “I’ll look at both.”

“Good.” He went back to the half-open hallway door, stepped out and closed it behind him, and followed the Artosan woman down to a small room off the front foyer, a room containing little more than a desk and two chairs.

“Right there.” She pointed to the utilitarian gray unit on the corner of the desk.

Nathaniel sat and faced the screen where Robert Walkerson waited.

“Ecolitan Whaler…I’d heard from Bagot that there had been a little problem at the hydrocarb facility. Are you two all right?”

“We’re fine. These things happen.” Especially around me. “I was sorry that our escort was killed. Most sorry.”

“They’ve had problems out there before, Ecolitan. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.”

“I would hope not. Still…it was most distressing.” Nathaniel bobbed his head up and down. “Most distressing.”

“I am sure the accident was just that. They’ve had more than a few at the facility. More than a few.” Walkerson flashed a smile across the screen. “How are you doing with your study?”

“Just beginning. A good study is not done in a few days. And then we must cross-check the data and the correlations. Then…but you do not wish to hear about academic details.”

“You can tell me about them tomorrow, if you wish.” Walkerson paused. “There’s a small get-together tomorrow night. It might do you and your…associate good to meet some of the locals you wouldn’t run across otherwise. Nineteen hundred at the Blue Lion—the Unicorn Room. Not too formal.”

“The best we have?” asked Nathaniel.

“People will understand…”

“We have formal greens.”

“Good-oh.”

“By the way, could you lend us the use of a flitter?” asked Nathaniel. “For the day after tomorrow?”

“The day after tomorrow?”

“We have an invitation to visit the Reeves-Kenn operation.”

“You must be special. Not many get those. Well…with our little get-together and his invitation, you’ll be meeting most of those of import on Artos.” Walkerson laughed briefly, then pulled at his whisker-shadowed chin. “I don’t have many pilots right now.”

“I am qualified in most flitter classes and types.”

“Are you…I suppose you are, or you wouldn’t be here. It’s a Welk-Symmons, old model, like the Empire’s twelve twenties.”

“I can handle that, but, if you would feel better I will stop by tomorrow for a check ride with your people.”

“That might be better…I couldn’t say what the differences might be between our old vibrator and what you’ve piloted.”

“Nine hundred?”

“That would be good. I’ll have Jersek expecting you. Do you need any gear?”

“Helmets, or headsets.”

“We can take care of that. Good luck, and let me know—or let Bagot know. He’ll certainly relay any messages.”

“Thank you.”

After the screen blanked, Nathaniel headed back up to his room.

Sylvia sat at his desk, looking through the case. She smiled. “What did he want?”

“To express his concerns and to see how we were doing.”

A minute headshake greeted his not-quite-sardonic words.

“Also to invite us to show off our most formal wear at a small party for the local elite tomorrow evening.”

“You must have been impressive.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “He wants us to meet someone.”

“But he doesn’t want to say so?”

Nathaniel nodded. “So I took the opportunity to request a flitter for our trip out to visit George Reeves-Kenn.”

“He wasn’t too enthusiastic?”

“No. He said he was short of pilots, and I offered my own services for us. I’ll have to get a check-out tomorrow morning.”

“Is it wise?” she asked.

“Probably not, but I trust me flying more than I trust others.”

“We don’t have to go…”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows.

“Not by flitter.”

“If anyone’s serious, all it would take would be a large lorry running over our groundcar, and no one would notice. Sabotaging a flitter would at least have a higher visibility.”

Sylvia nodded slowly, then asked more loudly, “Are you ready to eat?”

His stomach growled. “I think I am.”

She smiled. “I heard that.”

Except for the serving woman—the same woman who had knocked on the door to tell Nathaniel about the linkcall—and them, the dining area was empty.

“Strange…”

Sylvia nodded. “There’s more support for visitors than visitors. Unless it’s a seasonal thing.”

“It could be.”

The serving woman in the green-and-maroon tunic bowed slightly as they neared the only table set for dining. “Beef stew this evening, professors.” She straightened, and then inclined her head. “And a good stew it is.”

“Thank you.”

Nathaniel waited until the server had departed before saying, “Tomorrow, we should eat at the Blue Lion.”

“You think the ambience…?”

“I need a better feel. It’s lovely here, but we’re isolated.”

“That’s not an accident, either.”

The sandy-haired server returned with wilted salads, followed by the stew. Nathaniel had to admit that the stew beef was more tender than some gourmet steaks he had enjoyed in many locales. The local lettuce of the salad tasted more like algae than algae.

They ate quietly, and Nathaniel found his thoughts flitting from one thing to another. Comparatively high-volume roads led to an almost empty port. A largish hotel for a backwater planet had an empty carpark. A relatively modern hydrocarb processing facility had a record of accidents—and one just happened to occur when they visited. A “plain-food” restaurant had anything but plain food.

“You’re thinking.”

“Yes. I’d rather not say…yet. I’d like your thoughts after another day or two when we can compare notes. Don’t want to influence your opinions.”

“That makes sense.” Sylvia paused. “The stew was good.”

“Far better than the salad.”

They both laughed softly.

No one was in the front hall or lounge as they walked back upstairs and to their rooms in the dim light of twilight. Nathaniel opened the door to his room, ears alert, but the room was empty, and the detector, as usual, registered no activity.

Sylvia closed the door. “I know we didn’t do that much besides look at things and take notes, but I am tired. And you need some rest before you do whatever you need to do with that flitter tomorrow morning.”

“It’s just a check-out.”

“I just need some time to myself. I’ll see you in the morning.” She paused, her hand on the connecting door to her room.

“All right.” He forced a smile. Still…she probably did need to be alone. They were spending almost every waking moment together, and there was probably such a thing as too much togetherness.

He flicked on the lights in his room, then sat down in front of the table that held the datacase. Someone had fumbled with it, but not opened it. He nodded, and touched the entry points.

He had some reviewing and some thinking to do.

Later, much later, Nathaniel slipped through the connecting door and into the bed.

“What—”

He covered Sylvia’s mouth, and whispered, “Shhh…. I’m not up to anything nefarious, but we need to talk, and I’m not sure that eavesdropping isn’t what’s going on, rather than electronic surveillance.”

“Oh…it strikes me as a convenient…”

“Sylvia…”

“I’m just teasing,” she murmured. “You are
so
serious, and this is humorous, if you think about it.”

Nathaniel had been too aware of her warmth and desirability to think about too many things simultaneously, but, with her words, he had to laugh softly. He couldn’t get close to her romantically, and here he was in her bed.

“We’ve had two ‘accidents’ in as many days,” he murmured, “and someone is watching everything we do.”

“Are they watching us? Or are they watching for whoever’s after us?”

“I don’t know, but I think you’re right.” Nathaniel touched her shoulder, as if to hug her.

“Careful…”

“There aren’t many groundcars, but they’re more fuel efficient than flitters. It’s as if the permacrete highways are more like a heavy-duty transport system with all those big ag-lorries, but the numbers of lorries aren’t enough to justify the investment,” he pointed out softly, almost nuzzling her ear.

“Careful there.” Sylvia inched back from him ever so slightly. “You’re right about those highways, from what we’ve seen so far. There are five that come into Lanceville.”

“And they have had heavy use.”

“Do you think they were loading military equipment on the barge?”

“I don’t think so. I’d guess, if I had to, that it was heavy industrial equipment.”

“But Bagot was talking about how little real industrial equipment there was on Artos.”

“That he had seen…”

“Oh…but why?”

“I don’t know. There was also something that waitress said that bothered me.”

“About the Ecolitan greens? You said it had been a long time—”

“Exactly. Well before her time. But a waitress wouldn’t make that up. It’s a big Galaxy…but I don’t know anywhere else where they wear greens beside Accord.”

“I haven’t studied uniforms and heraldry, but since the…Secession—”

“You almost said ‘rebellion.’”

“I’m working on it,” she whispered back.

“The piers are short, but there are three. Why not one long one?”

“You think that they’re sending military equipment to different locales?” Sylvia asked.

“I don’t know why. It had crossed my mind.”

“Private armies?”

“That could make it nasty.”

“Nastier,” she added.

Nathaniel feared she was right.

“I did have one question,” she whispered in his ear, after a silence.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get that ridiculous kerchief?”

Nathaniel almost choked. “It gives a certain effect.”

“You might pull it off here, even. But I don’t believe it. Even with those damned proverbs.” Sylvia pursed her lips, and shook, holding in what Nathaniel suspected were giggles.

“A professor I am and remain.”

“Oh…please,” she whispered.

He shook his head, swallowing his laughter.

“Sweetheart,” Sylvia said loudly enough for any possible eavesdropper, “you are sweet, but I’m just too tired. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, slowly Nathaniel swung himself out of the bed. “Good night.” He bent over the bed, as if to kiss her a last time, although there hadn’t been a first time.

Her arms went around his neck, and her lips were on his, warm and soft. After a moment, she eased her lips away just enough to whisper, “You are sweet…and I appreciate it more than you know.” She gave him a last kiss. He tried not to be
too
enthusiastic in his response.

Nathaniel shook his head as he left the door between rooms slightly ajar and headed for his own cool sheets. He was missing more than a few things, both with Sylvia and their ever-stranger consulting assignment, but he was having trouble focusing on anything more than how warm Sylvia’s kiss had been. He’d been around the Galaxy, and more than a handful of women had found him attractive—in and out of bed—yet he was almost trembling, not a good sign. Definitely not a good sign.

A
T THE FAINT
beep, the Grand Admiral touched the stud. An image formed on the small shielded screen, an image coming over a secure Defense Ministry scrambled line. “You called?” The screen held the image of a sandy-haired woman.

“I did. How do you feel about Accord now, Marcella?”

“You mean the algae and anchovy kills on Squamish? Why would they change anything?” asked the Special Assistant to the Imperial Minister of Commerce.

“They’ve also appeared on Anarra. The Matriarch sent a query to us and to the Coordinate. Of course, the Coordinate denied everything…but who else has that kind of biological capability?”

“It’s too obvious, especially this soon after the trade talks. Accord isn’t stupid.”

“Unless they’re counting on everyone thinking that,” pointed out the Grand Admiral.

“They’ve shown a better grasp of politics than that.” The Special Assistant’s eyes narrowed. “They also have issued a warning every time before they’ve employed ecological tactics.”

“That may be, but the Senate is already debating investigating and sending the Eleventh Fleet to Sector Five.” The Admiral’s voice was almost flat. “They also haven’t shown that courtesy when they’ve undertaken more conventional covert action.”

“Is the Senate really that stupid?” The Special Assistant shook her head. “Are you going along with it?”

“Politics, Marcella. Politics. If half the Empire wants to blame Accord, and wants action, that’s where the eagles have to go. I can’t oppose the wishes of the Senate.”

“Even if they’re based on images in cheap trideo that show Ecolitans as devils without horns. Even if half the human Galaxy ends up an ecologic or radioactive or nova-seared waste? Is your position worth that?”

“It shouldn’t come to that.” The Grand Admiral smiled.

“It shouldn’t?”

“Accord might be persuaded to stand aside on Hernando.”

“You’ve already lost Hernando.”

“No loss is permanent.”

“What are you really planning?” asked the Special Assistant. “What do you want?”

“You’ve already provided it. You’ve confirmed that you don’t believe Accord is behind this covert ecological warfare.”

“Couldn’t you have just asked? They aren’t.”

“Then who is, Marcella? According to both Defense intelligence and the I.I.S., no one else in the human Galaxy has that kind of capability.”

“That’s not quite true. No one else has ever demonstrated that kind of capability, and they certainly wouldn’t, not while they can keep the laser aimed at Accord and the Empire.”

“Fine. Who is it? The Fuards? Olympia? Halstan? The Federated Hegemony? Orknarli? The Frankan League? New Avalon? Every one of them would like to see Accord and the Empire at each other’s throats again.”

“The Franks probably wouldn’t, and New Avalon is too…traditional…to keep anything like that secret.”

“That leaves quite a few—and you’re assuming Accord is innocent.” The Grand Admiral frowned. “Most senators will quickly point out that only Accord has ever employed large-scale ecological warfare.”

“That argument cuts both ways. It makes a perfect case of why it wouldn’t be Accord. Also, as I pointed out, they’ve always delivered a warning, and it’s been after we’ve done something. We haven’t acted against them, and there’s been no warning.”

“You may be right, but I cannot oppose the Imperial Senate, not if it decides to send the eagles against the Coordinate. Not without any proof. Do you have any?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then contact your tame envoy and ask him…if you can find him. You might also ask why he barely returned to Harmony before they sent him off to Artos—that’s a colony of New Avalon, recently planoformed.” The Admiral smiled politely. “I’d appreciate it if you would think about it.”

“I will. I always do.”

“I know.”

The Admiral’s smile did not vanish until the screen blanked. Then she frowned, pursing her lips.