Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (48 page)

“As are all too many Legates.” De Vylerion laughed ironically. “Would you care for dessert?”

Nathaniel considered the tightness of his trousers. “Ah, I’d care, but I would regret it long after the pleasure passed.”

“That could be said of many pleasures, Lord Whaler.”

“He takes his duties very seriously.” Sylvia’s somber words were lightened by the twinkle in her eyes.

“In that, Accord is fortunate, as are we all.” De Vylerion eased back his chair ever so slightly. “I do regret that Caroline was not here to meet you both, but I would hope that, once you have completed your study and the associated duties, you would be able to visit us.”

“That would be a pleasure,” said Sylvia.

“Thank you, for everything,” added Whaler.

The Frankan Legate rose. “It has indeed been a pleasure in seeing you, and I wish you every success in your study, and in conveying the results to all interested parties. I would hope to see a copy, as we might be able to aid in its distribution.”

“Thank you. You’re most thoughtful,” said Sylvia.

Nathaniel inclined his head as he stood. “You’ve always been helpful, and you have been again.”

“We do live in the same Galaxy, Lord Whaler, and it grows smaller with each year. Some fail to recognize that, or that the laws of economics are not to be mocked…but we must try. My best to you both.” De Vylerion inclined his head again as the Ecolitans left.

T
HE
F
UARDIAN COLONEL
saluted, crisply, before the wide gray antique desk that held no obvious data console.

“Your summary here was incomplete, colonel.” The submarshal lifted a gray-covered folder. “The first report.”

“Sir?”

“You failed to mention that the Accord agents escaped from Artos, despite your group’s efforts. You knew this when you filed the report. You also failed to mention that they apparently contacted the Frankan agent on Artos.” The sub-marshal’s smile was cold.

The colonel stood stolidly, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead.

“What have you done to remedy this, colonel? Anything?” The submarshal’s tone was indolent, relaxed.

“A second team has already landed in Camelot.”

“Did you know that the Hegemony’s Blues failed?” The submarshal’s square fingers tapped the hard gray surface of the desk. “And that the large growers of Artos are mobilizing against them?”

“I have just received that confirmation.”

“Just?”

“Yes, sir. Team Two’s deep agent was neutralized as well. The Frankan ship deviated significantly from its normal jump and entry patterns. I believe I mentioned that in the second report, sir.”

“So you did. And why did the Frankan ship deviate?”

“We have not received the reports. I would assume that the Accord agents took control of the craft.”

“Assume? Then why did they go to New Avalon? If they knew enough to understand the need to seize the ship, why would they go to New Avalon? Perhaps you can answer that question?”

“That is the closest Accord Legation.”

“But no military support. For that you should be grateful. Perhaps you will do better on the next effort. There will be no third effort. Not for you, colonel. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

L
IGHT RAIN, MORE
like mist, drifted around the two Ecolitans as they walked back through the gray, chill afternoon toward the Accord Legation.

“If you believe De Vylerion, it’s even worse than we thought,” ventured Sylvia.

“I believe him.”

“So do I.”

“Is that Gerry Adams Park? The one the Legate mentioned?” Nathaniel gestured toward the walls ahead, intermittently fringed with brown bark mulched flower beds, evergreens, and bare-limbed deciduous trees that had shed leaves perhaps half a season earlier.

“De Vylerion also said something about it, but I was arguing with the pepper.”

“I wish…oh, well…he did say that it was the only place where we’d hear even partway free speech.”

“We can walk through it, and then turn right at the next corner. That would get us back,” pointed out Sylvia. “Without taking any more time. Or much more.”

Gerry Adams Park was odd, to say the least, with stone walls two meters tall on all sides, except for the wide arches at each end.

“It’s hard when you change systems. It was midsummer on Artos and now it’s almost winter here.” Whaler eased to one side as two youths in short-sleeved shirts ran pell-mell past them. “You wouldn’t know it from them.”

A handful of people were gathered around a woman standing on a black box that raised her several heads above her audience.

“Do you think they care? Women, for all those rights in the Charter, are nothing more than baby factories to the ArchTories. Factories to produce laser fodder on worthless colony planets…”

The Ecolitans exchanged glances.

“I think I’ve heard this one before,” said Sylvia. “Let’s try the next one.”

“What did you really think of De Vylerion?” he asked as they drifted toward a second speaker, a white-bearded barrel of a man.

“De Vylerion is supportive, and thankful, and it seems real.” Sylvia glanced at the speaker standing on a red box framed by dark green conifer needles that were turning yellow at the tips.

“…if you eat, you are
their
puppets. If you watch trideo, you are their puppets. You have always been their puppets. They doctor your food with chemicals. They pour what they want you to think into your brains through the trideo, and you think what they want. And you think your thoughts are yours…do you know how many images you cannot see? The commands that are implanted in your trideo through their schemes…”

“I’ve heard this one,” Nathaniel said.

“There’s a group like this in every society, pointing out how people are led to think.” Sylvia shook her head. “The truth’s closer to the opposite. The media and the politicians pander to the prejudices of the people, but the people, of course, always protest the opposite is true.”

The two in greens walked slowly along the stone walkways flanked by turned dirt that probably held flowers in the summer.

The third speaker’s box was empty, but a young man in brilliant purple stood beside it, handing out leaflets.

“Join the Purple Peace Party! The Purple Peace Party for eternal love and peace.”

Both Ecolitans smiled sadly and shook their heads.

“Well…back to finish our masterpiece.”

“Will it do any good?” Sylvia gestured back toward the barrel-shaped speaker. “When I hear trash like that, I wonder.”

“De Vylerion seemed to think it would. From what he said, I get the feeling that the ArchTories want the study to embarrass the Conservatives, maybe even as something to topple another government.”

“He made that pretty clear.”

“Would that be enough to have someone in the New Avalon structure go after us?”

Sylvia shrugged as they turned and moved toward the middle of the park.

“Another thing,” said Nathaniel in a lower voice. “Have you noticed that the modus operandi is either an accident or Imperial military needles—no matter where we are?”

“That means it’s not the Empire, but it could be almost anyone else.”

“Or several anyone elses,” pointed out the sandy-haired Ecolitan.

“That could be…everyone copying the first incident on Accord.”

“They’re all copying the first player, which effectively conceals exactly who’s involved?”

“You’ve got it.” Sylvia glanced across the park, then slammed into Nathaniel, dropping them both to the ground.

Scritt! Scritt!

Needles splintered on the stones behind them. From the damp grass beside the stone walkway, Whaler turned his head to catch sight of one thin figure in a baggy gray coat dashing toward the end of the park, while a chunkier man struggled in the other direction.

Scritt!

He ducked again, even as Sylvia rolled off his legs and into a crouch.

“Someone’s shooting!”

“Maude! Get down…”

Nathaniel took three fast steps to join Sylvia.

Whheeeeee! Wheee!

“Over the wall,” Sylvia snapped. “You go that way…over the wall.” Then she was gone, headed toward the far wall.

“Right.” Nathaniel half-vaulted, half-scrambled up the rough stones and dropped down into the dried bark covering the flower bed on the outside of the park wall.

An older couple stared, wide-eyed.

“Training,” he said, wondering why he’d bothered. Then he sprinted eastward along the edge of the park, trying to breathe deeply as he ran.

The thin man walked out of the east gates of Gerry Adams Park and across the empty crosswalk, as if he had not even been hurrying. Then he turned at the other side of the street, glanced at the oncoming Ecolitan and reached inside the coat again.

The handful of pedestrians scattered.

Squeeeekkkk…eeetch
…Two groundcars tapped into each other.

The Ecolitan slammed into the gray-coated figure, staggered, then managed to lever a side-footed kick into the other’s knee. The man in the gray coat crumpled, his knee shattered, but his hands still groped under the jacket. Nathaniel slammed the man’s wrist, snapping away the minineedler, and probably the would-be assassin’s wrist. Even as he reached for the weapon, the figure slumped, and the eyes glazed.

Without hesitating, Nathaniel searched the prone body, getting only a thin wallet folder, nothing else from otherwise empty pockets, and leaving the needler untouched. Then he sprinted back toward the park, dodging groundcars. Once past the gates, he slowed to a quick walk, eyes darting from side to side.

“Here!”

Following Sylvia’s yell, he dodged more groundcars making his way across the second avenue to join her. They loped down the street.

“You didn’t…get him?” asked Sylvia.

“Got him. Suicide bloc.”

“You, too?”

“You…left the body?” asked the taller Ecolitan.

“Why not? All he had…was…thin wallet. Probably minimal identification…wad of credit…notes…”

Once around another corner, they slowed into a ground-covering walk.

“That…was…all mine had,” said Nathaniel between deep breaths, wondering if he’d ever be in the shape he once had been.

“Good thing you left him. Great minds think alike. We’d better hurry back to the Legation. Who was behind this?”

“Has to be a cold outsystem. They weren’t warmly dressed.”

“Or paid locals,” she suggested.

“But why were we there? De Vylerion told us to go.”

“No, the Legate told us,” corrected Sylvia.

Nathaniel swallowed. “De Vylerion said any day but today, in effect. He warned us, and I didn’t catch it.”

“Neither did I.”

“Our own Legate…” Nathaniel shook his head.

“Is it safe to go back?” asked Sylvia.

“I’d bet on Swersa and the permanent staff. No one else. And we don’t say a word.”

They both moved more quickly, scanning the avenue, ignoring the sounds of sirens and whistles blocks behind them.

“N
OTHING
.” N
ATHANIEL THUMBED
off the trideo news. “Not a thing. Two dead bodies and toxic military needles all over the park. And not a thing on the news—except a reference to two homeless men who had heart attacks.”

“You don’t know about toxic needles…not for sure. And sympathetic blocs do cause heart attacks.” Sylvia looked up from the bound copy of the report, then handed it across the sofa to him. “I’m glad we’ve got this suite, particularly now.” She stretched. “I can’t find any more typos or dumb sentences.”

“Time to go with it.” He glanced at the cover, scanning the title,
The Economic Infrastructure of Artos, Analysis and Recommendations
, then set it on the low table. “I’m hungry.”

He stretched, then touched his cheek. It still hurt, and his legs and feet ached slightly as well. No matter what anyone said, sprinting in boots on hard pavement did nasty things to human tissue.

“You’re going to have quite a bruise there. I’m sorry.”

“I’m quite happy to be alive, thank you.” And angry, angry at his own stupidity, angry that she could have been killed because he hadn’t paid enough attention to De Vylerion. Had he missed anything else? He hoped not. He sincerely hoped not.

He glanced at the two folder wallets on the table. “False Coordinate passports. I still can’t believe it.”

Sylvia stifled a yawn. “I can.”

“So can I. They can’t lose. If the assassins get us, then Accord gets in the trideo or print news. If we get them, then two dead bodies with Coordinate identification are discovered. I just wish I knew who.”

“It probably isn’t the Union.”

“It could be almost anyone else.”

“Or everyone,” she suggested.

“That possibility had crossed my mind. I almost feel like the rest of the Galaxy, including some of our own people, is running after us to pin our dead bodies on someone else’s door step.” He shook his head. “We’ve speculated and speculated, and we still don’t know. All we can do is play the game.” He lifted the draft report. “Let’s go downstairs and finish this off. Then, all we have to do, once we get the corrections made, is worry about how we get this out of here and to your friends over at the Imperial legation.”

“
We
don’t, because that’s one giveaway. They’re looking for two of us.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll do it, and I know how.”

“How, my more effective operative?”

“Status. I’ll leave with the cleaning crew in a dingy singlesuit in the morning. Ecolitan professors don’t look like maintenance types.”

“I could…”

“No,” said Sylvia. “You’re too big. You can’t disguise all that muscle. You’re almost a head taller than most men here. That’s one reason why they could follow us so easily.”

“We could also post a meeting on the Legation schedule for both of us with Clerigg for tomorrow morning,” he suggested.

“That wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s clearly a leak somewhere here.”

“A leak? I doubt there’s just one.” He shook his head. “Let’s get this fixed. We’ll need to hurry if we want to eat before the mess closes. And I’m hungry.” He almost touched the bruised cheek again, but dropped his hand.

“You have the keyblocs Clerigg left?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be glad to get this done.”

So would Nathaniel, except he had the feeling that completing the study was only the beginning of the end, if that.

He also didn’t like the fact that the Legate had sent them into ambush. Either someone had set up Spamgall or the receptionist, and that meant infiltration of the Legation, or Spamgall himself was involved in the mess. Right now, there was no way to tell which, but they’d have to assume both alternatives were possible.