Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (23 page)

Chart One B appeared in place of the microminibit tariff schedule. On it were the volumes of Accord exports to Terra, the existing tariff rates, the revenue to the Empire, followed by a second column showing the volume of imports from Accord projected under the External Affairs proposal.

“As you can see, even with our proposal, the volume of imports from Accord will decrease only ten percent, but the increase in the effective price will give our manufacturers enough leeway to compete.”

The problem with the External Affairs proposal was that it put too much duty on the more complex minibits, where the emerging and continuing market was likely to be, and too little on the simpler, lower profit minibits. Plus, accepting the idea of a more steeply graduated schedule left the door open for further steepening and set a dangerous precedent.

Nathaniel dug a memorandum from his datacase. Stripped of all the technical nomenclature, it basically stated that the Accord microprocessing industry had developed the capability of producing triple minibits which could do the work of Imperial quintuple minibits produced by the Noram microprocessors. The terms triple and quintuple were misnomers, since a single minibit referred to a million gate choice, and each level multiplied by ten.

He handed the memorandum to Janis.

“As this indicates, there is likely to be a problem of description.”

He sat back and waited for her to read the two page technical summary.

After Janis read it, she passed it on to the console staffer, who scanned both pages into the data banks and passed it on to Lord Jansen.

“He’s right,” announced the data tech after several minutes at the console.

Jansen, beginning to lose his bored look, started to lean forward in his swivel.

“This could set us back to square one, Lord Whaler. Why did you even bring it up?”

“Several reasons. First, not to bring it up risks the Empire declaring that we have bargained in bad faith. Second, the information points out the error in using a graduated tariff based on an artificial distinction. Third, the problem has to be resolved.”

“See your point,” observed Jansen.

“So what do you suggest?” snapped Janis. “You brought the problem to our attention. You must have some suggestions.”

“Already, it appeared likely some questions were arising over the point at which the maximum level of the tariff should be assessed. Is that not true?”

“That’s true. That’s a question on any graduated schedule. What does that have to do with this?”

The Ecolitan shrugged, as if the answer were obvious, even to a dullard like the Envoy from Accord.

“Simple Envoy that I am, it seems obvious that the problems lie not in the articles being taxed but in the tax structure. If the schedule is not graduated, then using different names for equipment all doing the same job will not matter.”

“Are you suggesting a flat rate for all minibits?”

Nathaniel avoided a direct answer. “What would be the average of costs to Accord, given a flat rate of nine percent?”

“That’s low,” answered Janis, “but let’s see it, Devon.”

Nathaniel already knew the answer. Under the current trade flows in microminibits, a nine percent rate would reduce the tariffs Accord paid the Empire by about two percent. Assuming a decrease in Accord exports to the Empire of ten percent, a tariff rate of nine and a half percent would give the Empire a comparable increase in tariff revenues.

The numbers flashed up into the midair holo display.

“You’ll get even more of a break at nine percent,” protested Janis, “and the present situation is already unacceptable.”

“Nine and one half,” offered Nathaniel.

No one said anything until the next display appeared, showing the figures outlining the results of his suggestion.

“That would be somewhat of an improvement, but I hope that Accord would be somewhat more flexible,” said Jansen, “particularly given the higher volume of trade in multiple minibits.”

Nathaniel began to play around with his computer, finally threw up his hands.

“What about ten percent?”

At the ten percent rate, the Imperial figures showed close to a twenty percent reduction in imports from Accord, and slightly more revenue to the Imperial treasury.

Nathaniel’s estimation of the economists at the Ministry of External Affairs took a nosedive. No commodity was that price-elastic over a half percent. Plus, it was apparent that no one had calculated the impact of technological change.

He frowned.

“Nine and three quarters as a final offer?” he asked.

“Ten!” Jansen declared before Janis could say anything.

“But the loss! A true increase in tariffs…this represents nearly forty percent…but—” protested Nathaniel.

“Lord Whaler, for several years now, many of our microprocessors have been suffering because tariffs were too low. It’s not just the present situation the Emperor must consider. There are many other factors…” Janis let her voice trail off.

“Ah, yes, I understand ‘other factors.’ While I would prefer the nine and three quarters rate, for the sake of agreement, we will accept ten percent. What else can I do?” The Ecolitan shrugged.

“For the sake of making progress, let us close the discussion on this item,” suggested Jansen. “Of course, we will have to clear this with the Emperor and the full Ministry staff.”

Nathaniel made appropriate notations on his file.

“I will also check.”

“The next item,” droned Janis Du-Plessis, “is…”

Nathaniel fumbled through the files again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

T
HE NEGOTIATION SESSIONS
went on and on, with weekend interruptions, scattered breaks for “clarifications,” then, like everything else in New Augusta, ended abruptly on a mid-week day.

The whole agreement had been packaged and readied for transmission to the Imperial Senate and the tender mercies of Senator Helmsworth and his colleagues.

Nathaniel found himself behind his Envoy’s desk with a full day looking at him. After more than a standard month, Marlaan was still on vacation, and Witherspoon, reputed to have just finished his “consultations” on Accord, was planning to take home leave before returning to Terra.

“They certainly gave me enough vine to swing cliff clear,” he muttered to no one in particular.

He glanced out the wide window at the clear sky, absently wondering why the Imperials had preferred to negotiate in a windowless room, then looked back at the faxscreen and the authentication lists for the outgoing communications. He suspected that Mydra piled up the lists whenever she thought he spent too much time staring out the permaglass.

The intercom buzzed.

Nathaniel looked up from the second faxscreen, punched the accept stud.

“Marcella Ku-Smythe for you, Lord Whaler.”

“Thank you.”

He jabbed at the flashing plate.

“Ms. Ku-Smythe?”

“Yes, Lord Whaler. Let me be among the first to congratulate you on the progress I hear you have been making with External Affairs.”

“Only talks, dear Lady, long and involved, wherein everyone must check with everyone.” He shrugged. “And progress? Who can tell?”

“You’re too modest.”

“A mere fumbler with numbers am I.”

Nathaniel glanced up at the bare wall, out through the open portal to the staff office, looked back at his fingers, and finally clasped both hands before looking back into the screen.

Marcella dropped her eyes for a moment.

“How long do you think it will take you to complete the talks?”

“If nothing unforeseen arrives, if no further difficulties are observed, then most of the work is done,” he hedged. “But for your sake and mine, I hope nothing unforeseen occurs.”

“For my sake?”

“We are what we are, Lady, not what we would like others to see or what they would like to see. Me…a mere fumbler of numbers, a professor doing what he can. You…a most competent Special Assistant.”

“Were the Commerce Department to take a more active role?”

“I defer to your superior knowledge and to that of your associates and family. Doubtless you know best. For my part, humble as it is, so long as the talks result in the mutual agreement of Accord and the Empire on tariffs and the continued independence of Accord, your presence would always be welcome, whether in an official or in an unofficial capacity.”

He half bowed to her image on the screen.

“Thank you for your graciousness, Lord Whaler. While I could not accept under the circumstances, I appreciate your understanding.”

He looked at the blank faxscreen for several minutes, shook his head. Desirable woman but definitely the strong-willed type.

He shook his head again, violently. Enough wool-gathering. Getting involved with anyone, Sylvia or Marcella, at this stage of the game, while the final terms of the agreement were hanging before the Senate, could be highly counter-productive, to say the least.

He flicked back to the scan screen and the list of authentications Mydra had dredged up. They had helped fill the hours, not necessarily pleasantly, while External Affairs had wrangled with the staff of the External Relations Committee to ready the package for full Senate consideration.

He tapped on the intercom.

“Yes, Lord Whaler.”

“Sergel? Isn’t he due for release shortly?”

“I checked this morning, and he could be sent back to Accord any time now.”

“Would you make the arrangements? For later this week?”

“I’ll take care of it and let you know.”

The Ecolitan froze the seemingly endless stream of authentications on the second screen, putting them in temporary storage, and flicked on one of the faxnews channels.

“…in one of the more surprising developments during the hearings on the Purse, Senator Helmsworth proposed close to a fifty percent increase in the budget for the Imperial Intelligence Service. Helmsworth, when questioned, cited reasons of Imperial security and offered to display evidence in secret debate. For the first time in more than a generation, public debate was halted for the secret session. The sole outsider present was Grand Admiral Ku-Smythe. After the presentation, the chamber was opened, and the motion passed unanimously.”

The screen switched from a view of the Senate chambers, hung in shimmering red and paneled in dark wood, to a mid-aged woman wearing the cream tunic with the red slash of an Imperial Senator.

“Senator Re-Lorins, before the secret session, you questioned the need for such an increase in funding. Yet you voted for the increase. Why?”

“Both the Senator from Noram and the Grand Admiral showed evidence of a persuasive nature. Rather startling and shocking evidence, I might add, even to me.”

“Can you reveal the nature of that evidence?”

“No. I cannot.”

The screen cut back to the commentator and her studio console.

“That was the only statement from Senator Re-Lorins, Chair of the Intelligence Committee. No other Senator would comment, including Senator Helmsworth.”

The screen filled with a panorama of dying plants in their fields.

“The synde bean virus is still on the move. These bean fields on Heraculon are the latest victims of the gypsy virus which seems to appear at random. Botany pathologists are puzzled at the spread of the resistant species of the virus, which was formerly controlled with a derivative of antoziae.”

The next scene was an empty warehouse.

“At this time of year, the warehouses on Heraculon are normally beginning to reach full capacity. As you can see, that’s far from the situation now.

“Bryna Fre-Levin on Heraculon.”

As the screen switched again, this time to an orbit scene centered on an Imperial battlecruiser, martial trumpets blared in the background.

“Admiral of the Fleets, Jorik Ypre-Tanelorn, transferred his flag to H.M.S.
Gold Prince
, which will lead the new Eleventh Fleet through its shakedown cruises before it takes station.

“Admiral Ypre-Tanelorn,” and the screen featured a still shot of a black-haired, thin-faced man with a pencil mustache and black eyes under bushy eyebrows, a picture of perfect formality with the Admiral in his dress red and gold uniform, the starburst of the Empire above his left breast. “The Admiral declared the Eleventh Fleet will serve as the vanguard for continuing peace and stability for the Empire and its allies.”

The screen dropped back to the studio.

“Back in New Augusta, the Empress welcomed an unusual delegation, a talking centaur troupe from Alpha Megara—”

Nathaniel flicked off the faxnews and leaned back in the swivel.

He wondered if he should let the media take another shot at Sergel’s situation. They’d probably take it, but he shook his head.

Sergel’s example was tragic but not permanent. And Sergel might well turn out better the second time around, in any case.

The late afternoon sunlight through the filtered permaglass warmed his no longer quite so crisp diplomatic blacks, yet the selective polarization let him see the golden disc of the sun hanging over the western hills without requiring him to squint.

The other towers rose, dark gold, before the western hills, like so many obelisks, or so many pillars of dark fire shedding flickers of reflected light.

He put his feet up on the console, leaning further back in the chair to watch the play of light over the towers.

The intercom buzzed, and he sat up quickly, realizing that over an hour had passed as he had let his thoughts drift.

“Ms. Corwin-Smathers for you.”

“Lord Whaler.”

Courtney was wearing a cream tunic with rust piping and banded scarlet flecks at the cuffs.

“My pleasure, Lord Whaler.”

“And mine also, to hear from you, although I am puzzled at the reason for your courtesy.”

“No real reason, Lord Whaler. Senator Helmsworth would have liked to call himself, but right now things are rather hectic over here.”

“I heard about the Intelligence Service…”

“That was just another incidental, for which, by the way, we thank you. Your actions were most instrumental in helping the Senator, though not in the way you probably intended. That and the synde bean problem…”

“Coincidence has been helpful to many throughout history.”

“But that was not the reason I called on behalf of the Senator, you understand. He did want me to convey our appreciation for the way in which the trade negotiations have been handled and to let you know that we look forward to an early ratification vote in the Senate.”

“Only doing my humble best, dear Lady, and without the help and advice you and others have provided, indeed I would have been lost. You are most kind, and I look forward to a successful vote.”

“Lord Whaler, you are too unassuming.”

He shrugged his now-habitual shrug. “We do what we can, and hope for the best for all.”

“The Empire is doing its best also, Lord Whaler, and Senator Helmsworth and I, and the Emperor, I’m sure, look forward to the successful and peaceful resolution of the trade talks in the weeks ahead.”

“Your concern and reassurance lift my spirits.”

“That’s all I really wanted to say. The Senator wanted you to know that the agreements will be coming before the Senate shortly and to convey that to your government. We all understand your talents and your sense of restraint, and wish you well.”

“Thank you.”

Courtney nodded, and once again, Nathaniel was left looking at a blank screen. One thing he’d never get used to, no matter how long he stayed in New Augusta, was the abruptness with which most friendly fax calls were terminated.

The synde bean thing…was that something the Institute was involved with? If it were, he’d be the last to know, sitting on Earth. Certainly, that sort of mutation was well within the capabilities of the Institute. If it had been the work of the Ecolitans, and the Emperor thought so, so much the better.

He wondered if the offhand reference he’d made to the synde bean situation had been construed to mean more by Courtney. Not beyond the realm of possibility.

With a quick tap, he called Mydra on the intercom.

“Why don’t you finish up the authentications tomorrow, Mydra?”

“All right, Lord Whaler. If you say so.”

“Is there anything special I should do?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then to your superior judgment I defer.”

Nathaniel turned back to watch the late afternoon change into evening and to watch as the evening crept from beneath the hills toward the base of the westernmost towers like an incoming tide of darkness. So unlikely his return to New Augusta would ever be that he wanted to fix the spectacular images firmly in his mind.