Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (24 page)

N
ATHANIEL TOOK ANOTHER
look around the Envoy’s office. His three bags and datacase were stacked up by the exit portal, ready to be picked up.

The signing ceremony at the Emperor’s Indoor Garden had gone off without a hitch, although he’d been surprised to find himself greeting Lord Fergus, rather than Lord Mersen or Rotoller. For whatever reason, neither Janis nor Marcella had been at the Indoor Garden. Nor Sylvia, though there was no reason why she should have been.

For that matter, neither had the Empress, which probably reflected her feelings about provincials from Accord.

“Lord Whaler?”

He turned.

Heather Tew-Hawkes, Hillary, and Mydra were standing in the doorway.

“The Marines will be here in about an hour for you and your luggage,” said Mydra. “May we come in?”

“Of course, dear ladies.”

He gestured to the chairs and couch.

The three women walked into the office but did not sit down. Mydra, in the center, had her hands clasped behind her back.

“Lord Whaler,” began the office manager, “I have a confession to make.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“When Legate Witherspoon left and when Mr. Marlaan abruptly took leave, I was deeply concerned about the continued effectiveness of the Legation—”

“As you had a right to be,” interrupted the Ecolitan gently.

“And I couldn’t help but wonder how an inexperienced professor from an out-planet university was going to deal with a complex set of negotiations. When you first came in, I thought my worst fears had been realized.” Mydra paused.

“Mine too,” chimed in Heather.

Hillary smiled a shy smile of agreement.

“After your arrival, things just got worse. The violence, the bombings, and all the strange goings-on, not to mention the dreadful thing that happened to poor Sergel, all of those were enough to make me want to leave.”

Nathaniel nodded again. “But you did not, and stayed to help me through the difficulties.”

“You were so calm, even when you were certain the Empire was courting disaster, and so determined to work things out for everyone.” Mydra gave a sheepish grin.

Heather was smiling also. “I heard from my friends who work in some of the other Legations how much people who really count were impressed with what you did in such a short time. I don’t think any of us here really understood all that was going on.”

I hope not, thought the Ecolitan as he listened. I hope not.

“At first,” Mydra went on, “I wondered why no one had been sent to check on you. But that became obvious later on.”

“When you were the one who stayed and picked up the pieces,” added Heather.

“Especially after the bombing and when someone tried to kidnap you,” added Hillary.

“Do what we must.”

“That’s true, Lord Whaler, but we did want you to know that we, all of us on the staff, understand how difficult your job has been and how careful you had to be. We wanted to give you this before you left.” Mydra brought her hand from behind her back and opened it. On her palm was a small black box.

“But…” he protested.

“Go ahead. Open it,” prompted Heather.

“It won’t explode.” Mydra laughed.

He opened the jewelry case gingerly. On the green velvet was a collar pin, done in black and green, a miniature of the formal crest of the Ecolitan Institute.

He studied the pin, realizing that it was not enamel or lacquer, but that the colors came from the depths of the two metals themselves.

“Beautiful…but…I don’t deserve such…such a magnificent…not I…” he stammered.

“Everyone here chipped in,” said Heather.

They had to, and then some, realized the Ecolitan. The pin was solid lustral.

“For doing my duty, I could not accept something like this. Not something so beautiful.”

Mydra gave him an even broader grin. “You can’t refuse it. Gifts of personal jewelry authorized by the Emperor are acceptable. Failure to accept such a gift would amount to an insult to the Imperial Court.”

Nathaniel turned the pin over.

“From the staff, Accord Legation, and from His Imperial Majesty. J.L.M. N’troya, in sincere appreciation.”

A tiny imprint of the Imperial Seal appeared beneath the inscription.

Why would the Emperor add his name in “sincere appreciation”?

“Why would the Emperor…?” he asked out loud.

“That’s the second part of my confession,” admitted Mydra. “That afternoon when you were so depressed, when you were talking about how the Empire didn’t understand Accord and its abilities, and how Accord couldn’t understand how the Empire didn’t understand…”

“Yes?”

“Well…I recorded it. I couldn’t say it the way you did. So I recorded it, and I sent what you said to a friend who has direct access to the Emperor.” She spread her hands. “I know I shouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t have admitted it in public, and if you’d said it straight out, no one would have believed it. And you were so right and so depressed.”

“Don’t be either. Just accept it,” advised Heather.

“We wanted you to have something, and it almost wasn’t ready in time,” added Mydra.

“Go ahead. Pin it on,” insisted Hillary.

He started to, but his fingers felt a meter wide.

“Here,” said Heather, “let me help.”

“Looks good on your blacks,” observed Mydra as Heather stepped back.

“Bet it will go with his greens, too.” That was from Hillary.

“He’s blushing, Mydra. He’s really blushing.” Heather giggled.

Nathaniel shrugged, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the flush that spread across his face.

“What can I say?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” answered Heather. “Just enjoy it.”

“You deserve some recognition, Lord Whaler. I doubt that Legate Witherspoon, Mr. Marlaan, or anyone on Accord will fully understand all you did for them, and the rest of the Empire certainly won’t either.”

The Ecolitan stood there helplessly.

“Come on, ladies. We’ve still got a Legation to run. For once, we’ve left the Envoy speechless.”

All three were smiling self-satisfied smiles as they marched out of his office.

Nathaniel collapsed into his swivel, wondering how much they really knew, and more important, how much anyone else knew. The answers would be largely academic, since the trade agreement revisions had been signed and approved by the Empire, and the House of Delegates wasn’t in the mood for suicide by refusing to hold up Accord’s end.

He switched on the faxnews. One channel was discussing the synde bean shortage. He flicked the selector.

“…in a quiet ceremony at the Indoor Garden, the Emperor signed the new trade agreements with the Accord Coordinate. While observers termed the agreements ‘routine,’ the talks literally exploded earlier this year when the Accord Legation was bombed.

“Although the investigations by the Imperial Intelligence Service and the Ministry of Defense failed to uncover the reasons for the bombings or the individuals involved, the evidence uncovered led to a revamping of the Intelligence Service and the resignations of Lord Rotoller and Lord Mersen from the Commerce Ministry…

“The revised tariff and trade terms are expected to benefit the Imperial transport and microprocessing industries—”

Nathaniel flicked the newsfax program off the console. Time to go. As soon as the Marines arrived, he’d be on his way to the port and the shuttle that would carry him to the Accord courier that waited for him. Three subjective weeks, and two objective days, and he’d be home, along with the agreement to be ratified by the House of Delegates.

He fingered the collar pin, possibly the most expensive personal possession he’d ever owned.

The private circuit on his console chimed. He debated not answering, but touched the plate with his forefinger.

“Lord Whaler.”

The caller was Marcella Ku-Smythe.

“Congratulations, Lord Whaler.”

“The same to you. All is going well with you?”

“I think it will. I’m working with Lord Fergus now, and I learned a lot from watching you.”

Very convenient system, reflected the Ecolitan. Change the figure-heads and leave the structure, with the women still in control.

“You’re leaving soon?” She pointed through the screen toward the bags behind him.

“A short while.”

“I’m very glad I reached you. You know, I’m scheduled for a trip to Accord later on to close down our section of the Imperial Legation in Harmony and to make a final evaluation. Perhaps I could look you up.”

“Anything is possible.”

“And,” she looked straight at Nathaniel, “I expect some explanation of your specialties.”

“My specialties?”

“How to sell nonexistent tariff reductions, for one. I just finished analyzing the final terms. You eliminated the Accord duties on all Imperial microprocessors. Very generous, but how will that help? We can’t compete here on Terra. Then there was the increase in Imperial multichip duties to ten percent. The market is so competitive that nothing less than a fifteen percent rate would offer any real protection. All two hundred plus reductions and changes follow the same pattern.”

She smiled and waited for his response.

“You do me far too much credit. I only followed my instructions to the best of my ability. You are far more expert than I am.”

“Perhaps I am overstating the case. But I really do admire you. There’s always the tendency to underestimate men these days, no matter what we say, no matter what I told you about not underestimating you. But no hard feelings—you did what you had to, and as delicately as possible, all things considered.”

“I fear my understanding is limited.”

“Oh, Lord Whaler, you’re still the cautious one. I can’t blame you. If there was a lot you didn’t know about us, there was more we didn’t bother to look up on you. A senior practicing scholar of the Ecolitan Institute, flawlessly fluent in at least five languages, including Panglais. A man considered one of the brighter economists on Accord and who is a trained military specialist who normally spends an hour a day practicing hand-to-hand combat. No wonder you looked bored and restless! We had it all in the file and didn’t bother to notice the inconsistencies once you blundered in, stumbled over your tongue, and bored the devil out of us all.”

She grinned at him, and there was no mistaking the openness of the humor.

“Before we could figure that out, you make fools out of some very competent security agents, among others, and the media starts asking us very embarrassing questions.

“Lord Whaler, loyal and obtuse, stumbles along trying to explain that ‘he is trying to help,’ but no one is interested. The faxhounds keep asking about bombings, secret agents who failed, jurisdiction, and why the Empire can’t get its act together when Imperial industries are suffering. Now we have a trade agreement which gives the Empire sufficient short-term gains to quiet everyone, while reinforcing Accord’s long-term position and independence.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat. Loudly. “Too kind, much too kind, gracious Lady—”

“And,” Marcella plunged on, “since the treaty doesn’t cost the Empire too much and avoids the possibility of getting involved in another ecological war, no one is about to admit that a bumbling and stumbling Envoy from a third-rate system is really an extraordinarily capable agent from the only independent, first-rate power of a nongovernmental nature. Besides, and this is strictly personal, it serves Janis right.”

The Ecolitan relaxed fractionally. Marcella wasn’t talking about the real military aspects behind the treaty, but she’d definitely picked up on the power of the Institute, which was interesting since most of Accord’s House of Delegates didn’t understand that. And since Marcella didn’t have to bear the final responsibility, as Janis might, she would let things slide.

“I guess that’s it, Lord Whaler. Don’t be too surprised to hear from me.”

The screen blanked.

Nathaniel shook his head.

He supposed he ought to feel sorry for Janis Du-Plessis. She was out-classed by virtually everyone, from Mydra to Marcella to Sylvia, who, in her own quiet way, was the class act of the lot.

Sylvia!

He glanced around the console, then jabbed at the controls, letting his fingers flicker over the keyboard to pick out the information he needed.

He smiled as the screen printed up the answers he was hoping for.

While he waited for the system to dredge up the last responses to the questions he had posed, he looked out again through the wide window, out at the mountains in the distance, at the blue of the sky, and at the thunderclouds piling up over them.

The intercom buzzed.

He ignored it while the screen scripted out the last of the clearances he had requested.

“Whaler,” he muttered, “you’re assuming a lot.”

He shook his head.

“You’re also being impetuous, which is not at all healthy in your line of work.”

Having refused to persuade himself, he committed the clearance numbers and codes to memory, then, as an afterthought, jotted them down on a note sheet, which he folded carefully and placed in his belt pouch.

That done, he stabbed the intercom stud.

“Lord Whaler, the Marine Guard will be arriving shortly.”

“Thank you, Mydra. I’ll let you know the final arrangements shortly.”

He tapped out another number, one he wasn’t supposed to know.

“Ferro-Maine…Lord Whaler!”

“Nathaniel,” he corrected softly, taking in Sylvia’s face, the wide clear gray eyes, and the strand of dark hair dropping over her forehead.

“What…can I do for you?”

“Where are you?”

“At the office…you know that…that’s where you called,” she stammered. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I am. That is, I may be shortly. Please stay where you are, dear Lady.” He grinned happily and broke the connection. On the screen he could see the confusion running across her face as her image faded.

“Mydra, please have my luggage delivered to the shuttle port by the Marines and tell them that I will meet them there.”

“But…Lord Whaler! You can’t do that!”

“Dear Mydra…I have to…but don’t worry. Not this time.”