Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (44 page)

“His office is the third down, but he is not there. I believe he has returned to Clava for several weeks.” Sonderssen looked at the door. “It has been pleasant seeing you once more.”

“And you, too,” lied Nathaniel.

Sylvia offered a slight bow, which the trade factor returned.

Fridrik VonHalsne was not only absent, his office was closed and locked.

“Not good,” murmured Sylvia.

“Not at all. So…was it Sonderssen or Sebastion or Kennis that put the touch on Oconnor?”

“What do you think?”

“Sebastion. I think he told Oconnor that he’d never see another cent from the growers or the big ag interests if he said a single meaningful word to us. That’s only a guess.”

“I’d have to second that, but it’s only feel.”

“What a pair! Guesses and feelings, and the sky’s about to fall.”

“At least we know that.”

They exchanged wry smiles.

Port Chief Walkerson was waiting by the groundcar when the Ecolitans returned. “Things are getting nasty, Whaler. You didn’t catch your boat ride with one of the FitzReillys, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, we did. Why?”

“Someone just fired their barge this morning while they were loading. They were both killed, and it’s a flaming mess—raw synde oil in the river, a grass fire…” He shook his head. “Sebastion Reeves-Kenn denies being involved, but he claims that it’s a blessing in disguise, that the pods carried this synde bean plague. He says it’s been ravaging the Imperial planets, and even Halstan. You know anything about that?”

Nathaniel pursed his lips. Synde bean plague on Artos? How had it ever gotten across four sectors?

“You look like you know something.”

“Oh…I do. There’s been a bean plague in the Empire—Heraculon, as I recall—but I couldn’t figure how it could get here, and none of the plants I saw looked diseased, although I wouldn’t know one plant disease from another.”

“Well…Sebastion wants me to set Oconnor on it, and quarantine the small growers’ fields. He was almost screaming.”

Nathaniel shook his head. Now what?

“And by the way, old chap, just for the record, where have you been today?”

“We spent most of the morning at the biomonitoring station—or going to it and returning. We had a long discussion with Dr. Oconnor.” Whaler didn’t mention the visit to Sonderssen’s small office, or the attempt to see VonHalsne, although Walkerson could certainly see where they had been.

“Good. Good. Terrible business, this. Do you two know anything more about this?”

“The FitzReilly woman told us that they carried cargoes for both the small growers and beef for R-K Enterprises. She said that the larger haulers overcharged the small growers.”

“That’s all?”

“We got a lot of information on barge traffic patterns and capacities.”

“Port Chief,” added Sylvia, “you might remember that we had walked some fifteen kays before we found the barge, and it was the end of a long day. We collapsed and slept most of the trip back to Lanceville.”

“Right…forgot about that. Well…let me know if you think of anything.” He paused. “Are you sure you don’t know more about this bean plague thing?”

“Walker,” said Nathaniel tiredly, “I told you. I’m an economist. I wouldn’t know one plant disease from another.”

“Well, I had to ask.”

The Ecolitan just nodded.

“Now what?” asked Sylvia, as Walkerson marched back toward his office.

“We might as well get something to eat. Bagot needs it, and so do we.”

They needed more than that, but a solid late lunch was a start.

N
ATHANIEL SLIPPED INTO
the bed in the darkness.

“Not again,” whispered Sylvia. “We talked over everything before.”

“You know I think we need to get out of here while it’s still relatively safe and possible. Do you think I’m overreacting?” He touched her shoulder.

“Yes, but you’re male.” Then she giggled and whispered. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist, and I don’t mean that the way you think.”

“How did…do—”

“After four attempts on our lives, is anywhere safe?”

“New Avalon is likely to be safer than it will be here, once open fighting breaks out.”

“You don’t think this is really a fight between the large and small growers, do you?” She twisted, and her lips brushed his ear. “Really?”

He tried not to shiver, and forced himself to concentrate on his words, not her warmth and closeness. “It is, but they haven’t all the resources they need. Sebastion’s as worried about Kennis as he is the small growers. I think the outsystem types who do have the resources don’t want to complicate things at the moment. They’d rather pick up the pieces. That’s what I’m gambling on. Things will have to get messy. New Avalon won’t want to spend the credits…so they’ll get messier.”

“And then someone will step in with their snow-white ships of mercy, so to speak?” Her hand massaged the back of his neck, and he tried to resist the impulse to draw her closer.

“I believe that’s the agenda. So the sooner—and safer—we can get to New Avalon, the better our chances to head this off.”

“I thought you—we—were here to do a study. Not in my bed, either.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to talk this over.”

“That’s not all you want.”

“No. But I’m not asking or insisting on anything else.” He took a long slow, quiet breath.

“Stop puffing in my ear.”

“Sorry.” He swallowed. “We will do the study, but…we’re also here to stop what could turn into a mess, with the Institute being blamed for it all.”

“You’re stretching.” Sylvia shook her head, close enough to his face that he could smell the trilia…and her. “Just how does this impact Accord and the Institute?”

“Someone wants the study. We show up. A revolt or something starts. The bodies of two Institute members are found. One has a nasty reputation, and the other is a former I.I.S. agent. Whoever’s behind this then accuses New Avalon of throwing in with the ecologic butchers of Accord and the Empire, and uses that to justify liberating the poor oppressed small folks.”

“You really think people will fall for that?”

“Smart people won’t, but there aren’t many of them in any society, and politicians live by the numbers.” He found his hand massaging her shoulder and moving downward. “Besides, rationality is usually only used to develop logical arguments to support existing beliefs and prejudices.”

“You are cynical.”

“Realistic,” he whispered.

“About some things.”

“We’ll also not tell Walkerson until we have to.”

“That’s realistic,” she conceded.

“Very realistic.”

Her fingers ran along his cheek. “Things are going to get worse.”

“Probably.”

“I think so, too.” Then her lips were on his.

A
T THE RAPPING
on the door, Nathaniel crossed the room from the fresher wearing his greens but still barefoot.

“Who’s that?” Sylvia peered through the connecting door. She was already fully dressed, so efficient that he felt sluggish.

He shrugged and said in a low voice, “I don’t know.” Then he raised his voice: “Yes?”

“A call for you from the Port Authority, sir.”

“I’ll be right there.” He sat in the chair and yanked on socks and boots.

“The Port Chief said it was urgent.”

“Just a moment,” whispered Sylvia. “Hold it a moment.” She vanished through the door.

He frowned, but waited, then stepped to the side of the door, before starting to edge it open.

Thrummm!
A line of fire seared his lower right arm.

Even as he kicked the door shut, he could hear another dull thump, then quiet. Waves of pain radiated up his right arm, and he paused to take a deep breath before easing back toward the door.

“You can open it now.” Sylvia’s voice came through the heavy wood clearly. “I got her.”

With his left hand, he pushed the lever handle down and opened the door. Sylvia stood above the limp figure of the serving woman in green-and-maroon tunic and green trousers. The dark-haired Ecolitan lifted a stunner and smiled at Nathaniel. “It’s Imperial issue, set pretty far up.”

“I know.” He massaged his lower right arm with his left for a moment. “Let’s get her inside.”

“Good idea.” Sylvia slipped the stunner into her waistband, and they dragged the woman into Nathaniel’s room and laid her flat on the floor.

He watched closely as Sylvia locked the doors of both their rooms, but the woman still seemed unconscious. He began to search the woman, starting with the bulge in a capacious hip pocket.

He lifted the small, flat slug-thrower. “Another toy.”

“Stunners work better through doors or at odd angles.”

“And this was meant to finish the job.”

“Maybe…”

He straightened. The woman carried nothing else of import, except the groundcar placard that he set on the table. Somehow he couldn’t see a weapon being concealed in the tube of lip gloss or the package of tissues.

“Quite a wake-up call,” Sylvia observed, settling into one of the straight-backed chairs.

Nathaniel set the slug-thrower on the table next to the placard, sat on the edge of his bed, and looked down at the Artosan woman, then at Sylvia. He massaged his throbbing right arm. “Forest lord—I should have seen.”

“You were meant not to. Who pays any attention to servants, especially in a GraeAnglo culture? Especially to women servants. And she figured you’d probably be less alert this morning.” Sylvia’s lips tightened. “I don’t like voyeurs.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not your fault.” Her expression softened momentarily. “I don’t regret last night. If anything, this just shows I was right. But I don’t have to like people watching.” She paused and glanced toward the door. “The question is, now what do we do with her?”

“I can handle that.” The older Ecolitan fumbled out the miniature dart gun.

“Murder—that’s not—even for this.”

“No.” Nathaniel said. “The darts have a mild nerve toxin—mimics some forms of influenza, the violent ones. You may recall these. She’ll have seizures and a pretty significant memory loss for today and maybe yesterday.”

“This isn’t another case of ‘trust me,’ is it?”

He winced. “I deserve that. No. All the ones I used darts on while I was on New Augusta recovered—except for several days of memories.” He paused. “We must be close to something. I just wish I could see it.”

“We really still haven’t discovered anything. We don’t know for sure who’s behind the attempts on our lives, or why everyone’s so threatened by this stupid study, or why there’s an arms buildup and civil unrest on a planet with nothing on it.”

For a moment, he just sat there, thinking about four attempts on their lives. Thinking about the fact that he’d walked around Lanceville totally exposed, that he’d been exposed when he’d gone to find Sylvia just before he’d left New Augusta, thinking about the dark-metalled slug-thrower on the table.

“Oh…no.” How could he have missed it? How could he have been so self-centered? He wanted to pound his head. He swallowed and looked at Sylvia. While he knew she wasn’t, that she was tougher in many ways than he was, she looked somehow…vulnerable.

“What?” Her eyebrows lifted in a gesture of annoyance and amusement.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re going to apologize for last night again…I told you—”

He shook his head. “I think you and I have misjudged all of this. Or I have. I really did. Kennis What’s-his-name was the key, but I should have seen it sooner.”

“Seen what?”

“Someone’s after you. They have been all along, but I was included so that we wouldn’t realize that. Ecolitans like me are dangerous, but we don’t really know anything. You’re knowledgeable, and you still presumably have access to Imperial sources, and someone definitely doesn’t want you to use them. I’m just a target to cover the fact that they’re after you.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I don’t know that much.”

“You do. You have to, because…I can’t explain it totally logically, but they’re after you. That’s why the stunner. A message for you wouldn’t have been plausible.”

“Maybe it does make sense.”

“It makes very good sense, and so many people could want us out of the way that it’ll be hard to eliminate suspects. We need to get out of here even faster. Confined as it is, orbit control would be better because whoever it is won’t want to take out a whole station…yet.”

He lifted the dart gun and fired into the slumped figure.

“What…?”

“I’ve been telling you my speculations, and I don’t want her remembering it, even subconsciously. I’ll tell you as we pack.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Trying to ignore the throbbing in his arm, as well as the voice in his head that kept reminding him that he’d been stupid, he managed to lay out his field pack on the bed and slowly fold his clothes.

Sylvia dumped all her clothing on the other side of his bed, then brought in her own field pack and the datacase.

“Oooohh…” The serving woman moaned, and then twitched.

Sylvia glanced down.

“I didn’t say it was painless, but neither is my arm.”

“You can move it?”

“It hurts.”

She shook her head. “Most people couldn’t function with that kind of nerve pain.”

“I don’t have much choice.” He rubbed his forehead—damp—and then resumed folding his clothes, slowly.

“What’s the event horizon?” Sylvia asked. “The real issue?”

“It’s got to be the Three System Bulge. It belonged to the Empire until the Secession, and then the Fuards took it and fortified it, but it’s a dagger at the side of the Empire. If Artos falls to the Empire, then that flanks the bulge, and the Fuards are paranoid anyway. Artos is on the end of the Avalonian drift, and not much use to Camelot, but would strengthen either the Hegemony’s position or the Union’s. And to complicate matters more, the Empire doesn’t want any of the three to have Artos, I’m sure. So…if our study and investigations reveal that Camelot is effectively capital-starving Artos, the ArchTories—or someone, because I’m guessing at the internal politics—are going to suffer because the Empire will put the screws on New Avalon to beef up Artos to keep it strong and inside New Avalon. That’s where you come in. You could ensure the report gets to the right people, and that they believe it. More important, from your point of view and safety, someone believes you’re here to ensure the Empire’s interests.”

“It could look that way.” Sylvia paused. “If they think that we’re a joint Imperial/Accord team…”

“They want us removed. Exactly.”

“You’re convinced that most Avalonian politicians would quietly let Artos go?” Sylvia closed her pack, and then stepped up beside Nathaniel, folding his remaining set of greens. “I can do this faster.”

“No. They’d wail and wring their hands and moan and complain loudly—but can you imagine them going to war over a single colony outsystem against the Hegemony, the Conglomerate, or even the Frankan Union? So…unless I’m missing something and unless we can be very successful on New Avalon, there’s going to be a disaster here. Invasion, starvation, plague, rebellion, a declaration of ‘independence’ backed by Kennis’s private army, or all of the above.”

“And we can’t do anything here?”

He shook his head. “With what? Either of us could assassinate Kennis. That would just allow Sebastion to do the same thing, and he would, and then the small growers would really revolt. If we removed Sebastion, then…”

“Kennis takes over with his private army and fights it out with them, and then the Federated Hegemony, the Union, or the Fuards bring in fleets and light up the sky.”

“And what will the Grand Admiral do at that point?”

Sylvia winced.

“Add to that two dead Ecolitans, one tied to the I.I.S., and the Empire is effectively neutralized—at least long enough for Artos to fall.”

“It could be worse than that,” mused Sylvia as Nathaniel closed his field pack.

“Oh?” He rubbed his forehead, then reached out and pocketed the ignition placard for the groundcar.

“The fish kills and the synde bean plague—that screams to the Galaxy that Accord is trying to weaken the Empire on all fronts, even using an economic study to foment rebellion in another area that would weaken the Empire. Without you and me around to get the real message across, what will the Senate do? What can they do but bring some sort of force against Accord?”

“Which means they won’t have forces near New Avalon and Artos.”

“Which will make an outside takeover of Artos rather easy.” Sylvia gestured toward the door. “I suppose we’re going to steal a groundcar?”

“I prefer the term ‘borrow.’” The sandy-haired Ecolitan shouldered his field pack. “Anyway, all this leaves one nagging question. Why in creation did the Institute and Accord ever get sucked into doing the study? What did New Avalon promise the House of Delegates? Or vice versa?”

“That’s one reason—”

“We’re going to Camelot. You’ve got it.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Do you know why? I cut you off.”

“No…and thank you.” She leaned closer to him and kissed his cheek.

Nathaniel opened the door gingerly. The corridor was empty, but his pack was over his right shoulder, and the dart gun back in his left hand. Sometimes it was a real advantage to be left-handed, although he was as close to ambidextrous as training could make him.

“You’re going to leave her?” Sylvia glanced back at the slightly twitching figure on the rug. “And the slug-thrower?”

“Why not? Even if no one finds her, she’ll be all right. Besides, my arm hurts. And we couldn’t get a metal weapon through the detectors.”

As they passed the foyer, Nathaniel nodded to the room to the left. “Would you duck in there and call Vivienne? Suggest that the weather’s likely to be cold and that she and Geoffrey should consider a short vacation at some warm place—off Artos—without saying it directly? Would you mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind, and that makes sense. Just a moment.”

Nathaniel scanned the area, ears alert as well, but no one appeared until Sylvia popped out of the small office.

“She was most gracious, and said that they had considered such a vacation, perhaps on one of the tropical islands on Altours.” Sylvia opened the front Guest House door for Nathaniel.

“Frankan…that figures. The groundcar ought to be on the side. Can you drive?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

The mottled gray groundcar tucked up beside a nondescript bush made Pyotr’s taxi look like a luxury model.

“You can pick transport.” Sylvia laughed.

“At least we’re driving, or you are.”

The field packs went in the flat space behind the front bench seat—there was no rear seat, just a flat slab of stained blue plastic.

Clouds of dark gray smoke billowed from the rattling engine as Sylvia eased the vehicle onto the lane out to the main highway, and the entire body of the groundcar shuddered.

Another heavy-cargo lorry rumbled past, empty and heading for Lanceville.

“More equipment being unloaded?” Sylvia turned right and headed west for the shuttle port.

“Probably.”

“You’re sure there’ll be a shuttle today?” asked Sylvia.

“There’s a Hegemony vessel due today, and a Frankan one late tomorrow. That’s a little strange, too. Bagot was talking about how few ships there usually are.”

“More than a few things are a little strange.”

“How true,” mused Nathaniel.

Sylvia stopped the borrowed groundcar right at the entrance to the Port Authority offices. “We can leave this here?”

“Of course. Chief Walkerson will certainly know what to do with it.”

They both laughed, even as their eyes scanned the area before they entered the building.

Bagot looked up as the two, field packs on shoulders, entered the outer office.

“Is Chief Walkerson in, Bagot?”

“Ah…yes.”

“Good. He put in a call for us, so I’m sure he’ll be expecting us.”

Furrowed brows revealed the driver’s puzzlement, but by then Nathaniel had his hand on the inner office door.

Sylvia bestowed a dazzling smile on the driver. “Take good care of Anne-Leslie, and listen to her. She has good judgment.” She entered the inner office and clicked the door closed behind her.

“What are—” began the Port Chief.

“We’re returning your call of this morning in person,” Nathaniel announced.

“Ah…my call?”

“Perhaps we were mistaken, but we got a message that you’d called. Then one of the staff started firing a stunner at me.” Nathaniel offered a broad and false smile. “So we decided to return the call in person.”

“Stunners? That’s preposterous.”

Sylvia held up the weapon. “It’s even Imperial issue. We left the slug-thrower behind on the table. I’d bet it’s Imperial issue, too.”

“It’s amazing,” added the other Ecolitan. “Artos is so tech-poor, can’t even manufacture its own groundcars, yet all these weapons keep showing up. And there’s not an Imperial on the planet, but all the weapons come from the Empire.”