Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (54 page)

S
TORMS OF BOILING
water, rains of iron droplets swirled around him, tearing through his thoughts, and there was heat and more heat…and dark-haired women running through scalding showers screaming, a blond boy looking up as he shivered into ashes…

Sweat poured off his forehead, searing his skin, and Nathaniel tried to open his eyes, but they failed to respond.

“Easy. Your eyes are pressure-banded in place.” Sylvia’s words echoed in his ears. “Don’t talk. You’ve been through a lot.”

Me? he wanted to ask. What about all those innocents on Tinhorn? Or the junior officers and men? Or the corvette pilots? How many died…how many…?

Finally, he lifted a heavy hand, then shrugged.

“What have you been through? How about partial decompression, or metallic mist in your upper lungs, incidental radiation poisoning, burns across your eyes and face requiring a total regrowth of skin and eyes—that’s why the pressure bands. Toxic systemic poisoning. You almost didn’t make it. Swersa is a very good courier pilot, and the Institute had everything ready. You’ve been under sedation for nearly two standard weeks.”

Nathaniel wanted to shake his head, but feared any motion might jar something loose. His face itched, and so did the top of his shoulders, and his head. Every muscle was stiff—if not totally pummeled out of shape.

“She’s in better shape, but not wonderful, either,” added a second voice, Swersa’s. “She took a heavy dose of radiation dragging you through the passage and lock to the courier.”

“What…”

“Please don’t talk.” A hand—Sylvia’s?—gently covered his mouth.

But what about all the people? What had he done?

“You need to rest,” added Sylvia. “They’re going to put you back under for a while, but you needed to know we made it. Your subconscious won’t struggle so much.”

A cool tingling massaged his arm, and he could feel the relaxation spreading. But there was so much she hadn’t said…so much…

“Oh…and it all worked. The Empire backed away from the war, and we’re helping repair the ecologic damage there. You’re going to look a little different, I’m told, more like one of your ancestors. So don’t be surprised. The screen images show you’ll be just as handsome…in a more exotic way.”

Her fingers were cool on his forehead…cool, even as the images of a boiling planet surged through his thoughts. What had he done?

T
HE
D
IRECTOR LOOKED
down the long and formal conference table. “Perhaps…perhaps…some of you will understand why the I.I.S. has always opposed any conflict with Accord, and particularly with the Ecolitan Institute.”

“They have little regard for human life, that is certain,” murmured the blond on the right at the far end.

“They ought to be tried for war crimes!”

The Director turned to the redhead. “Who do you propose would try them? War crime tribunals are usually something foisted on the loser by the winner.”

“But to let them get away…”

“We’ve already lost ten million, or more. They stopped the Conglomerate and punished them. Do you suggest we take up a war against Accord when we have more than fifty planets that individually contain in excess of four hundred million people? Just how would we protect them? Or do you propose that we attempt to do them one greater and attempt to wipe out all their planets? And what would protect our people in the meantime?”

“They’ll get away with it?”

“Probably,” admitted the Director. “Just like the first users of nuclear weapons in ancient history did. Any other system that has the resources to retaliate—including the remainder of the Conglomerate—still has far more to lose than does Accord.”

After a long silence, a hand lifted at the end of the table.

“Can you tell us how they translated a battlecruiser that close to Tinhorn?”

“They didn’t. From what we can determine, they purchased an obsolete cargo-carrier, loaded it with something of high density, and then accelerated it into Tempte at high sub-light speeds.” The Director paused. “Any other questions?”

“Ten million people…the debris and residue killed ten million people…”

“Correct,” affirmed the Director. “That’s not even a new record. The Empire murdered a mere fifteen million when it destroyed Sligo four hundred years ago. Those who are counting can take consolation in the fact that Accord concluded one of the relatively less-costly interstellar conflicts—and we lost nothing. The Emperor and the Senate should be mightily pleased.”

“How…could anyone do that?” asked the dark-haired assistant director. “How could anyone knowingly murder that many people?”

“I doubt the Institute set out to murder any civilians. They set out to destroy totally an insane military regime. They succeeded. The collateral damage was some of the population on the planet beneath. There is a difference between debris—even large chunks of debris—killing bystanders as a result of a justified military action and targeting civilians directly.”

“I didn’t realize they were that bloody-minded.”

“I don’t think you understand. The Institute, for better or worse, operates on principle. They try to avoid small wars because the costs are disproportionate with no benefits…and they’ll do that by deceit, assassination, or economic warfare. They will try any type of small-scale tactic to avoid war. They always back the right of an indigenous people to their own government, and the right of people to leave. That’s the good side.” The Director paused again. “The other side is that when they do fight, they ensure they don’t have to fight that enemy again. I ask you all. Is it clear, finally, why we have opposed war with Accord?”

“But ten million innocents…?”

“Those ten million were among the hundreds of millions who allowed their government to kill, through indirect biological warfare, more than fifteen million of our people in twenty systems, and another five million in the outsystems. They almost precipitated a war between the Empire and Accord that would have killed who knows how many tens or hundreds of millions more.”

“But the people on Tinhorn didn’t deserve that. They didn’t start a war.”

“They didn’t?” The Director’s voice was cold. “If what the Conglomerate did isn’t considered a war, would you want to be around when they got really serious and started what
they
would call a war?”

“But…ten million civilians?”

“Do you want to tell the senator from Heraculon that it shouldn’t have been done? The death toll there is nearing eight million. We’re going to lose more than ten million ourselves, all told, the Halstanis several million, and associated outsystems another five to eight million from Fuardian ecological efforts. That’s not a war?” The Director’s eyes traversed the table. “That is all…for now.”

W
ERLIN
R
ESTINAL WALKED
up the polished wooden stairs slowly, feeling like a man headed for an execution.

“Do come in, Werlin.” The Prime’s voice was firm, but not exactly welcoming.

The Delegate Minister of Interstellar Commerce and shadow minister for intelligence—since the Charter forbade an official intelligence ministry—stepped into the sparsely furnished office. With the Prime was a slender dark-haired woman, also in Ecolitan greens.

“Werlin, this is Ecolitan Sylvia Ferro-Maine. She was the one teamed with Ecolitan Whaler on the Artos economic study.” The Prime inclined his head to the chairs, and the woman sat immediately.

Restinal sat more slowly, turning toward Ferro-Maine’s thin face. Her cold gray eyes drove right through him. He’d dreaded seeing the Prime again, but Ferro-Maine was somehow worse, and he didn’t know why.

The Prime lifted a thin bound volume. “As Commerce Minister, and in your other capacities, Werlin, you have certainly read this study.”

“Of course, Prime Pittsway.” Restinal’s lips felt dry.

“Minister Restinal, you must have been aware that New Avalon was systematically cutting off capital and technology to Artos. That was obvious on the first day we were there. The Commons certainly needed no study to confirm that.” Ferro-Maine’s voice was cooler than her eyes.

“No…until I read the study, I was not aware of that.”

“Who actually requested the study?”

“I was told of the need for the study by Elder Torine.”

“Who told him?” pursued Ferro-Maine.

“Prime, I must protest…a minister being grilled…” Restinal glanced at Pittsway.

“Werlin, well over twenty million people across the human Galaxy have died in this fiasco. Some of that occurred because you and Torine wanted to protect your precious and precarious government. You can stand a little grilling.” For the first time, an edge appeared in the Prime’s voice. “Do you wish me to announce to the entire Galaxy that your actions began this disaster?”

Restinal looked down momentarily. “I honestly do not know…or I didn’t, for certain.” He paused, more aware than ever that he sat like a rat between two cliff eagles with sharp beaks and even more powerful claws. “Subsequent events led me to believe that Delegate Verlingetti was the one who pushed for the study.”

“Do you know why? Or suspect why?”

Restinal shrugged.

“Werlin,” began the Prime softly, “I am well aware of your other portfolio. Surely, you have employed some of its attributes subsequent to recent events.”

“I’m not certain—”

“Werlin…why don’t you just tell us what you know about Gaetano Verlingetti? Skip the age and marital status, office, and electoral district.”

Restinal glanced from one Ecolitan to the other. Both still resembled hungry and impatient cliff eagles. “Ah…you know about his political career. His only hobbies we know of are boxball and bird-watching. He travels a great deal to note rare species. He’s on the board of a number of foundations on Accord—mostly in the education and political awareness fields. Ah…the Good Government Coalition, FORT—that’s the Foundation for Restoring Traditions—the Business Support Fund…”

“They all contain politically aware and active individuals, I assume?” asked Ferro-Maine.

“Oh, very politically aware and active.”

“And financially solvent, too,” added the Prime. “Does Verlingetti solicit for them?”

Restinal wanted to wipe his forehead, but did not. “That is not certain.”

“What is certain, Werlin?”

“Contributions to their efforts have increased since he joined their boards.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of contributions?”

“All kinds. Businesses like Flinsew and AgriTech, wealthy individuals like Linsin and Bastien…”

“Why would Verlingetti be interested in an economic study on Artos? His interests are all linked to Accord and public policy and ecology matters here in the Coordinate.” Ferro-Maine’s eyes were hard as she watched Restinal.

“We…I don’t know, Ecolitan. It might have been a political ploy. We were in a difficult position. Elder Quaestor suggested that with Ecolitan Whaler’s status, he might consider a study beneath him…after the trade agreement. The implication was that the government…thought helping a smaller outsystem was beneath us.”

“And you swallowed that?”

Restinal shrugged. “What harm could an economic infrastructure study do? Who pays any attention to economics?”

“As opposed to a charge of running an arrogant and highhanded government that cuts deals with the Empire and ignores small systems who have nothing to offer?” asked the Prime.

Restinal nodded.

“Can you add anything else about the study?” asked Ferro-Maine. “Why did Elder Torine agree?”

“He said he couldn’t see any harm in an economic study.”

Restinal did wipe his forehead, as the questions continued, seemingly endlessly.

N
ATHANIEL SHIFTED HIS
weight in the inclined hospital bed and adjusted the lightweight dark goggles that protected his eyes. Lightweight or not, they tended to dig into his nose and cheeks. Sylvia had said she would be back—but not when. Why had the Prime wanted her this time? Then, while he’d been recovering, Sylvia had been spending a lot of time with Pittsway.

“Jealous…?” he murmured to himself. Why? It was clear she loved Nathaniel, both from actions and words. “Insecure?” Definitely. He wasn’t the dashing effective Ecolitan, just an invalid, and he hated being an invalid. Especially one with too much time on his hands to brood.

The nightmares continued—boiling rain, screaming people, and various other imaginary, yet realistic scenarios—and he had few doubts that they would continue for a long time. Yet…given all the circumstances, what else could he have done to guarantee that the Conglomerate’s evils were stopped?

“Great—create an evil, larger evil…” His head turned at the faint click.

The door opened, and Sylvia—and the Prime—slipped inside, but not before Nathaniel saw the guards that had accompanied them.

“Guards…oh, of course.”

“I can no longer afford to travel unaccompanied,” said the Prime in a humorously dry tone, “now that my anonymity has been destroyed.” He gestured toward the inert trideo set in the corner. “They’re just about everywhere, and I understand that some faxcasters are flocking in from across the entire Galaxy. To get a profile on the leader of the most villainous Institute in human history.”

“I’m sorry…oh, sorry, is such…what does it mean? You didn’t do it, Prime. I did. I took the ship—”

“Ecolitan,” interrupted Pittsway, firmly, but not harshly, “I told you to make contingency plans. I ensured that the Secession plan for the Old Earth mission was in those briefing books. I ordered you to take whatever steps you thought necessary. And I told you not to take half-measures. Did I not?”

“Yes, sir. But I was the one—”

“You were the one to follow orders. That’s correct. And you will pay for that…in due time. You will always share in that responsibility, and I could not lift that from either of you. Nor would I, nor will I. At the moment, however, we have an even more immediate problem, and that is to determine who on Accord facilitated the Conglomerate’s efforts.” He smiled sardonically. “We just finished an intriguing, but highly inconclusive interview with Werlin Restinal that sheds more light, but not more proof, on the situation.”

“And our study,” added Sylvia, “which was a setup, plain and simple. We suspected that, but Restinal confirmed as much.”

“This just wasn’t someone trying to uncover—” began Nathaniel.

“No,” said Sylvia. “The study was designed to cover up what really happened by tying the Institute to the bean plague and the rebellion on Artos.”

“Well…there was a rebellion,” pointed out Nathaniel.

“It didn’t turn out quite the way most people planned, either,” added Sylvia. “I can’t imagine Camelot likes the idea of a Frankan system there.”

The Prime looked toward the door and cleared his throat. “That can wait…for now.”

Sylvia nodded.

“Then where did the study fit? Why did it trigger everything?” asked Nathaniel. “Did you find out who wanted the study—for real?”

“Quaestor’s number two, one Delegate Verlingetti,” answered Sylvia.

Nathaniel turned. “He’s the one who placed Spamgall.”

“I told the Prime. We were supposed to get killed, and then the bean plague that had already started on Artos would be linked to us, and the Institute.”

“And another seed would have been planted discrediting the Institute.” Nathaniel wanted to shake his head at the inadvertent pun. “And strengthening the Empire’s resolve to take military action.”

“That would have also discredited Elder Torine and the Normists,” pointed out Pittsway. “Because they would have been tagged as the Institute’s lackeys. That would have caused the government to fall, and Quaestor and Verlingetti and the Orthodoxists would have taken over.”

“But why did Torine go with the suggestion? Or Restinal?”

“We don’t know, but I can surmise,” said the Prime. “Torine respects the Institute. His hold on the House is too fragile to survive the next election, but he knows that the Institute usually delivers. So he had nothing to lose. He gambled on agreeing to it.”

“Verlingetti?” prompted Nathaniel.

“That is interesting. He and Quaestor had to know that they stood a good chance of winning the elections, but they worried that Torine might pull something out of a wormhole.” The Prime frowned. “This is speculation now, but I surmise that was the way Verlingetti suggested the idea of the study to Quaestor.”

“There’s more.” Sylvia turned to the Prime.

“After you left, I put a team on the bean plague,” added the Prime. “I’ve followed their progress, and we’ve got a couple of resistant strains. But it’s a nasty bug, one that’s there’s no effective remedy for, once it hits an area. All you can do is replace the beans with the resistant strains. There’s already a resistant strain out there, and we’ve tracked it back from Camelot…”

“Through an outfit called AgriTech.” Sylvia’s eyes were bright. “Which has a small office in Harmony.”

“Who sold out?”

“We can’t prove it yet, but it seems clear that Verlingetti somehow got access to someone who could develop the bean plague and later, maybe even access to plague-resistant synde beans. What about Dr. Hiense?” asked Sylvia.

The Prime nodded. “Once you mentioned the contact, I had it followed up. There’s nothing there—not directly. Hans Hiense is a noted authority on post-planoforming adjustments, but not on plant genetics. He’s considered one of the best anywhere. The same contract for fifty years. Three children—all with the Institute, all with outstanding records. Liu Hiense is a martial arts instructor—applied hand-to-hand.” Pittsway smiled.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hiense and Verlingetti play boxball twice a week—regularly. But that’s all.”

“That might be enough,” mused Sylvia, “at least to give Verlingetti an idea of who else to subvert.”

“I thought so, too. We’re still checking. There are also some credit transfers from AgriTech to several foundations, and all of them have Verlingetti on the board.”

“That sounds like an Imperial intrigue,” Nathaniel protested. “Accord isn’t like that.”

“Accord isn’t a come-lately society,” pointed out Sylvia, “no matter how much you claim that it is. It might have been when your ancestor took on the Empire, but that was four hundred years ago, and from what all cubes and tapes I’ve had to digest—”

“Sorry.”

“—It’s been even more stable than the Empire. Stability always leads to intrigue.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Nathaniel.

“Take a trick out of your bag, dear.” Sylvia smiled. “We’re going to hold a conference for the media to lay all of this to rest. The Prime has persuaded the top four officers of the House of Delegates, on both sides of the aisle, plus Commerce Minister Restinal, to be on the panel with him to answer all the media questions.”

“They agreed?”

“Not exactly willingly,” admitted the Prime. “But I was able to persuade them that Accord could not afford internal dissention and squabbling at a time when much of the Galaxy would like an excuse to incinerate or otherwise remove us, and that we needed to get this behind us and provide a united front.”

Nathaniel didn’t even want to guess at the methods of persuasion.

“It really wasn’t that difficult,” said Pittsway softly, “since I could say to Elder Torine that it was clear he had personally done nothing wrong.”

“Stupid, but not wrong,” agreed Sylvia.

“And how will a media conference resolve this mess? All we have is speculation and logic—no real proof at all,” pointed out Nathaniel.

“If we’re correct,” continued the Prime. “The media conference tomorrow will resolve everything.”

“And if we’re not?”

“Then…things will get resolved in another way, one not necessarily in our best interests.”

“We take the fall?”

“Ecolitan Whaler,” said the Prime somberly, “the Institute will always take the responsibility. The only question is whether we are perceived as thoughtful and responsible killers or weapons-addicted, unstable idiots. That is what tomorrow is all about. For the moment, for the next several days, I only ask that you remain silent about anything you may have done after you completed the economic study on Artos. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir…but…”

“I promise you that I will explain, openly and publicly, and that there will be no evasions, no justifications. The Institute must face this with a responsible, united position. If, after I have acted, you feel that I have not acted ethically and responsibly in any fashion whatsoever, you will be in a position to take any actions your conscience dictates.” The Prime rose and nodded toward Sylvia. “Time is short, and I have much to accomplish.”

Sylvia rose.

“No. You two spend some time together. Try to enjoy it. Such moments get fewer as life demands more of us.” A smile creased his face, and his eyes carried the same warmth for a moment. Then he slipped out.

Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed, bent down, and kissed Nathaniel’s cheek. “He’s right.”

“He’s always right.” The Ecolitan shook his head slowly. “Once…I thought I might like being Prime. Then you discover…I don’t know. I just don’t know…”

“We will have time to think about it.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.” Her voice was low. “A long time.”

He put his arms around her, and she leaned back, her cheek against his, in the dimness of the hospital room.