Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (55 page)

N
ATHANIEL WATCHED THE
holo images in the corner of the darkened hospital room. He’d always been a day person, but he wondered if that would last with the sensitivity of his eyes to intense light. He’d start to find out when he was released within the next few days, according to the doctors.

He’d also start to discover if he could sleep better, and with fewer nightmares. He shook his head.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself…you did it…no one else…” His eyes went back to the holo images.

The faxers centered on Gairloch Pittsway as he rose from where he sat behind the center of the table. The hologram image seemed to fill the corner of the hospital room.

“Before we open the conference to questions from the media, as Prime Ecolitan, I have a brief statement to make.” The white-haired Prime surveyed the unseen faxcasters and reporters and who knew who else, then cleared his throat and spoke directly, without notes, without hesitation.

“This conference is not being held to allow those responsible to point fingers elsewhere. Nor is it held to allow a parade of excuses. Nor is it being held to justify actions. The plain fact is that as Prime Ecolitan of the Ecolitan Institute of Accord, I directed that certain actions be taken to forestall what I determined could lead to Galacticwide war. At the time I took those actions, tens of millions of individuals across the human Galaxy had died or were dying from what I determined was the onset of biological warfare undertaken by the Conglomerate. I did not delegate, nor did I debate. I acted to stop what I believed and still believe would have been an even greater human tragedy. And yes, I also acted to preserve the Coordinate.

“Whether the circumstances would have led to a larger war no one will ever know. Because those circumstances have been drastically changed, no one can know. I determined that actions were necessary, and I am responsible for those actions. Some Ecolitans have died, and others were critically injured. The entire command structure of the Fuardian military and roughly ten million individuals in the Conglomerate have perished as a result of my decisions and actions. It was my decision, and I stand on that decision.”

The silence was absolute—but not for long.

“Prime Ecolitan, how can you possibly justify
any
action that caused the death of ten million civilians, no matter what the provocation?”

Pittsway’s eyes went to the unseen questioner. “I am not trying to justify that action. I made the decision on the basis of the information I had. It is my responsibility. This is not the forum for debating justifications or morality. But in the interests of laying that issue to rest, I will answer the question—once. When people invoke morality in these issues, they haven’t the faintest idea what they really mean. The most moral action would have been to take out the entire Fuardian High Command ten years ago, before twenty million people died across a hundred systems. Such an action would scarcely be considered moral. When people talk about morality in interstellar politics, what they really mean is justification. It may be justified that I ordered an action that killed ten million civilians because twenty million had already been killed. Justification is not morality. The only moral aspect is that the action I ordered prevented millions more deaths and a Galactic war.” The Prime bowed slightly. “The remainder of the conference is devoted to factual questions. Next?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Are you saying you do not have to justify your high-handed actions?”

“No. I am saying that any action which creates deaths can be debated endlessly as to its justifications. Justification is always after the fact, and, in that sense, is largely irrelevant. I gave the orders. Some people lived who would not have, and others died. For both the living and the dead, I am responsible. Next?”

“You are going to stand here and refuse—”

“I’m not going to debate whys and wherefores today. I’m responsible. No one else is. I’d like the next
factual
question please.”

The hospitalized Ecolitan smiled grimly. Pittsway was what a Prime should be.

“Some analysts have suggested that the attack on Tempte was designed to placate the Empire, rather than a response to a real threat. Would you comment on that?”

“Distribution of the synde bean plague has been traced to a Conglomerate-controlled outlet, as noted in the background materials distributed a short time ago. All Fuard planets began growing and harvesting plague-resistant beans more than a year ago. Deaths in the Empire and other outsystems are nearing twenty million people. Materials implicating the Conglomerate in this and other associated efforts have surfaced in at least three other independent systems. I seriously doubt that the Institute could persuade the Matriarch, for example, to reveal such information were it not so.”

A faint laugh echoed through the hall.

“Analysts also suggest that a battlecruiser was used. The Institute has claimed it has no battlecruisers. Could you clarify that?”

“A large cargo-carrier was employed, filled with high-mass cargo. The total mass was greater than that of a battlecruiser. The Institute does not have, nor has it ever had a battlecruiser. Next?”

“Who was the pilot?”

“Until the next of kin of all those involved have been notified, names will not be released. In any case, the names are irrelevant, since they carried out my direct orders. Next?”

The predictable questions continued as Nathaniel watched and listened. The Prime remained cool under the glare of what had to be hot lighting and pressure.

“Are you claiming that a mere cargo ship…?”

“Were the trade negotiations merely a pretext…?”

“What effect will this have on outsystem relations…?”

“How can other systems trust the Coordinate after this terrible disaster…?”

Abruptly, the Prime held up his hand. “The questions for me are rehashing those already asked. I would suggest that you now ask any questions that you might have of the elected Delegates.”

The images almost jerked to pan down the line of Delegates, showing the ascetic Quaestor, the hearty-looking Torine, a sad-faced Werlin Restinal, and a thin-faced—almost ferret-faced—Delegate who sipped from a glass of water a slender Ecolitan—Sylvia?—had placed at his right hand. The name plate before him read
Delegate Gaetano Verlingetti
.

Nathaniel peered forward before the images shifted back toward Torine. Sylvia? In plain greens, with the darker green stripe of a support staff?

“Elder Torine, the briefing materials indicated that much of the Conglomerate war plot was discovered through a study commissioned by the House of Delegates. Is this true?”

Torine cleared his throat. “So far as the House leadership can determine, that is correct.”

“Who suggested this study, sir?”

Torine coughed, shifted his weight before answering. “Both Elder Quaestor and I had discussed this.”

“Elder Quaestor, why did you think such a study might be necessary?”

Quaestor shifted his weight as well under the glare of the lights. “While I would like to claim forethought—all politicians would—I assure you, I cannot. The idea surfaced because…we were seeking an opening with the new government of New Avalon…possibly for agricultural and technological-transfer development trade on Artos. Such trade would not make sense if the need were not there, and a study—an impartial study—was necessary.”

“It’s been said that Delegate Verlingetti actually suggested the study?”

“He did bring it to my attention.”

The images shifted again, moving in on Verlingetti.

“Delegate Verlingetti, could you explain why you approached Elder Quaestor and suggested that the Institute conduct the economic study that apparently led to the Tinhorn…disaster?”

Nathaniel swallowed as Verlingetti opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Delegate Verlingetti?”

A panicked look crossed the man’s face.

“Verificants…” murmured Nathaniel. Sylvia had dumped fidelitrol into Verlingetti’s water, just as she once had to his drink—at a time that seemed so long ago.

“Was the Conglomerate involved with your suggesting the study?”

A slight flutter and sighing intruded over the unseen questioner’s words before he finished.

“We…were approached by the Conglomerate. They had…an agreement with the ArchTories, but the ArchTory government…fell…before the agreement could be broached or implemented.”

“Why would you consider an agreement with the Conglomerate? What would you gain personally…”

Verlingetti glanced helplessly into the lights, then stammered, “The leadership of the House of Delegates…”

“Would you explain that?”

Verlingetti bolted upright and started to move across the table behind the podium.

At the end of the table, Elder Quaestor buried his head in his hands.

The one set of images vanished, immediately replaced by the image of a young man at a console, a smile plastered on his face.

“The remainder of the conference here in Harmony has been closed to the media and public. We return you to our normal programming.”

The hospitalized Ecolitan shook his head slowly, hoping that Verlingetti’s inadvertent truth-telling would be enough to ensure the media followed the story to its true end.

After what he’d seen of human nature, he wasn’t certain…but he could hope. That and wait for Sylvia to return.

In the meantime, the sooner the hospital doctors declared him well, the better…nightmares or not.

T
HE WOODEN DOOR
of the Institute hospital opened, and Sylvia stepped inside, followed by the trim, silvered-haired Prime, who closed the heavy door behind him with a firm
click.

“What happened after they closed the conference?” blurted Nathaniel.

“What would you expect?” Gairloch Pittsway smiled crookedly and stepped toward the window, looking out into the late afternoon for a moment before turning back to Nathaniel and Sylvia. “Verlingetti is claiming he was drugged, and the media wants to know why he’s opposed to telling the truth. Quaestor’s insisting he didn’t know, and Torine’s saying nothing. Neither is Restinal.”

Nathaniel squinted slightly as he looked toward the Prime and the window. The doctors had told him he’d always be sensitive to bright lights, and that the sensitivity would probably increase with age. He hoped the nightmares of boiling planets wouldn’t…but he supposed he deserved those.

“The media has already figured out that Verlingetti was trying a literal coup and they’re chasing him, and Quaestor for being his dupe,” added Sylvia.

“Do you think Torine wanted the study done because he wanted us to discover the ties between Verlingetti and the Fuards?”

“We don’t know that for certain,” said the Prime. “But if he did know, Torine couldn’t have revealed what he knew because, first, he got the information by less than ethical means, and second, because the Institute is regarded as impartial. If we revealed the connection, then the Normists could take advantage in the upcoming elections. If Torine had to suggest that, then it would have been an unfounded political charge.”

Nathaniel winced. “He was willing to start a war, rather than lose an election?”

“What else is new?” asked Sylvia. “That’s been going on since humans were all clustered back on Old Earth, and before probably.”

“I hate to mention this…but verificants aren’t legally accepted…”

“They don’t have to be. With a statement appearing in everyone’s house, the media will take it from here. Or Quaestor will, to save what’s left of the Orthodoxists.” The Prime smiled wryly at Nathaniel. “I’m not sure that any member of the Institute has created as much havoc as you two since your distant ancestor. Are you sure he was that distant?” Pittsway turned toward Sylvia. “Are you sure you want to be associated with such a Galactic menace?”

“Can you think of anyone else better suited?” Sylvia returned the smile.

“Oh…and do you still have a few copies of that economic report you completed—on the economic infrastructure of Artos?”

“Yes, sir.” Nathaniel took a deep breath.

“Good.” The Prime paused. “The Matriarch of Halstan has asked for a copy. So has the Imperial Ministry of Commerce. The Commons of New Avalon wants another two hundred…as part of the support documentation for chronicling the disaster.”

“They were sent a dozen,” said Sylvia.

“Those were mislaid, and now they desperately need copies.” Pittsway’s voice was dry. “Oh, and the Frankan Union has requested a dozen as part of their economic redevelopment effort now that they have occupied Artos. They’ve appointed a local—a Geoffrey Evanston—as their interim Gouverneur General. So I hope your report is very detailed, detailed enough for all such uses.” The Prime winked at Sylvia, then smiled again.

Sylvia grinned.

The Ecolitan professor of infrastructure economics took a long and deep breath.

“Now…we get to the real business.” The Prime walked toward the window and looked out at the mid-afternoon sun.

“The real business?”

The two younger Ecolitans exchanged glances.

“I have tendered my resignation as Prime. I am claiming responsibility for the destruction of Tempte and the associated damage on Tinhorn. There is a complete file in my office, and the contents will be released to the media with my resignation…shortly after my ship breaks orbit.” Pittsway turned and held up his hand. “This is the real role of the Prime, and I was unfortunate enough to be here. Now, the documents in the file are correct…and false by omission. They contain my directive to destroy the Conglomerate High Command. The name of the pilot is blacked out, and there is an explanation that since the pilot did not survive the mission, his name will not be revealed for two reasons. First, that he was carrying out my orders, and second, that the responsibility was mine alone. His family should not suffer from his decision, and the blame should be mine alone.

“Any other explanation would seem as though the Institute were attempting to shift blame, and we can never allow that to occur. The responsibility is the Prime’s and I knew that when you left for Artos.” Pittsway smiled, openly and gently. “Your turn will doubtless come.”

Nathaniel waited, mute.

“Your nomination as Prime has been submitted to the Institute—”

“Mine? After all I’ve done?”

Pittsway shook his head gently. “No, because of what you’ve done, although I am the only one who knows all that. The head of the Institute is not a politician. He or she can never be such. The Institute would not survive with leaders who followed political dictates. What ensures the Institute’s continuation is not only our skills and abilities, but the absolute knowledge by every human government that we do not bow to politics, that we will not be intimidated, and that we will act when we feel necessary, regardless of the cost. That will must be tempered by the understanding of the weight of such costs. What other Ecolitan is there today who understands better in heart and mind the costs of our actions?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Your nomination as Prime will be accepted, if it has not already been, by the senior Ecolitans. You are a hero of sorts. You staved off war with the Empire twice, apparently without overt violence. You are respected as talented and diplomatic, if somewhat younger than ideal. Your economic report has already been cited as proof of why the Empire would never have really attacked the Coordinate.” The Prime laughed, once. “We know that is a great exaggeration, but, after the fact, it covers everyone’s reputation. So, we have already let it be known that you survived numerous attempts on both your lives in an effort to bring this Fuard conspiracy to light, although the last attempt hospitalized you both.” Another dry smile crossed Gairloch Pittsway’s face. “Even that is true in a way. The Fuards did do their best to kill you. All through this trial, you two have been the voices of sweet reason. That is the official position, and you
will
both ensure it remains that way.”

Pittsway’s eyes went to Sylvia. “You, Ecolitan Ferro-Maine, have been nominated as Director of Infrastructure Communications. That is the official title for what amounts to our intelligence training operations.”

“But…”

“I know. You are going to make some ridiculous claim that you have limited experience. Everyone’s experience is limited. The most important qualification that you possess is that you understand the consequences of intelligence operations, their strengths, and their limitations, and that you have survived all three. You are also willing to get the job done without trying to grab all the credit and blame.”

The piercing eyes flicked back to Nathaniel. “I’ve been careful to point out that you, Prime-nominee Whaler, have only flitter and needleboat certification, not large ship experience. I and the unnamed pilot are responsible for the atrocities committed upon the Conglomerate. I did not call them such, but the unfortunate necessities of our times. However, history will call them atrocities.”

Pittsway’s eyes turned even harder as he looked first at Sylvia, then at Nathaniel. “Your somewhat altered appearance may give rise to suspicions that you were impersonated. You will not discuss the actual attack on Tempte, except in general terms, but you will state that you are responsible for all your actions on Artos and New Avalon. That is the way it was and the way it must always remain. No matter what happens, and how it happens, we are responsible for our actions, the Prime most of all.”

“But my actions…” Nathaniel began.

“You are responsible for your actions, all of them, and you will pay for them. Admitting them publicly would be easier, far easier. You would either be dead, or unable to offer any productive service to anyone. You have scarcely begun to pay, as you will discover once you take on the duties of Prime. I am ensuring that you will pay for your actions…every day of the rest of your life.” His eyes softened. “The hard part of ensuring responsibility is maintaining responsible initiative on the lower levels. Micro-managing doesn’t work. Your fate is in the hands of those who serve you, as mine was in yours. Most of the time it works out well for everyone. Sometimes, it only works out well for humankind, and we pay the price.” He paused. “Yes…we. I trust you don’t think I’m being generous or kind. You, being who you both are, will pay for what has happened for the remainder of your lives, even if nothing else of this magnitude challenges the Institute.” After another pause, he added, “And, unless I’ve misjudged greatly, you will be far more vigilant than any of your former peers could ever imagine.

“Ecolitan Swersa has asked to accompany me, and I have accepted her offer.” Gairloch Pittsway shrugged. “One must know when to exit. Remember that when your time comes. But I don’t need to tell you that. You both need some rest, because, after tomorrow, you won’t see any for a very long time.” He offered a last, almost sad, smile, then bowed. “Good luck.”

In the silence after his departure, the two looked at each other, blankly.

“He’s setting himself up as a target,” murmured Sylvia.

“We’re all targets from here on in.”

“We always have been. Everyone is—they just don’t know it.” She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. “How do you feel about all this? About Tinhorn, about being nominated as Prime?”

“Guilty. What else would you expect? I still don’t see any other meaningful alternative that was open, but people died.”

“You still think you acted morally?”

Nathaniel laughed, harshly. “That’s not the question. Guilt isn’t rational. I have to believe I took the only moral course open at the time, but I’ll always feel guilty, probably always ask and search to figure out what else might have been possible. That’s guilt. Morality…I still don’t have a moral problem. Oh…there will be plenty of people who will claim that what the Institute did is immoral. After all, ten million innocents did die on Tinhorn, and were all those thousands of soldiers and technicians on Tempte really responsible for the Conglomerate’s actions? Weren’t they just doing their job?” His tone was sardonic.

“You are bitter.”

“When people scream morality, they don’t understand morality. The Prime had it right—they’re confusing it with justification, and they refuse to see that. If the Empire and the Federated Hegemony thought they could destroy the Coordinate without retaliation right now, they would, and they’d call it moral. That’s not morality, it’s fear. They’re afraid that they’ll be called on their actions before they complete whatever new genocide they might contemplate in the future.”

“From what I’ve seen…you’re probably right.”

“Yet we’ve never acted first. We have acted before others would, but there have still been plenty of bodies.” He swallowed, then continued. “When you talk about morality, and when justice is applied as retribution, what you really do is give people or governments a choice. They can choose to be moral, or they can choose not to be, and take the risk of retribution or possibly getting away with it. When someone or something, like the Institute, even hints that it won’t wait for the immoral action to be completed, everyone cries foul…unless the immoral actions are already on so vast a scale that they can’t be ignored. In practice, everyone ignores the problem until they can’t keep ignoring it. Then, and only then, do they invoke morality.”

“Thinking like that, especially out loud, will make you a target as big as Prime Pittsway.” Sylvia tried to force a smile. “If they don’t find out what you really did first.”

“Who will tell them? Only four people know for certain who crewed the ship. That’s part of the burden the Prime mentioned.”

She shook her head. “We need to get you out of here, to get some rest before you become the designated target as Prime.”

The door opened, and a young doctor walked in. “Ah…you can go…any time. Any time…”

“Thank you.” Nathaniel looked at Sylvia. “Are we ready for all this?”

“Just keep saying ‘we.’”

“After all that’s happened, what else could I say?”

What else indeed?

Nathaniel eased his legs over the side of the bed. His greens were in the closet. Sylvia extended an arm, and he took it, gratefully.