Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (9 page)

N
ATHANIEL TOOK ANOTHER
tunnel cab back to the Diplomatic Tower, alert for another possible attack. Both the trip and the walk back to his private entrance were uneventful.

The stunner he had taken from the Imperial ready, he touched the lockplate and let the door dilate.

The silence was an alarm in itself. He had left the music on. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees and fired the stunner around the edge of the door into the blind space he couldn’t see, following the shot with a quick dash from the corridor into the quarters.

The anteway was empty, as was the living area. So were the cramped kitchen area, the dining area, and the second sleeping quarters. But someone was still in the quarters. An almost imperceptible rustle from beyond the bedroom confirmed his unease.

He surveyed the dimly lit main sleeping quarters again. If anyone were still in the quarters, he or she was probably in the hygienarium or behind the bed.

No sense in being any more of a damned fool.

The Ecolitan sat down noiselessly on the plush flooring, shielded completely by the bedroom door edge, stunner resting on his knee and leveled at the half-open door to the hygienarium. He set it at half charge and went through the drill to sharpen his vision.

After ten minutes, he heard a shuffle. He didn’t move.

Close to an hour later, a face peered around the doorway across the room.

Nathaniel got him with a single shot.

Something about the falling figure struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Another stifled gasp announced a second intruder.

The waiting trick wouldn’t work a second time, and, besides, who knew what the other snooper might try?

Slowly, he eased the flat pressure foil tube from his belt, nicked the seal, and tossed it gently onto the far side of the bed.

“Hssssss…”

A stunner pointed over the top of the bed. The Ecolitan stayed behind the wall as the useless charges struck.

A few minutes later, he stood and slowly edged around the wall.

Now two figures were sprawled on the bedroom floor.

The closer, the one he’d gotten with the stunner, was Sergel Weintre.

The second was a younger man, black haired, olive skinned and clean shaven, perhaps 160 centimeters from head to toe.

A quick but thorough search of both revealed nothing. Sergel had carried only the stunner and a few personal items. The stranger had no identification whatsoever, but the standardized singlesuit and new stunner announced all too clearly his military connections.

In turn, the Ecolitan dragged each to the private exit and dumped them outside.

He returned to his quarters and faxed the tower’s emergency number.

“Envoy Nathaniel Whaler am I, and a disturbance has occurred. Outside my door. My composure has gone.”

“Lord Whaler, I’ll send the Domestic Protective Service up immediately. You say, outside your private suite?”

“Outside. That is correct. A fight, I think. Or several.”

“Is it still going on?”

“No. But loudly it ended. A large noise. Someone falls, but check I wish not to do in person.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Whaler. We’ll take care of it.”

“I thank you.”

So much for that. He made sure both doors were locked with the handbolts and stretched out on the rumpled bed, slipping the stunner under the pillows.

Going back to the disciplines of the Institute, he concentrated on the sleep-time exercises, telling himself to wake at the slightest sound or in five hours.

Five hours and ten minutes later, he woke abruptly. Instantly alert, he listened. No sounds. Apparently, the Diplomatic Police had come and carted Sergel off without much noise, although he wouldn’t have heard if they’d brought an entire blasthorn section. The soundproof nature of the walls and doors was a flaw in his story, but he doubted anyone would call an Envoy on such a minor discrepancy.

Nathaniel took his time about freshening up, showering, and dressing for the day ahead.

The last item before entering his official office was a quick fax to one Sylvia Ferro-Maine.

“Lord Whaler…and what can I do for you this early in the morning?”

“I had wondered if perhaps your friends had received the package I had left…or if you knew.”

“My understanding is that the pickup went smoothly, but that they have not had the chance to evaluate the value of the shipment.” Sylvia’s face was without emotion. “Is that all?”

“I would hope that we could get together again before too long…”

“You honor me, Lord Whaler, and I will certainly await your call. And I must be going, but thank you.”

Nathaniel was left staring at the blank gray of the faxscreen.

He shook his head. Now what had he done wrong?

Why did he imagine the scent of orange trees?

“Ridiculous…” he muttered. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

Maybe Sylvia was worried about the leaky nature of the communications at the Accord Legation. He’d have to check back later…from somewhere else.

In the meantime, he had the rest of his job to do.

He marched from his quarters into the official office, sat down behind the console, and tried to review the incoming messages that awaited him.

Within ten minutes the intercom chimed, and Mydra’s face appeared on the faxscreen. He punched the Accept stud.

“A call from the Diplomatic Police.”

“I’ll take it.”

The young officer who waited on the screen was stern faced and female.

“Envoy Whaler? You complained about a disturbance last night?”

“Yes. There was a fight in the corridor, I believed.”

“Lord Whaler, as you mentioned, there was a disturbance. Some of our normal public monitors were apparently damaged. We also found one man lying in front of your private entrance, stunned out. He claims he works for the Legation. His name is Sergel Weintre. The documentation matches, but we thought you as the Envoy should know.”

Interesting, thought Nathaniel. I dump two men, and they only find one. Or find two and only let me know about one.

He frowned at the officer.

“Well…we do have a Sergel Weintre who works here as an information Specialist. Let me see if he has shown up.”

He put the black-haired and square-jawed officer on hold and rang Mydra.

“Has Sergel Weintre come in this morning?”

“No, and that’s very unusual. He’s usually the first one here. If he’s ever late, we all are notified. The main desk says he doesn’t answer his quarters’ number either.”

How interesting, reflected the Ecolitan. Everyone knows everything about everyone.

He went back to the Diplomatic Police officer.

“Mr. Weintre has not shown up this morning and cannot be reached at his quarters. So quite possible it is that Sergel Weintre you do have. Do you have a visual?”

She split the screen, and Weintre’s image filled the right half. He was scowling, and his right eyelid twitched above a clinched and unshaven jaw.

“I would say that is Mr. Weintre. Is any way there that he could be released to the Legation?”

“That would not be proper procedure.”

“I understand. On the other hand, the Legation is most short staffed at the moment, and I would certainly appreciate any suggestions you might have about how to accomplish Mr. Weintre’s speedy return.”

“Once a complaint is made, sir…”

“Since the complaint was made by the Legation, so to speak, could not I have that complaint withdrawn?”

“That would be most unusual.”

“But not impossible?”

“I’ll have to check on that, Lord Whaler.”

“I’ll be happy to wait.”

Nathaniel flipped through one of the trade folders while the faxscreen displayed the emblem of the Diplomatic Police.

“Lord Whaler?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you made a complaint about Mr. Weintre’s creating a disturbance?”

“Concerned was I about the noise and merely reported it and did not charge anyone with anything.”

“Under those circumstances, I believe we can release your employee directly to you, but we will still have to continue our investigation into the broken monitors.”

“I understand, but I appreciate your consideration of our shorthanded state.”

After signing off with the Diplomatic Police, Nathaniel caught Mydra on the faxscreen.

“As soon as Sergel gets back, I would like to see him.”

“Yes, Lord Whaler, I’ll tell him.”

Two to one, thought the Ecolitan, Sergel isn’t going to get that message.

In the interim, he decided to check the trade figures and review the presentation materials he had brought with him. Not that he expected anything to be overlooked, but the way things were going, who could tell?

After spending close to an hour rechecking the quota figures he worked out before leaving Accord, he took out the “confidential” briefing folders and placed them on the top of the pile inside the datacase he was going to leave by the console. He set the internal counters, and locked the case.

Then he took the “official” briefing folders, three sets worth, and placed them inside the case he planned to take with him.

The “confidential” figures showed the same basic statistics on trade flows between the Coordinate and the Empire, but the projections showed a far more adverse effect on the economy of Accord than the set he was going to present to both Corwin-Smathers and later to Marcella.

He wondered who would get the confidential figures first. If he had to bet, his choice would be on the military types who were slinking around.

That brought back the question of Sergel. Sergel didn’t seem to understand that the third-ranking officer of the Legation of a third-rate power didn’t rate the kind of attention he was getting merely for his irresistible charm.

He shook his head and looked at the western hills.

With all the angles subdivided by angles, he had the feeling he’d be fortunate to find out all the real questions in six years, let alone in the few weeks he probably had.

Could it be done before Witherspoon wandered back, before the political compromise on Accord eroded, before the Empire figured out a way to militarily moot the whole question?

The second time around, after the experience of the Secession, the Empire just
might
be willing to sacrifice a fleet or two and several dozen planets for a millennium or two to eliminate permanently a thorn in its side.

He brought himself up short and checked the time. 0940—almost time to depart on another trip through the tunnels for his appointment with Corwin-Smathers.

Sergel still hadn’t called in.

He flicked the code for the Information Specialist’s quarters.

“Weintre,” a sullen voice responded. The faxscreen remained blank.

“Whaler here. Let’s have the screen, Sergel.”

The picture came on. Sergel stood there, stripped to the waist, showing a small paunch over the black waistband of his too-tight rust trousers.

“Why didn’t you answer my message?”

Sergel’s mouth opened, moving back and forth soundlessly. Finally, he sputtered. “No message…I mean…no one left a message for me.”

“The way everything else works around here, I can’t say I’m surprised. Not that important, but what I have to say now is. I don’t know what you were doing prowling around my quarters last night, but you’d better have a damned good explanation. I don’t want any more phony answers. Face it, Sergel. You can’t lie to me and make it stick.”

He glared through the faxscreen at the younger man to reinforce the growling tone of his lecture.

“Well…umm…I hate to say it, Lord Whaler, but I got pretty stung. Thought I was somewhere else. I really did.”

“Sergel, you’re lying. Don’t try to bluff through it again. If an explanation of what you were up to and the report I asked for aren’t both on my console by the time I get back this afternoon, you’re leaving on the next ship for Accord. Even if it’s via the Alparta and takes two years objective. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

Nathaniel could almost see the thoughts in his head. Sergel was wondering who had caught him out. He
knew
Nathaniel would have dispatched him, possibly without a trace.

Let him stew, thought the Ecolitan. He deserves it, and then some. In the game of mass confusion, perhaps some by Nathaniel might give Sergel, and his underground paymasters, some second thoughts.

“Remember, Sergel, those reports or you’re on your way.”

“Yes, sir.”

The look on the Information Specialist’s face told Nathaniel one more thing. Sergel was more afraid of someone else, much more afraid.

He broke the connection and looked at the blank screen a moment before returning his attention to the datacase he intended to take with him. The locked case was still beside the desk console.

He finally marched out into the general staff office.

“Mydra, sometime this afternoon will I be back.”

“Is there anything else, Lord Whaler?”

“Not at this moment.”

Nathaniel waved pleasantly to Heather Tew-Hawkes as he left the Legation and strode down the main corridor to the drop shaft.

He wondered if he were being tailed. It didn’t matter at the moment. He slid into the high speed section and savored the fall. Almost like using a jump belt, except there was no risk in the drop shaft, no worry about enemy fire.

Out in the underground concourse, he caught a public tunnel cab driven by a man with long and silver-glittered hair.

“W
HAT WERE THE
results of the interrogation?”

“He’d been totally blocked. If we’d gone any deeper, it would have turned his mind to mush. Didn’t want to risk that, particularly since it’s obviously a Defense conditioning job. So we released him, ostensibly after treating and detoxifying him. And we sent a confidential report on the detox results to the Ministry of Defense.”

“Detoxifying?” asked the Director.

“Whatever Whaler used, we couldn’t analyze. Even with a blood sample as soon as we got him, all we had left was molecular soup. Could have been a dozen things, but we think it was a short-term synthetic virus that acts as a temporary neural disruptor.”

“How can you have a temporary and synthetic virus? And how could you develop one that wasn’t fatal?”

“Damned if we know, but that’s what it looks like.” The Research Chief shook his head slowly.

The Director turned in her swivel. “That’s the sort of weapon we’d give a dozen agents for, and Whaler doesn’t mind using it right off. That says a couple of things. First, that it’s something that they don’t mind revealing. Second, that the trade talks or whatever Whaler is really doing is more than just important to Accord. And third, that Defense doesn’t understand what we’re up against.” She snorted. “And Admiral Ku-Smythe thinks that we could win a war with Accord.”

The Research Chief nodded, then added, “There’s one other item. Their agent—and his profile matches Idel’s, but who can tell—says he hit Whaler with the stunner. Not full, but enough to deaden one hand, maybe part of the arm.”

“So?”

“Idel used a military stunner, set close to a lethal jolt, and Whaler still ran him down, apparently slugged him unconscious, and called Sylvia without betraying any discomfort.”

“He can override pain to a fantastic degree…or our stunners just don’t affect him…is that it?”

“Those are the only two explanations I can think of. Do you have a better one?”

“Idel missed.”

“When was the last time a military Defense agent totally missed a target running straight at him?”

The Director shook her head. If only the Defense Ministry would understand, but that was like asking a tunnel roach not to scavenge.