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analysis of your proposal.Lord Whaler, we'll be back to you. The screen
images blanked.
Nathaniel cleared his throat loudly and thoroughly, stood away from the
swivel, and strutted over to the open portal where he could peer down at
Mydra. Mydra? Where is Sergel?
I don't know.Lord Whaler.
He is supposed to be an Information Specialist, and never do I see him.
I'll try to locate him, but I imagine he's quite busy at the moment.
And busy doing what? The Ecolitan turned and marched back to his swivel,
clearing his throat again for effect.
He had decided he should be somewhat unreasonable, at least some of the time,
and occasionally petty until he could see how things were shaking out.
Dropping himself into the swivel, the black and green swivel, with an audible
thump, he twisted the chair to watch the low clouds swirl above the towers. At
the angle he chose, he could keep an eye on Mydra without seeming to. The
layout of the office had been designed to let her keep tabs on him, and the
thought that he could reverse it gave him some small amusement as he saw Mydra
keying thingso ut using her console.
While he couldn't see the screen itself, she wasfaxing a number of
individuals, from what he could tell.
At one point, her back stiffened, and he figured she'd been told something
she hadn't expected. After that she made two or three more calls.
With a snapping movement that flipped out the back of her short black and tan
tunic, she stood and entered his office.
Nathaniel returned his full attention to the storm clouds outside, watching
the white-gray tops of the cumulus clouds race toward the patches of blue
above. Lord Whaler?
Heswiveled back from his window view and put both feet on the floor directly
behind his console. Yes, Mydra?
I can't seem to locate Mr. Weintre.
Was he not in someone's custody the day before last?
You had him released.
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Fruit a little rotten can only get more rotten...it is hard to translate
sayings into Panglais, but you understand?
A partly spoiled fruit can only rot? Is that what you meant? What does that
have to do with Mr. Weintre?
Sergel has gotten rotten. First, a little trouble, now perhaps more trouble.
Who guards troublemakers?
Here in the tower, the Diplomatic Police.
Elsewhere?
Nathaniel had a solid idea where Sergel was: in the hands of specialists at
the Ministry of Defense who would be questioning him thoroughly, mind-probing
him in depth. But the Ecolitan didn't want to voice that, just lead her along
that track. The Imperial Monitors.
Nathaniel shrugged to indicate his ideas were exhausted and went on as if to
change the subject. All thedifficul- ties we have, Mydra, and the Envoy from
another system last night told me military people caused his problems. Is that
possible?
Everyone likes to blame the Eagles, Lord Whaler, but they stay out of New
Augusta for the most part.
Nathaniels hrugged again. From the momentary gleam in her eyes, she'd gotten
the thought he'd wanted to plant, the military aspect of Sergel's
disappearance and the Legation's troubles.
I understand. Force Command is strong on Accord, and I wondered if the
military was also on New Augusta.
Mydra gave him a smile that was equally warm and patronizing.
The Empire's not quite like any place else in the galaxy, I suspect.Lord
Whaler.
How true. Yet people are people. He looked out the window and leaned back
again. Not always do I say well what I think. Panglais is a lovelyl anguage
but too flowery for a simple teacher of trade and economics. I came to New
Augusta hoping people would see that agreement is possible always and that all
lose when war comes.
When the more powerful is stubborn, the small fight. Knowing they will lose,
they fight, and before they perish, many would poison the water the victors
would drink. Fighting is always so.
Nathaniel looked at Mydra, efficient in her brown and tan.
A scholar could express that better. The point is the same. Your Empire
is...complex...many towers, many Ministries, many people, many battlecruisers,
many troops. Accord is simple. Few people, few ships. The only defense we have
is the power to destroy the ecologies of the galaxy, strewing death across the
suns before we perish. He'shrugged. Can I tell the Empire, with thousands of
ships, that little Accord can sow such vast death? Who believes? Can I tell
our House of Delegates, who know they can sow such death, that the Empire does
not believe? To prove our power, must millions die? And so, I sit and talk,
sit and hope. Hope they have not forgotten. He looked blankly out the window.
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The room was silent. The clouds swirled outside, and Nathaniel watched.
Watched, hoping the snoops had gotten it all, hoping that Mydra had understood
it all, and hoping that both thought he wasn't playing to the unseen audience.
Lord Whaler, Mydra asked softly, may I go? He nodded.
The waiting was the worst, whether it was waiting in the darkness of space,
in a full-blanked needle-boat, knowing that another needle-boat waited,
knowing that whoever moved first was dead, or whether it was lying flat in the
jungle outback ofTrezenia, listening for the slight change in pitch of
thetreehoppers' song to signify someone, something, was out there moving, or
whether it was sitting behind a modernistic console waiting, debating whether
to lake stronger action, when too strong an action might unleash the disaster
that needed to be contained.
He leaned further back in the swivel, half noting that the clouds were
clearing, that the westernmost towers wereglistening in the jacket of moisture
lit by the noon sun.
The signs were there the overt absence of military influence coupled with the
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