Free Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) by L.E. Modesitt Jr.

almost laughed. After the years in the Ecolitan action forces, he could eat anything his system would take.
    “Something light, I would think.”
    “Will you notify the front desk, or should I?”
    “If you would be so kind…the name is Ferro-Maine.”
    He turned toward Hillary. Her blue eyes met his levelly.
    “How long for Accord have you worked?”
    “Five standard years.”
    Nathaniel nodded and turned away.
    Back in his office, he tried to take stock. But the answer was simple. He still didn’t know enough.
    “Cling.”
    “Nathaniel Whaler.”
    The caller was Marcella Ku-Smythe.
    “Lord Whaler, I’ve thought it over, and tonight would be fine.”
    “Tonight also would be fine, but for what is it fine?”
    “For dinner and for getting to know you better.”
    “Would you suggest somewhere?”
    “Why not in the Diplomatic Tower?”
    “Dear lady, so little I see of your city. Would you have me cooped into an even smaller orbit?”
    That created a smile from the sandy-haired Special Assistant.
    “Do you know the Plaza D’Artin?”
    “I can find it.”
    “How about 1930 at the Golden Nova?”
    “Twenty-thirty.”
    “Fine.”
    And that was that.
    Except…Nathaniel was ready to swallow hard at the aggressiveness of the woman. Not only the aggressiveness, but…he couldn’t place it, except that he was missing something so obvious he shouldn’t be.
    He had nearly two hours before Sylvia’s presumed arrival, not enough time to go anywhere, had he anywhere to go, and decided the time had come for some faxwork.
    “Mydra?”
    “If to be effective I am, I must know the people. Would you access the personnel records of all Legation employees to my screen?”
    “Now, Lord Whaler?”
    “Now is when I need them.”
    By the time he had reviewed all the records in the personnel files, he was convinced.
    Everything was too perfect, and because it was, he hadn’t the faintest idea which of the professional staff were planted. The safest assumption was that they all were.

XIV
    “M ARTIN,” ASKED THE woman behind the desk, “anything new?” She nipped a bite from a thin taper of cernadine, then another. With each chew, the room grew more redolent of the spice drug.
    “There’s a call from the Trade Envoy from Accord. Whaler, I think his name is. Nathaniel Whaler.”
    “What’s his problem?”
    “That’s the Rift thing.”
    “Oh…and they didn’t like our proposal and actually sent an Envoy. How charming.” Janis Du-Plessis swivelled her seat to view the western hills, turning her back on the aide. “Do we have a counterproposal from them yet?”
    “I suspect that’s why he wants to meet with Lord Jansen. Probably wants to present it.”
    “You know, Martin, I’m not terribly fond of provincials, especially from places like Accord. They even turned down my visa.” She turned back toward the console and tapped the lock panel.
    “We’re in conference, Martin, and that’s far more important than appointment scheduling for Lord Whaler. Far more important.”
    Her eyes were bright with the effect of the drug, and fixed on the wiry blond man.
    “Why don’t you demonstrate how important?”
    “Now?”
    “Why not now? Lord Jansen is skying, and Lord Envoy Whaler can certainly cool his provincial heels a bit longer.”
    She looked from Martin to the long couch next to her console and back to him. As she tilted her head, he stood to accept her invitation.
    The console panels continued to blink, unanswered.

XV
    T HE PRIVATE SCREEN chimed, twice.
    The Special Assistant scanned the office out of habit, although she was alone.
    “Ku-Smythe.”
    “Marcella, is your dinner engagement wise?” The Admiral’s voice was level.
    “How much of the Accord Legation’s fax system do you have controlled? All of it?”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “Unless my techs are totally incompetent, everything here is blocked. That means it can’t be snooped until the reception point. Accord doesn’t have