Empire & Ecolitan (53 page)

“C
HECKLIST COMPLETE
,” J
IMJOY
muttered. Although the cockpit was empty, he tried not to cut corners. Sloppy pilots ended up dead pilots. Slowly, he released the harnesses and pulled off the helmet, still damp from the bath he had taken in the equatorial humidity of Dr. Narlian's marine research station.

As he cracked the cockpit door, sliding it open, a gust of wind fluttered the sleeves of his flight suit. For an instant, The chill was welcome. Then, as his breath turned white in the late afternoon air, he reached for the leather flight jacket, carrying it out of the flitter. He stood on the grass next to the aircraft, shrugging the jacket on over the thin flight suit.

“Professor?”

Two Ecolitans were headed toward him—Fervan, head of flitter maintenance, and Eddings Davis, who had inherited Gavin Thorson's duties.

“Professor?” said Davis again.

Jimjoy turned and nodded. He didn't feel like talking.

“We have a problem with the sym—the refugees…”

“Can't say I'm surprised. Excuse me for a moment.” He turned to Fervan.

“How was she?” asked the stocky white-haired man.

“Smooth most of the way. Turbines tended to overheat more than the specs on approach, but they admitted at Equat that it was as hot as it ever is—more than ninety-five percent relative humidity. No wind. Might have been the conditions. DRI worked fine on Harmony. Couldn't pick up the Equat beacon until the last one hundred kays. Might be beacon placement.” He paused, coughed. “Then again, maybe the crystals for some of the freq subs are off.”

“We'll look at them both. Any problem with rotor vibration?”

“No. Smooth there. Blade path seemed sharp, none of that flutter like on the last flight.”

“Thanks, Professor. Appreciate your taking this one.”

“No problem.”

Fervan waved to a woman in a green parka who was steering an electotrac toward the flitter.

In turn, Jimjoy touched Eddings' arm, nodding toward the path that led to the transients' quarters and away from the maintenance line and its ramp into the underhill hangar.

“What's the trouble?”

“Some of the refugees have been here nearly three tendays—”

Jimjoy raised his eyebrows. “That's a problem? They're warm, fed, safe, and there's medical care.”

“Professor, do you know who most of them are?”

Jimjoy could guess, unfortunately, after Jerold's assassination attempt. “Probably rich Imperials, second children's children…scared that they won't make it on their own, with enough money to live anywhere.”

“Right.”

Jimjoy sighed. “The poor can't and won't leave. They figure it will be worse anywhere else, and they're probably right.” He shrugged as he continued toward the old transient quarters, waiting for the rotund Eddings to explain. The wind whined softly, tugging at his uncovered head.

Eddings hunched further into his jacket.

“I still don't know the problem.”

Eddings did not answer.

At the top of the low hill separating the disguised flight line from the rest of the Institute, Jimjoy stopped, glancing back to the west, where the white-gold sun hung suspended in the winter haze just above the mountains. For several moments he just looked.

“All right, what is it?”

“Credits,” blurted Eddings. “They're scared. They can't get to orbit control. They're afraid the Empire will blot out the whole planet any day. Not enough independent transports are ignoring the Imperial boycott…bribes…”

Jimjoy pulled at his chin. “Are our people taking bribes?”

“Mostly…no. Thelina gathered them all together a couple days ago, right after you left. She said that anyone who took a bribe would go with the refugees and their money.”

Jimjoy frowned, then nodded. “Now they're getting nasty? Have they tried the hostage routine?”

“Not yet, but some of them are thinking about it.”

“So…who's stirring this up? Jerold?”

“No. He's gone. Remember, Meryl Laubon threw the real troublemakers on that Halstani transport. That's another problem. The ones left feel slighted.”

“Hades!” Jimjoy wrinkled his nose as they approached the end of the transients' quarters. A pair of third-year students, armed with stunners—permanently locked on nonlethal, Jimjoy knew—and wrapped in winter parkas, stood by the low brick gateway.

“Professor.”

“Any problems?” He addressed the woman who had addressed him. Her companion, a young man half a head shorter, watched the double doors at the end of the two-story timbered building.

“No, ser.”

Jimjoy wrinkled his nose again. “What in hades is that smell?'

Eddings looked at the ground, then at the waist-high brick wall. The woman student guard looked at Eddings, then at Jimjoy. The man kept watching the double doors.

Finally Eddings spoke. “It's the building…ser…”

“Don't tell me they can't be bothered to clean up!”

“Not exactly. It's neat, but there are a lot of people…”

“Damnation!” Jimjoy straightened up. “You!” He pointed to the woman, who was at least as tall as Thelina. “Come with me. Eddings, get a load of mops, sponges, clean-up supplies, and stack them right outside those doors there. In the next twenty minutes. Understand?”

“But…they won't…already suggested…”

“I'm not suggesting this time.” Jimjoy turned to the student. “Let's go.” Ignoring the young man, who had shaken his head, he marched straight to the double doors, ripped the right one open, and stepped through.

Even through the first door, the smell was sour. Inside the second door, the odor was rank, not of unwashed bodies, but of mildew, urine, and sewage. The hallway was dusty, but nowhere wet, and along the thirty meters before the doors and stairs at the middle of the building were gathered small handfuls of well-dressed, if wrinkled-looking, individuals, some in the latest Imperial styles.

He stopped by the first group, three men close to his own age, all slender, tanned, and hollow-eyed.

“If you're here to fix the plumbing, it's the first door to the right,” offered a blond man.

Rppppppp
…

Without thought Jimjoy lifted the smaller man straight off the floor by his imported silk tunic, bringing him right up to eye level. “
You
are the one who will clean the sanitary and shower facilities. Every one of you. When this place is clean again—
then
I'll see about sending in a plumber.”

He dropped the stunned man in a heap, turning to the second man, dark-haired and olive-skinned.

“Don't touch me, peon.”

Snap!

Thunk
…

The olive-skinned man looked stupidly at his broken wrist, then at the pieces of the plastic knife on the stone floor.

The student guard glanced around, bringing her stunner to the ready, as the others in the hallway turned toward the four men.

“You are here because the Institute offered to protect your miserable lives. The Institute is providing food, shelter, and medical care. Every student or staff member here cleans up after himself or herself. You're no different from us. Cleaning supplies are being delivered to that door.” Jimjoy pointed to the double doors through which he had come. “If you don't want to end up back on the streets of Harmony—or worse—I suggest you get to work.”

Jimjoy looked at the third man, nearly as tall as he was.

The redhead looked back. “Who are you? What right—”

“Whaler, James Joyson. I represent the Institute—”

Thud
.

Clunk
.

Jimjoy shook his head, looking down at the unconscious man and the miniature stunner. The three should have tried to jump him at once. He glanced around, reached down, and scooped up the weapon, slipping it into his flight-suit pocket. “Come on.” He headed toward the next group, an older man and three women.

“Whaler, your name is. When do we get off this planet?” demanded the man with the thinning brown hair and double chin.

“When a ship comes that will take you. After you clean up this mess.”

“We didn't make that mess,” protested one of the women.

Jimjoy glanced at her, reevaluated his judgment of her age, and replied to the teenager. “It doesn't matter who did. I just want it cleaned up. Period. Do you understand?” His eyes raked the group.

No one would look back at him.

The next group was more submissive. “Yes…so sorry…we'll talk to the others about…form a committee…”

“Just get it cleaned up. How you do it is your responsibility.”

Jimjoy kept moving, putting out the word, more curtly with each group, aware of the fatigue of three long days piling up. He still hadn't had a chance to talk to Thelina. He shook his head as he neared the building's center doors.

A little girl peered at him from an open door, as if she wanted to say something. For some reason, she reminded him of Jorje, despite the long braided hair and the green velvet jacket and matching trousers.

He stopped and knelt down.

“Yes, young lady?” He tried to keep his voice low.

She said nothing, glancing back into the room. A woman stood behind her, and the girl's hand twined into her mother's trousers—also green velvet.

Jimjoy waited, ignoring the student guard's impatience and continuing glances up and down the corridor at the muttering groups of refugees.

The girl looked down.

“Go ahead, honey,” prompted a low, almost sultry voice.

Jimjoy's eyes flickered toward the mother, who looked only at the top of her daughter's head.

“Mr. Ecolitan, why do we have to go? Rustee couldn't come. I love Rustee. Mommy said you wouldn't let him come. Is that true? You made me leave Rustee?” Tears seeped from the dark-haired girl's eyes.

Jimjoy glanced from the girl to the slim woman whose trousers the girl clutched with her left hand, a woman whose features matched the girl's.

“Rustee is her pet gerosel.”

Gerosel? Offhand, Jimjoy wasn't aware of the species, but there wasn't room for pets. That he knew. Not when so few ships ignored the embargo.

“Can I take Rustee?”

“No…I'm sorry…you can't take Rustee.”

“I hate you! Go away!” She burst into another round of sobs.

Jimjoy straightened, trying not to swallow, catching the same dark look from the mother as from the daughter. He nodded to the mother curtly and turned. “Let's go.”

A couple looked up from an embrace under the stairwell as Jimjoy burst through the first doors. They seemed to shrink away from him, but he ignored both and pushed open the doors to the fresh air.

“Hades…not made for this…drek.”

“Ser?”

“Sorry you had to go through that. Should have let them stew in their own messes.” He glanced around, then turned his steps toward the end of the building through which he had entered, studying each window as he passed. Some were ajar, but they all seemed in working order.

The single male guard took a deep breath as Jimjoy and the woman returned.

“Professor, Ecolitan Davis told me that the cleaning supplies would be here as soon as he could round them up.”

“Fine.” Jimjoy pulled at his chin. What else did the refugees need?

He pursed his lips. All the little girl knew was that she had to leave her pet behind because one Jimjoy Whaler said no. The adults—they got better than they deserved. But the children? And these were probably the luckiest ones.

“Can you two handle it?” he asked.

“Yes, ser,” the pair chorused.

“Good.” His voice softened. “Take care.”

As he walked away, he could hear the woman begin to tell about the trip through the refugee quarters. He closed the top seam on the flight jacket.

The sun poised itself on the edge of the western mountains, and Jimjoy listened to the rising wail of the wind as he headed toward Thelina's office.

J
IMJOY POKED HIS
head into the small office to the left of the now-empty Prime's office. Unlike Meryl's office, Thelina's did not connect directly to the Prime's. From the right-hand office, Meryl acted as Deputy Prime. Even though the Institute never had such a function, no one questioned either the title or Meryl. Not since Jimjoy's actions with the Council.

Jimjoy's incipient smile faded. Thelina was out.

Instead, Kerin Sommerlee was sitting there, the faint late-late afternoon winter sunlight pooling on her and the left side of the desk/console. Like Thelina, she had cut her blond hair short. She was using the console, her fingers awkwardly tapping at the keyboard studs.

“Oh…”

She looked up. “Professor…”

“Jimjoy.”

She shook her head. “I don't know as any of us—Thelina excepted—will ever think of you that way.”

“Guess I'll never be accepted—”

“I didn't say that, Professor.” Her tone was tart, as was her expression.

“I know. No time for self-pity. Where is she? Thelina, I mean.”

“She didn't tell you?”

Jimjoy swallowed. The look on Kerin's face told him that Thelina was up to something less than perfectly safe. And after the mess with the refugees…“Where…is…she?”

“She said you'd know, that you'd agreed on certain duties…” Kerin moistened her lips.

“And she asked you to stand in for her?”

“I agreed to. It had to be someone that field three and Harmony civic would listen to.”

Jimjoy nodded. “Did she say where she was headed?”

Kerin grinned ruefully. “She said to tell anyone who asked to check with you or Meryl.”

“When did she leave?”

“Yesterday morning.”

Jimjoy nodded again. Her reluctance to come with him to deal with the scientists made a lot more sense. She still didn't fully trust him. He sighed. “Anything else I ought to know?”

“Not really. There are a lot of details…police units all over the planet are faxing in reports about possible Impie agents. Althelm has taken over trying to locate that micromanufacturing equipment you need…has a lead from an independent out of Gersil. It's likely to cost the equivalent of—I don't know what…the number is enormous.”

“
If
it meets Jason's specs, and
if
they can deliver within two tendays, pay whatever it takes.”

“It's that important?”

“It's that important. You might check with Meryl on how to negotiate on it. She's far better than I'd be.”

Kerin shrugged. “We have a few merchant types around here.”

“I understand. You handle it.”

She almost grinned.

“I'm going over to see Meryl.”

Kerin nodded, took a deep breath, and looked back at the console, avoiding his eyes.

He pulled at his chin, wondering exactly what sort of danger Thelina had taken on. Then he shrugged and turned, slipping out into the corridor and walking the ten or so meters toward Meryl's office. Currently, with Harlinn's permanent indisposition, the Prime's office served as a conference room and a neutral meeting ground.

Meryl's door was closed.

Thrap!

“Yes?”

“Jimjoy…mind if I come in?”

“You will anyway.”

He opened the door and eased inside. Meryl glanced up from a stack of hard copy and a screen surrounded with amber flashing studs. Her window was firmly closed, and she wore a dark green pullover sweater.

“Where is she?”

Meryl provided him with a nervous smile, which vanished almost simultaneously with the sunlight. Symbolic or not, the sun had finally dropped behind the mountains. Now the trees on the hillside had turned even grayer.

“I understand you've been busy laying down the law for our poor, depressed Imperial refugees.”

Jimjoy sighed. “If getting them to understand that the Institute doesn't provide maid and valet service and that they'd hades-fired well better act like responsible adults—yes—but some people, like the Empire, don't understand anything but force.”

“That you can deliver.”

He took another deep breath. “When necessary…I suppose…The children bothered me. They don't understand. Guess I didn't, either.” He straightened. “Where's Thelina?”

“She didn't tell you?”

Jimjoy sighed. “She's up to something dangerous, and she's not about to tell me.”

“You think she should?” Meryl seemed to be wrestling with her hands.

“Yes.”

“Why? You didn't tell her about your suicide attack on the Haversol station. She found out about that from Dr. Hyrsa, when no one was sure whether you'd even live.”

“But…” Jimjoy could almost feel the woman's words physically piercing him. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping Thelina might appear. Then he looked back at Meryl, who sat in the straight-backed chair, the hard copy piled across most of the flat spaces around the console.

Had Thelina really taken it that way? “Wait—she wasn't even talking to me at that point!”

“That doesn't mean she didn't care, or wouldn't have liked a little notice. You effectively declared war on the Empire. As you have told more than a few people with pride.”

Jimjoy winced at the coolness of her last words.

“You have trouble treating her as an equal,” continued Meryl. “Yet she's saved your life at least twice. All the professed love in the world won't be enough unless you really change.”

“Change?” Jimjoy looked at Meryl. “I wanted to know where she was, and you talk about my needing to change. Change more?”

The slender blond woman stacked the small pile of paper on the console and stood up. “Would you like some tea? If I have to explain this, I need something warm. My throat's sore. There's a kettle set up in Sam's office.” She shrugged. “Sorry. I still think of it as his.”

“Suppose I do, too.” Jimjoy also shrugged. Meryl was going to take her time, for whatever reason. Was she stalling to keep him from stopping Thelina?

“No, I'm not stalling. She's well off Accord. So relax, if you can.”

Women! Besides reading minds, they were always suggesting that he consider something else. That was why he had left White Mountain. Or was it? “Liftea would be fine, if you have it.”

“Either old-fashioned tea or liftea. Sam didn't like cafe.”

“Liftea.” He followed her toward the Prime's office and watched as she turned on the gas on the single burner.

Outside, the light dimmed further, leaving the Institute in darkness, with scattered lights appearing in the twilight. Meryl touched a plate and the soft ceiling lights came on in the almost stark office, empty now of most of the books and all the memorabilia. The table that had served Sam as a desk was bare except for a crystal paperweight with the green Imperial seal caught within it and an empty wooden tray that had contained papers.

Clink
. Meryl took two cups from the shelf and set them beside the burner. “Did you expect to find Thelina dutifully waiting for you?”

Jimjoy swallowed, looking away from Meryl's directness to the dark outline of the upper hills. “Not dutifully. Surprised that she hadn't even told me.”

“I asked you before, but you didn't answer. Did you tell her about your Haversol operation?”

“No. She would have stopped me.”

Meryl snorted. “How? How could anyone really have stopped you? You had Sam's backing. You could have told her as you were leaving. Why didn't you?”

Jimjoy frowned. Unfortunately, Meryl's question made sense. Why hadn't he wanted to tell Thelina? He did not meet Meryl's eyes, instead focused on the crystal paperweight with the symbol of the Institute within it.

“When you put it that way…I'm not certain.” He looked at the blond woman. “What do you think?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.” He forced a short laugh. “But I'd better.”

Meryl favored him with the faintest of smiles, then glanced at the wisp of steam beginning to escape the kettle. “It's only what I think—”

“Which is usually pretty close to target,” interrupted Jimjoy.

“—but you try to avoid any advance approval, particularly from women. Sam's death really hurt that way. He wasn't a threat to you. You know Thelina, Kerin, and I have to run the Institute right now, and subconsciously you're back working for women—for your mother or your sisters. You chose it this time. It wasn't an accident of birth. And it's tearing you up—”

“Wait a minute. I went to Haversol
before
Sam's death.”

“You still didn't want to get female approval.” Meryl sighed, then turned off the burner and poured the boiling water into the green porcelain teapot. “It should steep for a bit,” she added in almost an aside. “Why do you think we've tried not even to suggest your role, except when you ask?”

“Trying to tiptoe around the frail masculine ego?”

“You said that,” noted Meryl tartly. “You have no reason for a frail ego. You've accomplished miracles—even if some have been miracles of destruction and escape. The problem is that you don't like yourself, deep inside.”

“So what does that have to do with my not telling Thelina and her not telling me?”

“She doesn't trust men, and you don't trust women. If you don't trust her enough to tell her, how can she trust you?”

Jimjoy pulled at his chin once more. “You're saying that I have to trust her before she'll trust me?”

Meryl said nothing, instead poured the tea into the two cups. “Would you like sugar?”

“Did she tell you not to tell me?”

“Would you like sugar?”

Jimjoy sighed. “Yes, please. Two, please.” He felt like tapping his fingers on Sam's desk, cursing feminine logic, and walking out. Instead, he looked at one of the hard wooden chairs, then took the heavy cup from Meryl and walked toward the middle chair. Despite the darkness outside, the flight jacket felt warm, too warm for his being inside.

Meryl stood beside the empty Prime's desk-table, cradling her cream-and-green cup in both hands, letting the steam drift into her face, as if warming herself, despite the heavy sweater she wore.

“Why don't you sit down?” he suggested. “At least for a moment.”

Meryl nodded before easing herself into the chair nearest the desk.

Jimjoy sipped the liftea, too hot for more than sips. “What about trust?”

“What about it?”

“You said—”

“What I said was perfectly clear. You have to trust Thelina.”

“She doesn't have to trust me?”

Meryl looked up from the cup she still held in both hands. “She has. She recommended the Institute accept you. She offered her whole career as hostage to developing your Special Operatives. She risked her life against Harlinn's bodyguards. She gave herself to you—even with her background. What else do you want? Don't you see? She had to do something without telling you, if only to deliver a message.”

Again Jimjoy was forced to look from the intensity in the woman's eyes. What else did he want? What did he want? His eyes flicked from the floor to the window and the growing blackness of the western horizon, then back to Meryl. “Trust is a shared orbit?”

“I could almost hate your mother—and your father.” Meryl took a deep sip from the cup, then brushed a wisp of blond hair back with her left hand.

Jimjoy didn't ask why. He knew. “Where is she? I know, based on the way I handled Haversol, you have every right to make me wait until she returns.” If she returns, he thought to himself. “But I would like to know.”

“She's in the New Avalon system, trying to negotiate an arrangement with Tinhorn.”

Jimjoy winced. “An arrangement?”

“She thought she could use some former chips as a lever to suggest it was in the Fuards' best interests to let Accord salvage some old destroyers—minus weaponry, of course.”

“Do they know who she is?”

“No. She has the history as an Institute operative to operate on her own.”

“But the former chips?”

“She got someone to call them in for her. And that's all she told me.”

Jimjoy pulled at his chin, then took a long swallow of tea, almost welcoming the burning it etched down the back of his throat. “So we wait?”

“No. You keep doing what needs to be done. Just like she did, just like I'm doing.”

His eyes refocused on Meryl, her words recalling that she had been Thelina's friend and confidant far longer than Jimjoy had known Thelina. He swallowed. “Sorry…hadn't thought about it. Stupid, but I hadn't. Is there anything I can do?”

Meryl finished her cup of tea, then stood. “No. But understanding late is better than not understanding at all, Professor.”

“I wonder.” He stood. “The cups? Anywhere to wash them?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I can handle one extra cup. I would have had the tea anyway. Just leave it here for now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She poured a second cupful from the teapot. “This goes back to the office.” Then she set her own cup down and reached for his.

Jimjoy handed it to her. “Thank you.”

She nodded as she set his cup beside the kettle. “What's next for you? More persuasion on the research establishment?”

“Dr. Narlian may do that for me.”

“She could…but be careful.”

“I see you've met the doctor.”

“It only takes once.” Meryl shook her head slowly. “What else?”

“Work with Analitta and Gersin to see if we can complete the off-planet research production post-designs.”

“You aren't actually doing design work?”

Jimjoy smiled briefly. “They're better at that than I am. A whole lot better. Just give them the power and size parameters and the requirements. Plus pep talks. Then I'll try to find some more leads on bio-weapons. And hope a lot…and try to trust.”