"L. E. Modesitt - The Ecolitan Institute 01 - Ecologic Envoy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

expedition through Accord's southern forests than arriving in New Augusta.

Finally, he touched the Legation entry plate, and the door slid open. The two Marines marched in and stationed
themselves in front of the entry desk. Nathaniel followed.

The decor of the receiving area that was supposed to represent the decor and ambience of Harmony didn't. The
gargoyled lorkin wood hanging lamps were Secession Renaissance. The woven wheat grass entry mat was Early
Settler. The inlaid blackash tea table was pre-Secession, and the likes of the long maroon and overupholstered couch
had never been seen in Harmony or even in the depths of the Parundan Peninsula.

As Nathaniel refrained from staring at the mismatched furniture, three more Marines quick-stepped in with his field
pack and datacases, deposited them next to the entry desk, and marched away to reform outside the Legation.

The Lieutenant stepped up and gave the Envoy a stiff salute. "Further instructions, sir?"

"Dismissed," Nathaniel responded in Panglais. "Yes, sir. Thanks to you. Lord Whaler, sir." As the door noiselessly
closed, the Ecolitan turned his attention to the woman at the desk. She wasn't from Accord, and his change of
attention caught her intently studying him.

That was to be expected. The Empire supplied, without charge, space in the Diplomatic Tower and paid up to twenty
assistants or technical specialists for each Legation. A planetary government, hegemony, federation, or
what-have-you could send as many or as few nationals as it desired for Legation staff, and use any or none of those
paid by the Empire.

The catch was the cost. If the Legation were located in the Diplomatic Tower, the Empire paid for the space, the
power, and the Empire-supplied staff. If any out-system government chose to put its Legation elsewhere in New
Augusta, then the Empire paid none of the costs. While the richer or more militaristic systems, such as Olympia or the
Fuardian Conglomerate, had separate Legations staffed strictly by their own nationals, most non-imperial governments
availed themselves of at least the space in the Diplomatic Towers.

The House of Delegates of Accord, not known for its extravagance, had accepted quarters in the Diplomatic Tower
and had sent only three people to New Augusta: the Legate, the Deputy Legate, and an Information Specialist. Just
prior to his arrival at the circumlunar station, the copilot of the Muir had handed Nathaniel a stellarfax.



WTHERSPOON EN ROUTE ACCORD FOR CONSULTATIONS. WHALER CONFIRMED ACTING LEGATE
DURATION. Sgn. RESTINAL, DM, IC.



The rest had been confirmation codes. So now he was standing in the entry of a Legation he was in charge of, looking
at a cleric/staffer/receptionist who had never seen him but who worked for him, theoretically, but who was paid by the
Empire. And just before that, the message had been delivered by splinter gun that someone wanted him dead. Hardly
the most encouraging beginning. Nathaniel drew out his credentials folder and presented it to the young woman.

She took it, with a bint of a smile, studied it briefly, then greeted him more officially with a gesture that
was nearly a half bow, half curtsy.
"At your service, Lord Whaler." Her greeting was in the old American of Accord, but with an accent and a stiffness
that demonstrated practice, but not fluency.