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

"Yes. They have no choice. They don't want to take the blame if things go wrong. Elder Torine knows that. Did you
ever ask yourself why you were chosen to present the list and bring back our reply?"

Restinal had wondered but had dismissed it in the face of Torino's encouragement and insistence. He nodded at the
Ecolitan.

"We are not unaware of the impact this could have on your career, Werlin," continued the Prime. "But you should
be able to surmount any difficulties. If not, it is doubtful your career would have lasted much longer."

Delegate Minister Werlin Restinal was getting the picture, and though the outlines were Hurry, he didn't like the
view. The Delegate Minister for Interstellar Commerce was about to become Elder Torino's scapegoat unless he could
turn the announcement to his own advantage. "Who is your choice?" 'Nathaniel Firstborne Whaler. " The name
meant nothing to Restinal. The Prime lifted a thin folder from his desk and slid it across the flat surface to where the
Delegate could reach it. Restinal opened it and scanned the background on Whaler. Nathaniel Firstborne
Whaler--senior fellow of the Ecolitan Institute; 38 A. T. U.; 191 centimeters; fluent in the eight leading tongues of the
Empire, plus Fuardian and ancient English; Class B scout pilot; combat master; Class C energy tech; noted economist
and recognized authority on infrastructure economics. His single previous tour with the government had been as the
Ecolitan Special Assistant to a previous Minister of Commerce.

Restinal was impressed, in spite of his skepticism. "Are you sure he's the best choice?"

"Do you have anyone who can match half his qualifications?"

Restinal repressed a sigh. There it was, in green and black. Take Whaler or go without the blessing of the
Institute...and anyone to blame things on if the talks fell through.



...VI...

The tall woman was the Special Assistant. Although the meeting was in her office, she waited for the Admiral. "The
Admiral, Ms. Ku-Smythe." The Special Assistant acknowledged the faxscreen with a curt nod and stood to await her
visitor.

"You look very professional, Marcella."

"Thank you." She gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

The Admiral sat, erect with the military bearing that could only have come from years of training.

"Have you reconsidered your position on the Coordinate issue?" The Admiral's gray hair glinted in, the indirect
light. Although, as Defense chief, the space officer could have obtained the best of rejuve treatments, the gray added
yet another touch of authority.

"Commerce will support the Emperor. That has always been our position."

"I know that. You know that. What other official position could you have? Why all the reservations?"

Marcella shifted her weight before answering, then coughed softly to clear her throat. "Sooner or later, you'll push