Read Online Empire & Ecolitan by L. E. Modesitt Jr. - Free Book Online

red-haired woman.
    â€œSher Masdra, you have no skills beyond the commerce…shall we say…of your own person…”
    When it came right down to it, reflected Jimjoy absently as he followed the purser, neither did he or anyone else. Especially, it appeared, on Accord. He hurried in pursuit of Cerla.
    By the time he had caught up with the quick-moving purser, she had stopped by a portal that was beginning to open.
    â€œMy office, quarters, and general place of business.” The woman gestured for him to enter.
    Jimjoy slipped inside, ready for anything—except for the four-by-four-meter room, tastefully accented in shades of blue and cream, with a console and four small screens on one wall, a recessed double bunk on the opposite wall, a small table and two chairs. His eyes lighted on the built-in beverage dispenser, then flicked to the overhead lighting strips.
    â€œEverything from business to pleasure,” he noted dryly.
    â€œHave a seat.” Her tone ignored his sarcasm.
    The Special Operative looked over the choice. Either the luxurious and padded sink chair or the utilitarian swivel before the console.
    He settled into the sink chair, since he knew she would not sit down if he took the swivel. As he eased himself into the chair, he inadvertently put his weight on his right arm, and was rewarded with a renewed throb from the muscle all the way into his shoulder.
    â€œYou looked like you were sitting for an execution, Major.”
    â€œWhat’s the Major bit? The name’s White.”
    Cerla raised an eyebrow. “I thought we’d gone through that already. No charades, as I recall.”
    Jimjoy smiled expansively from the depths of the padded sink chair, designed clearly to keep upstart passengers from leaping at the purser/government agent. “Only admitted I wasn’t an immigrant. Didn’t deny I had Imperial ties. You said that I was a Major…or whatever.”
    Cerla shook her head, and her bobbed brown hair bounced away from her round face and suddenly flat brown eyes.
    â€œAll right. You are Major Jimjoy Earle Wright the Third, Imperial Space Service, Special Operative, Intelligence Service, on special detail for reconnaissance of Accord. Your cover name is Hale Vale White. You have orders limiting you to strict observation, without any specific time limits.
    â€œYou graduated from Malestra College with an I.S.S. scholarship, completed pilot training at Saskan during the ’43 emergency, served one tour as junior second pilot on the courier Rimbaud before being transferred to Headquarters staff for independent assignments. You are qualified to pilot virtually every class of atmospheric and space vehicle. You are persona non grata to the Fuards, the Halstanis, the Orknarlians. You are the tempter incarnate on IFoundlt! And your profile has been circulated to every non-Imperial world by the Comsis Co-Op.
    â€œBesides, even if you aren’t exactly who we think you are, there’s absolutely no doubt about what you are.”
    Jimjoy frowned. “Care to explain that?”
    Cerla smiled faintly. “I probably shouldn’t, but you’ve obviously been set up. That means that the Empire either wants you dead or to create an incident. It also means that the Empire won’t listen to anything beyond an in-depth factual report, if that. Something as ossified as the Empire cannot afford to change, not beyond the cosmetic.”
    â€œHope you’re going to explain,” Jimjoy pursued. He was annoyed by the woman’s patronizing attitude—even as attractive and friendly as she projected herself. Even if what she said made a certain disturbing kind of sense. He took a breath slightly deeper than normal and tried to relax.
    â€œYes…although I am tempted not to.”
    â€œAppreciate it if you would. I’m too Imperial not to be put off by your rather patronizing attitude toward the Empire. Even if you turn out to be