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

question.
    “In the same way as any other bright student of applied political theory from a nonnoble family. Took the Emperor’s exams, passed with distinction, and was placed in the Commerce Ministry.” Marcella furrowed her brows briefly, as if the beginning of a career which had led her to becoming one of the top assistants in the Imperial bureaucracy was nothing unusual.
    “Your family?”
    “My mother was pleased, although she’s from the Eagles and would have preferred me to take a commission. My father, well, he just wanted me to do what I wanted. Nothing any different about me from any other aspiring assistant.
    “You, on the other hand, embody romance, mystery, and a hint or so of danger.”
    “Why? Because I’m from the nasty planet of Accord?”
    Marcella was spared an answer by the arrival of a purple clad waiter.
    Nathaniel nodded at Marcella.
    “Two of the flaming spicetails, Imperial salads with Maccean nuts, and a carafe of Kremmling.” She looked at the Ecolitan. “Do you want anything else?”
    “I’ll leave that up to you.”
    “The cheeses as a mid-course,” she added to the waiter.
    “Honored guest…” she started, with an appealing lilt in her mocking tone.
    “Damn it! I’m Nathaniel. Always was. Always will be. None of this ‘honored’ this or ‘honored’ that. Honors never did the work.”
    “Nathaniel, then. You still haven’t answered the question you haven’t let me ask.”
    “Which was?”
    “Why you seem to personify the whole concept of mystery.”
    “There’s nothing mysterious about me.”
    “Oh?”
    “I’m thirty-eight standard years old, sandy haired, and I’ve been employed in some capacity by the benevolent Institute for the past fifteen years.”
    “Ah, yes. Combat arm of the Institute, but a renowned economist. Highly rated scout pilot, but a teacher. You’re pulled out of the Institute and thrown to head a trade delegation at the last minute. That’s not mysterious?”
    Nathaniel was impressed with Marcella’s ability to tap into the pipeline, particularly since the information existed in written form only on Accord.
    He shrugged.
    “What can I say?” He forced a grin. “I thought you weren’t going to mix business with socializing.”
    She had the grace to smile back, and the coldness left her eyes for a moment.
    “You win.”
    Nathaniel opted for generosity.
    “Not that it’s not a good observation, Marcella. But I could say the same about you. All I know is that you are extraordinarily talented and that you work for Lord Rotoller, and that…”
    “And what else?”
    “That I’m perilously close to mixing business and socializing. No sense in drawing a second reprimand.”
    He took a sip of the Kremmling, a light white wine with a hint of a sparkle, and waited for Marcella to taste the salad which had just appeared.
    Was she waiting for him to take the first bite? Style be damned. He picked up the fork.
    After the first three bites, Nathaniel decided there was a solid reason why the salad was termed “Imperial.” It was too rich for anyone but an Imperial.
    “What do you really think of New Augusta?”
    An innocently loaded question, but Nathaniel decided to be as truthful as possible under the circumstances.
    “I haven’t had a chance to see a great deal, but already I feel cramped by not being able to get outside. I suppose that’s one reason why you’ve made the effort toward high-ceilinged architecture.”
    “You’d have to confirm that with the Imperial architect, but it’s as good a reason as any. We just accept it because that’s the way it is.”
    “What happens if someone doesn’t accept things?”
    Marcella shrugged. “Every society has some who don’t fit in.”
    “I can’t say that I’ve noticed an overt police system, but I have the impression that things are definitely under control.”
    “As well as could be expected.”
    “Do the unhappy ones get mental treatment or what?”
    “Not necessarily.