by Isaac Asimov
“The damage is singular.”
Derec grunted. “That’s one way to look at it. For now, though, I want you to give me a program for a remote presence. I have to go up to Kopernik Station to try to salvage the DW-12 they have. It may be the only witness to what happened in the cargo bin. I’ll need you to help me sift through what’s left of its brain. I don’t think I can take all of you, and even if I could I’m not sure I want to risk you outside Auroran territory.”
“According to my memory, the positronics laboratory on Kopernik is more than ample for our purposes. Do we have a free comm channel to the Auroran branch on Kopernik? I will need to establish that they have the facilities.”
“Ariel’s setting that up now. I’ll be on a shuttle in less than five hours, so we have to set this up quickly.”
“I have analyzed the data provided.”
“Good. I’d like to hear your assessment.”
“There are a number of inconsistencies, primary among them is the connection between the death of the Brethe dealer and the deaths of the baleys. Except for the suggestion that a robot is involved, there is no basis I can see for the link between them. If a robot is not involved in one or the other or, as is more likely, both, then the Brethe dealer is an entirely separate issue and a complication in the investigation of the murdered baleys.”
“And if a robot is involved?”
“The likelihood of finding a robot capable of such crimes being as remote as it is, then there would be grounds to link the two, as it would be logical that only one such robot exists. But that prompts a number of questions, all of which require factors of chance and coincidence that recomplicate the central question. Such a robot would need to be transported to and from Kopernik on a regular basis, in a short period of time.”
“Increasing the chance of discovery, “Derec noted.
“Precisely, even given the capabilities described by Mr. Lanra of a robot able to hide from surveillance tools. It should be pointed out that it is not accurate to suggest that only a robot could use masking capabilities. For a robot, however, the risk of discovery in this instance would be unnecessarily higher. There is nothing in the data provided concerning the baleys that implicate a robot. This crime could just as well have been committed by humans.”
“How would the assassin escape? Everyone in the cargo bin was dead and the seals showed no indication of having been opened between the time the baleys boarded and Chief Palen’s people opened it up on Kopernik.”
“Human history is overfull with examples of suicide assassins. However, barring that, I lack sufficient information to rule out all possible methods of escape.”
“What about the crack in the bin?”
“There is insufficient information for me to speculate productively about that. It could be a structural flaw in the material.”
“All right, set that aside for the moment. Can you still access Terran data sources?”
“Of course.”
Despite the fact that it was incapable of emotion, Derec nevertheless heard a note of smug pride in Thales’ statement.
“Of course,” he echoed. “I want you to run a search for any recent murders or accidental deaths that bear similarities to the Brethe dealer.”
“That will require me to access certain law enforcement datums.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, but it will take more time. I may not have that information for some hours. Unless you do not care about detection.”
“Do it right, Thales. I don’t want the TBI on our backs about this. You said there were a number of inconsistencies. Continue.”
“All the passengers but one succumbed to a neurotoxin. Why not all of them? Nyom Looms carried her own rebreather. The question is why? Did she anticipate trouble? Was she sharing the primary rebreather before donning her own? And if there was time for one to remove the rebreather mask, why not more? The DW-12 unit appears to be trying to shut the rebreather off. This suggests that the bin was pressurized and contained sufficient atmosphere that shutting down the rebreather would not constitute further threat to human life.”
“The crack.”
“Why would they use a damaged bin? It is reasonable to assume that an inspection would have revealed the crack prior to its transfer to an orbital lifter–unless, as I already suggested, it was a structural flaw which manifested only after lift-off. But it also seems reasonable to assume the crack was made specifically to force the passengers to continue using the rebreather, as the air would leak out, thus guaranteeing that they would be poisoned.”
“So the crack was made after the bin had been transferred,” Derec said.
“If it was intentional, that is reasonable. But by whom?”
“Or what. That brings us back to the robot hypothesis.”
“Which remains unlikely. The opening is too small for a robot to pass through, and since the DW-12 is the only one present–and is still present–in the bin, then we can rule it out.”
“The masked robot?”
“Being undetectable by surveillance equipment would not render it invisible to plain sight. It would still have been in the container. There are other possibilities for creating such a crack.”
“Coren Lanra says he saw it board.”
“But it was not there when the bin was opened. Either it left before arrival on Kopernik, even before it left Earth, or Mr. Lanra is mistaken.”
“Agreed,” Derec said, nodding. “But there are no tools in the bin. It appears that whoever made the opening also left.”
“Unlikely.”
“Again, I agree. Continue.”
“There is evidence of an absence. Not all the cradles in the bin are occupied. Two appear to have been empty when the bin was opened. One can be accounted for by the victim found suspended from the ceiling. The other was simply empty. Both were provided with rebreather masks. From the appearance of both empty cradles, one was occupied.”
Have to ask Lanra about that, Derec thought. “So? They miscounted.”
“One assumes these bins are prepared in advance. That they would contain the exact number of cradles necessary for a single shipment seems unlikely. However, if they did outfit this one to specific requirements, why would there be an extra?”
“Possibly someone elected not to go at the last moment?”
“Not an unreasonable hypothesis, Derec.”
Maybe one of the late Nyom Looms’ charges still lived, then. One not involved in the murder, at least, since that empty cradle remained unaccounted for.
“I have a question, Derec,” Thales said.
“Yes?”
“Should I suspend my work on Bogard’s positronic matrix for the duration of this assignment?”
“Why would–? Oh.”
Memory, Derec realized. Normally Thales possessed far more memory than either of these chores required, but already Bogard’s problem took up more than Thales possessed. The hasty move from their former housing at the defunct Phylaxis Group building meant a good portion of Thales’ auxiliary memory buffers waited, unused, in storage. Having access to Kopernik’s buffers, however, represented an opportunity for Thales to once more utilize its full potential.
“We’ll wait,” he decided. “Find out what facilities you can use on Kopernik. Maybe you can divide functions.”
“I would appreciate the opportunity to test several hypotheses concerning Bogard. Kopernik’s facilities would offer that chance.”
“We’ll find out. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. Will identification of the deceased be provided?”
“I don’t know. Is it important?”
“Finding commonalities among them may bear upon discovering who would want them all dead.”
Derec blinked. Sometimes he felt like an idiot. “Of course. I’ll ask.” He scratched his chin idly. “Speaking of Bogard, do you have an update?”
“No change since last report. I do not possess sufficient memory to operate at a more ef
fective level.”
“Okay. I didn’t expect anything, but...”
“There is a possible solution to the total problem.”
Derec hesitated. “You mentioned hypotheses...”
“Part of Bogard’s unusual make-up was based on unorthodox hardware configurations. I have attempted to simulate these, but like the human brain, the physical matrix itself represents a necessary and unpredictable condition of awareness. Given the limitations within which we are forced to work, I have compiled a protocol whereby it may be practical to encode a new positronic brain with a composite persona: Bogard’s, and myself.”
Derec considered for a few seconds. “What good would that do? Bogard’s matrix is completely collapsed. Trying to load it into a new brain would either be rejected by the load protocols or result in a duplicate encoding, collapsed condition and all.”
“Normally, yes. The encoding protocols require a stable framework for reception to work. I am suggesting that I can provide that framework while allowing those elements of Bogard that match a viable positronic template to load within it.”
“A combination?”
“I could not predict to what extent the result would be a combination–how much of each source matrix would encode in the new brain–but in essence, parts of both Bogard and myself would transfer together.”
Derec shifted in his chair, intrigued. “The result could be only a slightly less coherent matrix. Collapse would occur at the first challenge.”
“Possibly. I am running simulations to account for as many variables as possible based on my own composition.”
“What, uh, would be the point?”
“You would have a functioning persona capable of self-analysis. It might be possible to simply ask it why it failed.”
Derec felt eager to try. He wanted to say yes. He distrusted the impulse, but the idea excited him.
“Continue running the simulations until I can find out more about Kopernik’s lab.”
“Yes, Derec.”
The light on the comm winked on. Derec leaned closer: Ariel was calling. “We may have that answer now,” he said, and reached for the ACCEPT button. His hand trembled slightly; he clenched it into a fist for a moment, then pressed the contact.
Hofton brought the link to Derec’s apartment. Derec opened the small metal case and ran a diagnostic on the device.
“Our shuttle lifts in an hour, twenty minutes,” Hofton said. “Are you packed?”
Derec pointed to a single large case by the door. “This’ll take about half an hour, “he said, patting the side of the link. “Thales, we have a Mark-Six Collaborative Transcriptor.”
“You requested a Mark-Four.”
“Is this a problem?”
“No, this is a considerable improvement. Refresh periods can be at greater intervals and more thorough.”
Derec looked at Hofton.
“I took a few liberties,” the aide said. “No one was using this one.”
Derec smiled. “I didn’t realize you were such a good scrounger.”
“The position of ‘aide’ is descriptively vague for a reason,” Hofton said.
The diagnostic winked green. “The unit checks one hundred percent, Thales. Are you ready?”
“I have modified the download pathways to accommodate the superior unit. Start with nodes eight through fourteen.”
Derec opened a panel on Thales’ console and began attaching thick connectors. “Did you happen to find out who’s running the lab on Kopernik?”
“Yes’,” Hofton said. “Rotij Polifos.”
“I don’t know him. Is he good?”
“He’s been director for the past seven years.”
“Hm. Anybody else?”
“There are two specialists and six interns. From what I saw, I think you’ll be pleased. I also did some background on Mr. Lanra and his friend on Kopernik.”
Derec rechecked the connections, then pressed a contact labeled OPEN CHANNEL. He watched the indicators for a few seconds.
“Coren Lanra used to be Special Service,” Derec said.
“Yes, he did. So was Sipha Palen. In fact, they partnered together in Service.”
“Why’d they quit?”
“Ideology, apparently. In Mr. Lanra’s case, he disapproved of the changes in Terran policy toward positronics. He resigned roughly at the time we were beginning work on the Union Station RI. Ms. Palen requested reassignment after being attached to Senator Kolbren’s office.”
“Kolbren... isn’t he the one that sponsored the legislation attempting to bar all Spacers from public areas? For health reasons, if I recall.”
“In essence. It was a quarantine measure. It didn’t even get out of committee, but Kolbren keeps winning reelection. Ms. Palen asked for a new position and was refused. She resigned. Shortly afterward, she accepted her current position as chief of security for Kopernik.”
Derec grunted. “Odd. She resented working for a rabid anti-Spacer, and her former partner resented growing cooperation with Spacers. How did they get along as partners?”
“I’m not psychic. Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose they found other things upon which to base their relationship.”
Derec looked at Hofton. He could never tell when the man was being sincere or sardonic. It annoyed him that Ariel seemed to like Hofton so much–Derec’s own dry wit irritated her.
“Both, however,” Hofton continued, “had exemplary records while in Special Service.”
“And now he works for a man who wants to see us all thrown off Earth.” Derec shrugged. “So we cooperate with him.”
“A quandary. It is odd.”
“Any ideas?”
“None I’d be willing to share at the moment.”
Hofton’s expression remained politely attentive, betraying nothing more. He had worked for Ariel for nearly three years. Before Hofton, she had gone through four other aides in something over two years. Derec had never asked about them or asked why Hofton was different. He wanted to ask now.
Instead, he said, “Hofton, you’re perfect.”
“One tries, sir.”
Derec laughed, and was rewarded by a faint smile from Hofton.
“Anything else I need to know about these people?” Derec asked.
“I’m not sure. One curious fact about Mr. Lanra came up. He’s an orphan.”
“Really.”
“Yes, sir. He matriculated from the Connover-Trinidal Youth Asylum, a life-long resident. I find this remarkable because many people from the same background don’t enjoy much success.”
“He never knew his parents?”
“No. And, of course, the records are sealed. But as far as I could tell, he never tried to look into them.”
“Hm. What about Palen?”
“Very much the opposite. Large, extended family, prosperous, the best schools, etcetera. “Hofton waited a beat. “Should I continue looking?”
“Not on my account. Maybe Ariel would like to know more. Is Lanra accompanying us to Kopernik?”
“No, sir. He has lines of investigation down here... so he says.”
Derec gave Hofton a curious look.
“The shuttle up to Kopernik two days ago,” Hofton said, “was his first trip offworld.”
For a few seconds, Derec did not understand. Then: “Oh. Well, then, I suppose it’s just as well he has things to do down here.”
Hofton nodded. “I think it’s for the best.”
“Probably.”
“We may find Ms. Palen more cooperative anyway, simply because she doesn’t work for Rega Looms.”
“That’s certainly a possibility.”
They fell silent then, and Derec stared at the link until a light winked on requesting the next phase of its setup. Derec worked silently, rearranging the connections, reconfiguring part of the device to match the next part of Thales’ requirements.
Hofton softly cleared his throat. “May I ask a question, sir?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you involving yourself in this?”
Derec straightened, trying to compose an explanation of the link and why Thales required it due to the distances involved and the complexity of the job, but stopped, comprehending the question a moment later.
“You mean with this investigation?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I could ask you the same.” Hofton waited and Derec nodded. “I love this,” he said, waving at Thales. “Working with positronics. Working, period. I hate inactivity.”
“You could do calisthenics in that case.”
Derec laughed briefly. “I’m doing this because I can, because it might give me a chance to do something I want to do. Because the chance to get my hands on the tools to do some serious work is worth the risk.”
“You’d like to rebuild your robot, Bogard.”
“Of course I would, but it’s more than that.”
“There are several good reasons for you to refuse.”
“I know. I’m not going to think about them.” Derec looked at Hofton. “You?”
“You mentioned inactivity. Do you have any idea how dull diplomatic work can be?” He smiled wryly. “Seriously, though, I have been with perhaps a dozen senior diplomats. The work was interesting–more so in the beginning, before the desensitizing produced by overfamiliarity and intimate contempt–but rarely challenging. Even so, had my various superiors been in the least worth the bother, I would never have complained, much less transferred. I never thought I’d find myself working for someone like Ambassador Burgess. It was very difficult when I was forced to leave her service last year. I admit, I’d begun to take her for granted. But I just finished several months with a man named Cotish Valgas, who is a deputy overseer in Furnishing and Accoutrements. Yes, there is such a department–I was shocked myself. Suffice it to say that I’ll never take Ms. Burgess for granted again.”
“She’s special, isn’t she?”
Hofton nodded slowly, his eyes bright and sharp. “She is that, sir.”
“So why is she doing this?”
“Because she’s been ordered to.”
Derec shook his head. “No, no. You’ve known her for all this time. Is that the Ariel you know?”
