Asimov’s Future History Volume 9

by Isaac Asimov

  Hofton frowned. “She’s more disciplined, I think, than you give her credit. “He blinked and folded his arms. “But, no, not really. She could easily refuse. She’s been expecting a recall to Aurora anyway.”

  “So?”

  “I think she wants a chance to get even.”

  “With who?”

  “All of them, sir. All of them.” He glanced at his watch. “We have an hour before the shuttle leaves. Will you be done?”

  Derec checked the monitors. “Five more minutes.”

  Hofton cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Um... I spoke perhaps too openly, Mr. Avery–”

  “She’ll never hear about it from me.” Hofton looked mildly relieved. “Under one condition.”

  “Sir?”

  “Call me Derec.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Ten

  THREE PEOPLE WERE waiting in his office when Coren returned. Two of them wore the look of professional security–well-dressed but practical, no clothing that would bind and impede a wide range of movement–while the third looked very administrative. Coren recognized none of them other than by type. He resisted the immediate urge to run; right now he did not have time for further complications.

  “Mr. Lanra,” the administrative type said. “I’m Del Socras. I work for Mr. Myler Towne of Imbitek. Forgive the intrusion, but I was instructed to convey Mr. Towne’s regards and extend his invitation to lunch.”

  Coren glanced at the security, both of whom had risen to their feet upon his entrance. “I really am rather busy, Mr. Socras.”

  “Mr. Towne realizes this. It will be a brief lunch.”

  Coren considered his options: run, call the police, or comply. From the look of the pair of security types, it was even odds that he could get away. Dragging in the police might complicate things to the point that his investigation of Nyom’s death would have to be postponed or abandoned. It always seemed to be the petty things that interrupted one’s plans.

  That was the problem, though. If it were petty; why would Towne be so insistent? Reluctantly, he concluded that his only viable option was to go along and find out.

  “Very well. Shall I meet him somewhere?”

  “We have a car, Mr. Lanra.”

  “Of course you do.” Coren made himself smile. “Shall we, then?”

  “One moment, sir,” one of the security said and pulled out a palm monitor that looked remarkably like Coren’s own. He walked around Coren twice, then reached into Coren’s pocket and removed his hemisphere. He handed it to Towne.

  “I don’t think you’ll need this, Mr. Lanra,” Towne said, setting it on the Desk. “Our security is very good.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Coren said tightly.

  Socras led the way out of the building and across the avenue to the garage.

  The drive lasted fifteen minutes, during which time Socras made a few attempts at polite conversation which Coren ignored. To his credit, Coren thought, he took the hint and lapsed into a polite silence.

  The windows were all darkened. When they stopped, he had no idea where exactly he was.

  He was shocked to see a garden.

  Outside? No–he saw delicate ribbing overhead, supporting a high vaulting ceiling. Relieved, he surveyed the rest of the chamber. A garden, yes, and an expensive one.

  A large dead patch off to the left, an area that looked as if some withering blight had eaten the life out of the very air around it, spoiled the placid beauty around him. Even the pavement and wall nearby were blackened.

  A touch on his elbow prompted him to move forward.

  Myler Towne sat behind a small table covered with dishes. He dwarfed his chair and made the people around him appear small. He looked up as Coren stopped.

  “Mr. Lanra, “he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation.”

  “Is that what it was?”

  “Of course. It’s illegal to coerce people.”

  “Of course it is. What can I do for you, Mr. Towne?”

  “Come to work for me.”

  Coren held back a laugh.

  Towne looked at him, scooped a mound of mashed potato onto his fork, and smiled.

  “Neither of us,” he said, “has time for banter. I have some questions before you answer me. You saw the damage when you came in?”

  “Yes...”

  “I used to take my lunch there.”

  Coren glanced back at the dead patch. “You mean that was an attack?”

  “Did you engineer it?”

  Coren started. “Excuse me?”

  Towne smiled briefly. “I didn’t think so. Have you ever worked for Imbitek?”

  “I think you’d know.”

  “Possibly. I don’t have all my predecessor’s records.” Towne waited, ate another bite of potato, then pushed the plate away a thumb’s width. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “You were involved in that imbroglio last year that put Mr. Mikels in prison, weren’t you?”

  “No.”

  Myler Towne glanced around at his people. “I was misinformed? I was under the impression that you met with the Auroran liaison from the Calvin Institute. Was that on some other matter? I ask, you see, for a number of reasons, not all of which may be immediately connected–”

  “My employer was under suspicion for the events that put your employer in prison, Mr. Towne. I was doing my job, seeing to his security. I was not, however, involved in any of it.”

  “Hmm. Indeed. Then why have you been twice to the Auroran embassy in the last two days?”

  “Your first message to call came before either of those meetings, so I assume your reasons had nothing to do with that. Have they changed?”

  “When I hire someone I want to know about them.”

  “You aren’t hiring me.”

  Towne gave a mock frown of disbelief. “You ‘re turning my offer down?”

  “I am.”

  “But you haven’t even heard it.”

  Coren sighed. “Must I?”

  Myler Towne stood. He was an enormous man, easily head and shoulders taller than Coren, and not, as Coren first suspected, run to fat. For his size, he had a trim waistline, which implied that the shoulders filling his smock were solid and powerful.

  “It’s such a good offer,” Towne said.

  He came around the small table and an attendant immediately began clearing off the dishes. Another removed the table, and a third took away the chair.

  Towne took Coren’s upper right arm in a massive hand that nearly encircled his bicep. “Walk with me, Mr. Lanra.”

  Coren moved without thinking. There was no question of refusing.

  Towne guided him deeper into the arboreta. The scents of various flowers mingled, almost too sweet. The colors competed for his eye.

  “Do you like it?” Towne asked.

  “It’s... astonishing.”

  “Not entirely decorative. Beautiful, yes, but this is a working facility. There are several plots of non-Terran plantlife.”

  “Isn’t that...?”

  “Illegal? No, we have permission. Well, for most of them. A few unexpected forms got in with the authorized seeds and have proven useful. We do a substantial business in pharmaceuticals, as well as our industrial divisions.”

  Coren glanced back in the direction of the “accident” and shuddered.

  “No, that wasn’t caused by an alien plant,” Towne said. “Not directly, at least. We manage the biospheres here better than that. What you saw was a deliberate attempt to kill me. A very fast-acting substance–something we call a decompiler–was introduced in a standard defoliant. The plants we grew there possessed a method of self-defense that produced a cloud of protein molecules as they tried to rid themselves of the infection–in this instance a hopeless task, but it kept the poor things spewing vapor. I liked to eat there because the molecules so produced have a very pleasant aroma and a side benefit for the palate. Anyway
, the moment this compound, which the plants continuously kept in the air, came into contact with flesh, it reacted with the adiposa and began to work faster. Much faster. One of my gardeners wandered in there just before lunch a few day sago. The entire plot was reduced to the state you saw in about ten minutes.”

  “Um …” Coren worked to keep the image out of his head and failed. “So someone is trying to assassinate you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Nothing. That’s why I called you. I live within thick layers of security, Mr. Lanra. For someone to get that close …”

  Coren nodded, understanding perfectly. “You don’t trust your own staff.”

  “There are a few, of course, but I’m not sure I would secure the results I need if I were to put them to finding the traitor. I think it would be better done by an outsider, someone not overly familiar with the situation or the personnel involved.”

  “I suppose its pointless to ask if there was surveillance.”

  “Constant. We have nothing. We’ve reviewed the record and nothing unusual happened. I have one gardener for that plot–had, I should say–and he was the only one recorded tending the area. I doubt he would have been stupid enough to step into his own trap had he laid it.”

  “It would be extreme. Any idea who ordered it?”

  “Oh, yes, I have a very good idea. I can’t prove it. And I’d rather not say just now.”

  At that point, Towne released Coren’s arm and stopped. Coren turned to face him.

  “I would rather wait till I hear your answer,” Towne said.

  Coren shook his head. “Any other time, Mr. Towne, I might consider it. But just now …”

  “I’ll pay you half a million credits. Half now, half when your investigation is successful.”

  Coren’s breath exploded as if he had been punched.

  “Don’t be shocked, Mr. Lanra, I’m very serious. This is worth considerably more to me than a half million.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Towne...” Coren swallowed. “You must know that I can’t accept. I have other responsibilities right now–”

  “Looms’ election? You can’t think he’ll win. Besides, I know that you’ve essentially delegated his security to your subordinate.”

  “That’s not the only thing, but I do owe some loyalty to Mr. Looms. How would it look if I left his employ now?”

  Towne nodded. “It would look bad. I won’t try to tell you that his election would be an inconvenience to Imbitek. Seeing him fail would hardly be unwelcome. But I think he will, anyway. So do you. Or you ‘re not as smart as I thought.”

  “Still, I’m engaged in a project that I can’t let drop. In a few days I might be able to reconsider–”

  “In a few days I could be dead.”

  “Then let me recommend another–”

  “I want you, Mr. Lanra. I’m not interested in second best.” Towne cocked his head to one side. “More money? Name your price, we can negotiate.”

  “This is a personal matter.”

  “Very much so.”

  “For me. I’m afraid I can’t. Not right now.”

  Towne looked about to say more, then closed his mouth. He shrugged. “I’m sorry, then. I’ll have my people take you back to your office. Don’t fret, Mr. Lanra, I’m not the vindictive sort.” He pursed his lips. “This personal issue. Perhaps I could help. I’m not without resources.”

  Coren hesitated. Towne’s offer took on new possibilities. He could not use his own security people to find Nyom’s killer, but it would have been good to have the help. He ran through a number of ways he might take advantage of Imbitek’s security.

  No, it was too complex. He did not have the time to work it out, build the appropriate firewalls, exercise the desired level of control.

  “That’s very generous,” Coren said carefully. Damn, it’s tempting...

  “I think I can wait one more day,” Towne said. “Let me know.” He looked to his left then, and gestured. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Lanra.”

  The pair of security that had accompanied Socras appeared then. They escorted Coren back through the lush garden. He paused before the dead foliage on the way out, fascinated in spite of his decision.

  Decompilers? he wondered.

  He instructed his Desk to run a thorough sweep on the office for eyes and ears. When the Desk reported none, Coren was surprised. He hefted his hemisphere, wondering how else they might set up surveillance.

  I don’t have time for this...

  “What about the searches? Report.”

  “Of the twenty-three names you designated for records searches, partial correlations have been found as far back as twenty-eight years. Eight of them attended the same university together. Sixteen have military service records. Twelve share relatives through marriage.”

  “Give me the highest factor of commonality.”

  “Investment.”

  No surprise there, he thought. Every one of those twenty-three names was moneyed. “Any particular stock?”

  “Nova Levis Corporation. All of them were primary shareholders.”

  “Nova Levis? The colony or the lab?

  “The lab.”

  “You said ‘were: They are no longer investors?”

  “The corporation ran for eight years without showing a profit and was consequently closed.”

  “Sold? To who?”

  “Purchased outright by the Kysler Diversified Group. Debt paid out of available funds plus sale of equipment and patents.”

  Kysler... the same company that owned those shipments diverted to make room for Nyom’s baleys...?

  “What patents?” he asked.

  “Unknown at this time. Do you wish another search?”

  “Yes. Who was on the board of directors?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Did any of those twenty-three sell early?”

  “Three: Kyas Vol, Tenebra Patis, and Rega Looms.”

  “How early?”

  “Joint sale, three years after purchase of shares.”

  “Did any other shareholders who are not on this list of twenty-three sell at that time?”

  “One. Gale Chassik.”

  “The Solarian Ambassador?”

  “Presently. He was not ambassador at the time.”

  Coren considered. “I want a complete dossier on Nova Levis Corporation. For the time being, though, how does this figure into Ree Wenithal’s career?”

  “Ree Wenithal was an operative of EuroSector Bureau of Criminal Investigation. His last case involved research into Nova Levis Corporation as one of several laboratories suspected as collusive entities in a kidnapping ring. Results proved inconclusive, no action taken.”

  So that’s where his reaction came from...

  “Synopsis of his last investigation.”

  “Three-year investigation of kidnapping and infant brokerage, leading to the discovery of a child-selling trade operating between Earth and a Settler colony named Tau Regis. Agent Wenithal received a commendation for excellence in police investigation, three citations for exceptional public service, and a merit commendation for valor after exposing the ring and overseeing its destruction. He retired one year afterward with full pension and lifetime honors awards. He opened his own business two years later, a small private security firm which failed after four years. He remained retired then until starting the present firm of RW Enterprises.”

  “Hard copy the dossier on the investigation.”

  “Only the public record is available. Details are under security seal pending review.”

  “Very well, the public record, then.” Coren tapped a fingertip against his chin, thinking. “Question: If Wenithal’s case only lasted three years, why is there an eleven-year spread concerning the names in his files?”

  “Subjects related in prior investigations from various districts. Collated by Wenithal under his own investigation for related details.”
r />   “So this was not the first time these matters had been investigated?”

  “No. Ongoing investigations in five separate jurisdictions extending back seven years prior to Wenithal’s case.”

  “Are any of the investigating officers available?”

  “No. Eighteen officers, all deceased.”

  “What about staff? Are any of the people who worked for Nova Levis still alive and available? The principle researchers, what happened to them?”

  “Five researchers. Three are listed as deceased, one emigrated shortly after the lab closed, and the fifth is listed only as Missing.”

  “Missing. Name?”

  “Kyas Vol.”

  “One of the primary shareholders who baled out early.”

  “Correct.”

  “Just missing, no last known address? What about his file? Who was he?”

  “An immigrant, native of Spacer world Theia, resident director of research at two medical centers prior to accepting directorship of neurobiology department of Nova Levis.”

  Spacer...?

  “Did he return to Theia?”

  “The record does not so indicate.”

  “Missing.” That could mean anything.

  “The one who emigrated–destination?”

  “Nova Levis.”

  Coren grunted. “Why am I not surprised.”

  “Unknown.”

  Coren felt himself smile at the Desk’s literalness. “Very well. Continue search. In the meantime, link me to Sipha Palen, encrypt protocols.”

  The screen emerged from the desktop and winked on. Coren waited patiently while the machines exchanged the proper codes to set up the link. A few minutes later Sipha’s face filled the screen.

  “About time,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “No chance. I’ve had an interesting time since last we spoke. Listen, I’m sending you a positronic specialist.”

  “You’re kidding. You really know one?”

  “Two, actually, but you’re only getting Derec Avery.”

  Sipha frowned for a moment, then whistled. “I am impressed, partner mine.”

  “You know about him?”

  “I know someone who knows him. You would think he was the reincarnation of Susan Calvin to listen to this person.”