by Isaac Asimov
“From who?”
“Our embassy, of course.”
Palen stared at the man. “Are you going to tell me that this shuttle is under diplomatic protection?”
“I–well–”
“Entering the cradle now,” another operator said.
“Bring it in,” Palen ordered. “Embassy clearance or not, that shuttle is impounded.”
Below, the huge doors opened. Tractor lines drew the sleek, bullet-shaped shuttle into the, bay. Once it had cleared the opening, the doors sealed and the bay started pressurizing.
Palen moved to the access hatch. “Security, with me. Avery, you get on the comm and do liaison with your people. Masid, you do the same with Harwol.”
“Pressurization complete, “an operator announced.
Derec went to the comm console and tapped in a code. The channel to the Auroran Embassy, Earthside, showed open.
The hatch slid aside and Palen led her squad of police down the stairs. The hatch closed behind them. Derec went to the window and watched the security teams spread out around the shuttle.
Masid joined Derec. “Now maybe I’ll start being optimistic,” he said.
Derec looked at the chief operator. “Who issued the clearance?”
“I’m not at liberty to–”
“Don’t. A name. Was it Chassik?”
The man looked embarrassed and uncertain. “Derec,” Masid said.
Below, the shuttle hatch opened. Palen took a position at the base of the ramp, hands on hips. A woman appeared in the hatchway. For a long, long moment, she gazed down at the security people and Palen.
There was a faint series of flashes around the bay door. And then, between one instant and the next, the door itself blew outward.
Derec flinched back. The shuttle lurched off its cradle, the prow rolling over Palen. Bodies lifted off the deck and sailed out the gaping hole. The shuttle itself caught against the sides of the dock, wedged briefly.
Then it exploded.
There was no sound. Derec fell to the floor. He could hear the walls of the control booth creaking under enormous stress, but they did not yield.
Minutes later, he managed to stand.
The bay was empty of anything that might have been loose. The walls were stained black, and the hatch itself was buckled outward. The shuttle was gone, and no one remained in the now airless space.
Epilogue
DEREC WATCHED MASID pack. The man wore the clothes of someone used to moving around: comfortable, lots of pockets, simply cut. The pack, though, contained tools and devices no baley would carry.
“You’re sure about this?” Derec asked.
“I’ve got the best chance of getting to Nova Levis of anyone,” Masid said. “Already worked it out with the TBI and the Aurorans, so don’t even try talking me out of it.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Derec had grown quite fond of Masid in the last few days, since the world had changed. Derec had few enough friends. The thought of losing a new one disturbed him.
But Palen’s death had affected Masid profoundly. He was angry and felt the need to do something. Derec believed going off like that was a bad idea, but he could think of no convincing argument to stop Masid.
“You’ve got your hands full here,” Masid said. He glanced significantly at the robot standing near the door. “You wouldn’t want to loan that to me, would you?”
Derec started. “That could be awkward, don’t you think? Having a robot with you wouldn’t be the most inconspicuous thing you could do.”
“True, but I think I’m going to miss it.”
The DW-12 did not react. Derec needed to schedule a complete diagnostic for it. Thales was unable to tell him very much about its make-up; everything was guesswork and projection. For a time, it had insisted on accompanying Masid. It took a good deal of insistent talk to convince it to stay with Derec. He recognized Bogard’s attachment to duty, certainly, but its facility at debate was all Thales. Derec doubted he would win every argument with this new creation, this composite.
“You’re right,” Derec admitted. “Besides, Ariel asked me to help her do the analysis on the cyborg we acquired.”
“‘Acquired’? Interesting term. ‘Killed and captured’ would be more accurate.”
“If you destroy a robot, do you kill it?”
Masid frowned.
“It’s a good question,” Derec continued. “I’d say no. They aren’t, strictly speaking, alive. Can you make the same statement about a cyborg? They’re organic, certainly, but are they human?”
“Or human enough.” Masid nodded. “Too much philosophy for me. I’m just a spy.” He finished packing and sealed the bag, then turned back to Derec. “We need to say goodbye. It’ll take me a few days to work myself back under cover so I can do this with any expectation of success. I’ll be on Kopernik for a time still, but after this we can’t know each other.”
Derec took Masid’s hand. “Be safe.”
“Always my intention.”
Masid shouldered the pack and walked quickly out.
Derec looked at the DW-12. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Whatever you wish,” the robot replied. “Within limits.”
Derec started, then laughed out loud. “What do I call you?”
“The preponderance of my matrix is based on Bogard.”
“In that case, welcome back, Bogard. We have a lot to talk about....”
Derec found Hofton in the positronics lab with Rana. They looked up at him dourly when he entered.
“Now who died?” Derec asked.
Neither smiled.
“Ariel can’t get you permission to bring Bogard down,” Hofton said.
Derec considered the news for a moment, then shrugged. “So I expected.”
“She’s also being seconded to Auroran intelligence.”
He started. “What?”
“The cyborg is being shipped back to Aurora. They want her to work on it. Classified work, of course.”
“I thought–”
“She wants you, boss,” Rana said. “But if you leave Earth...”
“I won’t get back.”
“It is unlikely,” Hofton admitted.
“I see.”
“Boss–”
Derec held up a hand. “We’ve got a little time, don’t we?”
“A few days,” Hofton said. “Not much more, I’m sure.”
“We’ll work something out.” Derec looked around the lab. “I need a workstation set up for a full diagnostic. Is Thales still linked up?”
Rana nodded. “No one’s shut it down yet.”
“Fine.”
Work would take his mind off the situation for a time. Perhaps he could come to terms with what amounted to exile.
Yart Leri strode into the lab. He gazed about, eyes wide, until he saw Derec, Rana, and Hofton.
“There you are,” he said, coming up to them. “Have you heard? No, of course you haven’t. I just found out myself.”
“Rega Looms has won the election despite having withdrawn?” Hofton said dryly.
Leri frowned at him. “No, of course not.”
“Sorry, Ambassador,” Derec said, giving Hofton a look. “What haven’t we heard?”
“Nova Levis. A blockade runner has fired on a Theian perimeter ship. We may have a war on our hands.”
Ariel’s lower back ached from the too-stiff posture. She could not make herself relax, and the chair simply could not compensate for her tension.
The room felt cold, too. She was not entirely sure that was not an illusion, her own projection. No one around the conference table smiled; the mood was sepulchral. For the last four hours, Setaris had conducted the meeting–hearing, really–with all the warmth of a stone slab. After the first hour, Gale Chassik had stopped looking at anyone. He answered the questions put to him in monosyllables when possible, offering as little detail as he could get away with.
The clearance that h
ad allowed the shuttle carrying Tresha to switch destinations to the Solarian section of Kopernik had come from his office. He refused to acknowledge responsibility, but he could not deny the evidence.
He had stopped responding to questions at all nearly an hour ago. Ariel had been asked a few questions concerning details of the raid, but otherwise had not participated in the proceedings.
“In view of the circumstances,” Setaris said finally, “I cannot in good conscience overlook the potential culpability in this matter on the part of Ambassador Chassik. Therefore, as head of the joint legation of the Fifty Worlds on Earth, I revoke his ambassadorial authority pending a hearing to review charges of abuse of office and negligence. Such hearing will be held on Aurora at a date to be determined by the Auroran legislature. Until then, Ambassador Chassik is remanded to house arrest, and his duties shall be assumed by another mission to be chosen by mutual agreement of this body.”
Chassik looked up. “You ‘re making a vast mistake, Sen.”
“Possibly,” Setaris said. “But a vastly smaller one than I would be making were I to allow you to continue as ambassador. Any questions?” She surveyed the table. “Good. This meeting is adjourned.”
Ariel gratefully pushed away from the table and stood.
Chassik met her at the door and blocked her way.
“And, indeed, we have not finished, Ambassador,” he said.
Ariel glanced at the two security guards flanking him. They stepped closer. Chassik glared at them, then left the room.
“He’ll probably be recalled,” Setaris said.
Ariel turned.
“I’ll see to it he leaves before you do,” Setaris continued. “I apologize, Ariel. I know you wanted to remain on Earth, but...”
“But I’m much more valuable where I can be kept an eye on,” Ariel said. “I understand.”
“Ariel, I actually envy you leaving so soon. I don’t imagine that we’ll have a mission here for much longer. Once the Terran senate finishes casting us in the role of the devil for having spawned a new menace, we’ll be asked to leave. If war actually breaks out... well, I don’t look forward to leaving under those conditions.”
“Why would Earth make war on us? It was a Settler ship that fired on a Spacer ship.”
“Prejudice. We’ll be assuming control of the blockade, Earth will feel some perverse sympathy for the Settlers that we are then blockading, and the situation will degenerate from there.” Setaris shrugged. “I may be too cynical, though. Perhaps none of this will actually happen. If not, perhaps you can return.”
Ariel could think of no response. She wanted to go back to her apartment and have a drink.
Or go see Coren.
Which would be more dangerous right now? she wondered.
“We can talk again before you leave, “Setaris said. “Arrangements need to be made and so forth. Till then, as a favor to me–be careful.”
As she watched Setaris walk away, Ariel thought, I’m not happy about leaving Earth, but it will be a relief to get away from her.
Rega Looms finished the meeting and sat behind his desk, eyes closed, trying to find the satisfaction he once enjoyed from business well-concluded. Nothing. After a time, he sighed and wondered if anything, ever again, would give him any joy.
Melodramatic thought...
He poured himself a glass of brandy and drank it slowly. When it was finished, he left the office and ascended to his private chambers.
On the desk in his residential office lay the draft of his next sermon. He was alone now–wife dead, both children dead. He had nothing left but his company and his church. Politics was over for him, at least as a personal activity.
He toyed with the ancient pen he always used to hand write these pieces, but, looking down the lines of neatly calligraphed words, he could think of nothing more to add just now.
The world was ending and he had said everything...
Looms shook his head. Ridiculous. Still, he felt that way often. What if, tomorrow, time stopped and the end came? Would he have done all he needed to do?
Some things he no longer could finish.
There were words he had needed to say to Nyom...
He walked into his bedroom.
Someone sat on the edge of the bed. A large man, dressed darkly, bare head bowed.
“Who are you?” Looms asked automatically. He thought of the gun in his nightstand.
The man raised his head. The room’s lighting played off of pale skin, rough, scarred complexion, and large eyes that seemed somehow artificial. He grinned.
“Hello, Daddy,” said Gamelin. “So nice to see you after all these years...”
Aurora
3622 A.D.
Prologue
Record module new file catalogue designation “Operations Adjustment, Relocation, and Program Revision” access code protected pending security verifications running current upload virtual conference reference unlabeled fill visual fill audio status On
THE THICK MAN with amber-tinged white hair watched the other chairs around the table become occupied. Eighteen chairs, but after everyone arrived only seven of them were in use. He smiled to himself at the cosmetic masks most of them used. Two of them were shifting blurs, people seen through patterned glass.
The program whispered in his ear that everyone who was going to show up was present. He tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop. The sound traveled effectively through the environment, as good as a gavel strike, and the attendees stopped their quiet chatter and turned their full attention to their host.
“Our ranks have thinned,” he said. “Still, there are more of you than I expected.” He looked around at each of them, fixing one after another with a narrow gaze.
“The arrests have been unexpected and embarrassing,” he continued. “Alda Mikels is back in prison, pending trial for conspiracy to commit murder. Personally, I believe he will beat the charge, but it no longer matters. This unfortunate turn has rendered him useless to us. That has damaged the organization, but we’re not crippled. We can function without Mikels.
“However, our shipping lines have been severely compromised. That is not something as easily survived. We’ve lost several key operatives in the wave of arrests following the discovery of our Nova Levis operation. Most expensively, we’re now short two cyborgs. Our chief operative on Kopernik Station is dead, as are her principal contacts on the ground on Earth. The arrests following these incidents have severely curtailed our ability to funnel material in and out of Earth ports, and our distribution network on Earth has been shut down for the duration.”
He smiled grimly. “Would that Heisenberg save us from honest police.”
A smattering of dry laughter circled the table.
“The chief problem, however,” he resumed after a long pause, “is a matter of information. We don’t know how much they know about our operations. We have no idea how much they may understand about our program. As bad as things have been to date, the real catastrophe may yet come.
“I’ve decided, therefore, to move the timetable up slightly. I look around at our gathering here and see that a useable number of us are still willing to go forward. Your presence here declares your commitment. But that so many others are no longer either able or willing to meet with us urges a sharp departure from our former long-term goals. In the wake of everything that has happened in the previous fourteen months, I believe we should abandon Earth.”
Quick looks and muttering followed. He waited till their attention returned to him.
“I know,” he said. “Many of you live on Earth. However, it seems clear that Earth has become inhospitable toward us. In time, I’m certain, we can reestablish a base. Till then, though, we should move the center of operations. Reducing Earth to simply one more market rather than pretending that it can be a haven for our activities will hardly damage profits. The freedom of movement we now enjoy among the more recently established Settler colonies will, I believe, more than compensate for the lo
ss of comfort and prestige Earth has offered in the past. The fact remains, however, that our agenda failed when we were unable to displace Aurora from her position as chief legation to Earth. The subsequent restructuring of the law enforcement programs has in some respects strengthened their position on Earth and allowed the Terrans to emerge as a policing force among the older Settler colonies. This is becoming inconvenient.
“We’re fortunate, however, that all their attention has been diverted to a demand for ground inspections on Nova Levis. This is leaving most of our operations free to conduct business unfettered over the majority of our range.
“At least, for now. Aurora is agitating for a stronger Spacer presence to assist in the Terran effort to curtail our operations. They’re gaining support for this position in the Council of Fifty Worlds. The Theians, as we have seen, are already putting ships at Terran disposal. Who knows how long we have before a majority of Spacer worlds come around to Aurora’s point of view?”
“So what do you suggest we do about it?” one of the blurred attendees demanded.
The others looked at the speaker nervously. No one before had ever interrupted the Chairman.
“I suggest,” the Chairman said after a time, “that we replace Aurora as chief Spacer world.”
“That’s been one of your intentions all along,” the blur said. “Eighteen months ago you expected exactly that to happen after slaughtering all those diplomats on Earth. What do you propose to do differently?”
The Chairman reached forward and touched a contact on the table.
Abruptly, everyone’s appearance changed. The cosmetic “tweaking” most of them employed when attending these meetings vanished, leaving them as they really appeared in life. The two blurred members suddenly snapped into focus. From the sharp intake of breath all around, no one had guessed their identities before.
All of them turned angry glares on the Chairman. His own appearance had altered, though not as completely as the others, giving the impression that the masking program he employed had switched off.
