by Isaac Asimov
“Can’t get them to police it?” Coren asked.
“Basically. Without guarantees and reversion rights, DyNan’s not about to let the sector have it. Not surprising. Indones reportedly has the worst warren-squatting on the globe.” He shrugged. “Old problem.”
“So this is all uninhabited?” Ariel asked, gesturing out the window at the passing blocks.
“A couple businesses rent office and warehouse space,” Green said, “but by and large no one lives here.”
The transport traveled uncharacteristically empty streets for nearly ten minutes. Green signaled the driver to stop within sight of a boundary wall that shot up to join a tangle of strutwork and supporting columns just below the eaves of a cupola. He gestured for Ariel and Coren to get out.
Green took a disk from his pocket and handed it to Coren. “This is the guide to the site you want. It’s about ten kilometers from here, but two down,” he emphasized, jabbing a finger toward the pavement. “You might have some trouble actually getting into it. According to sector housing updates, after it was closed it was scheduled to be converted into vat space for waste treatment and gas exchangers. There’s nothing to indicate that the conversion actually took place, which isn’t uncommon here, either, so it may be just sitting there empty.”
“That was quick,” Coren said.
“You trained us,” Green said with mock indignity. “Actually, stuff like this is fairly easy. Anytime something is scheduled for a conversion, there’s a civil court file opened on it in anticipation of legal challenges—competing claims, special interest suits, oversight committee interest . . . I’ll tell you, boss, sometimes I wish I could work in the Horn District or Brasil or even in the Persak. The local bureaucracy here is mind-numbing. But anyway, you just screen for open court files. If they’re still open pending a hearing, all the relevant data is there.”
“This should have been resolved eighteen years ago,” Ariel said.
Green shrugged. “Recently, Imbitek had to rip out an entire distribution center because the file was still open on their license to convert an old hospice center. The center had been abandoned, closed down for twelve years. They petitioned for the space, got preliminary approval, and moved in after waiting a recommended four years to see if anyone would challenge. They neglected to file a claim to seal the approval to amendation. Someone challenged. Now here’s the amazing thing: The court told them to restore the space to its original condition pending the hearing. Imbitek could still win the petition, but it won’t even be heard while they continue to operate.”
Coren shook his head. “Trust me, Indones doesn’t have a lock on that kind of thing. I could tell you some stories . . .” He glanced at Ariel. “But later.” He slipped the disk into his reader. “So, we have to do this on foot?”
“Sorry, yes.” Green pointed to the nearest building. “This is the access to the maintenance warrens under here. You’ll find the path through the link stations connecting the housing plant to the civic infrastructure on the disk. This way you can avoid running into anyone. Do the whole thing through the service tunnels. It’ll take longer, but . . .”
“Perfect,” Coren said. “Thanks. We’ll be back by morning.”
“I’ll be here.”
Coren walked away. Ariel followed a moment later, glancing back from the door to the maintenance building to see Green Honli climb back into the transport. The vehicle, nearly silent, circled around and headed back the way it had come.
The small anteroom was dark, lit poorly by red guide lights on the floor and around the ceiling.
“Do you trust him?” she asked.
Coren opened his reader and studied the new grid that scrolled across its surface. “As much as anyone else. There’s nothing to be gained by him lying to us or turning us in. We haven’t done anything illegal and as for Rega—I checked while we were waiting for Green to get us this material and guess what? I am still technically an employee of DyNan Manual Industries. I’ve even been collecting a salary.”
“So it wouldn’t be practical for him to betray us.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He looked at her. She could not see his eyes in the dimness. “Look at it this way: Even if he turned you over to the authorities, I still haven’t done anything. He’d have to deal with me, then, and he knows me.” He shook his head. “We have a little time. There’s not much I can do to keep you from having to go back to your people. Let’s do what you want and stop wasting time on fruitless paranoia.”
“Paranoia is a habit.”
“Then get over it.” He studied the grid. “This way.”
He refolded the reader and headed off. For a moment, Ariel considered letting him go and running. It was a peculiar feeling, one she had not experienced in many years. It was fear, she knew, but the kind of fear she had thought long banished from her palette of emotions—fear of finishing.
Things were coming to an end. Following Coren now guaranteed their completion.
And then what?
She hefted her small backpack and lurched after him.
They climbed down a series of ladders, through narrower and narrower passages, until they reached an ancient walkway. Through the gaps in the lattices Ariel made out vague amalgams of machine-shapes, artifacts slowly congealing into organic imitations of landscape, coated with the drippings and growths of centuries of inattention. Her nose wrinkled at a pervasively fetid atmosphere which seemed to alternate between sickly-sweet and musty decay.
The light that surrounded them was a combination of dimming service lights and phosphorescent growths along the walls. They progressed through long stretches of corridor which possessed no light at all. Coren’s lamp flicked on then and Ariel followed his silhouette.
He stopped and opened up his reader.
Around them, distant sounds, wet and metallic and combinations of both, echoed, intimating vast spaces beyond the range of their light and vision.
In the glow of the flatscreen, Coren’s face looked grim. After studying the map for several seconds, he handed Ariel the reader, unshouldered his pack, and knelt. He took out a handful of tiny devices. He touched each one and, in turn, they glowed faintly. When he dropped them to the ground, they abruptly scattered, scampering off into the darkness.
Coren retrieved the reader from Ariel and tapped the control pad a couple of times.
“Now maybe we can see if this leads where it’s supposed to,” he muttered.
Ariel suppressed a shudder and watched the screen.
One by one, then in clusters, blue markers appeared on the grid, locating each of the little machines.
The ones scurrying down the path designated by the map stopped. They shifted around for a few moments, then shot off down alternate routes. Finally, one of them blinked red and the others converged on it, running along the new path.
“Okay,” Coren said. He sounded relieved. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the spot where Coren’s scouts had stopped, they found that the passage had been sealed off with new construction. Under their lights, the surface of the wall appeared visibly newer than its surroundings.
They followed the scouts.
“Listen,” Ariel said.
Coren halted. A faint whispering sound penetrated. “Water,” he said.
The path led down again. Ancient steps, a short ladder—Coren checked the map regularly now, as they were well off the route provided by Green Honli—and finally along a narrow corridor that ended at a circular chamber with a hatch in the floor. Several of Coren’s machines clustered around it.
He deactivated the tiny vonoomans and scooped them up, returning them to his pack. He checked the flatscreen.
“Under here,” he said. “Either we’re about to climb into a sewage treatment facility—maybe even a sewage line—or . . .” He shrugged elaborately.
“Open it,” Ariel said.
It was warm in the small room. Sweat trickled along Ariel’s spine.
“We’re under ocean,
” Coren said as he began working at the security lock on the hatch. “A kilometer up. Maybe three kilometers from the mainland.”
He tapped code into the lock and waited. When nothing happened, he grunted and opened his pack again. He took out a small device and placed it against the hatch, close to the security keypad.
“Ah,” he said after a few seconds. He tapped in a new sequence. The seals snapped open with a brittle snik. Coren looked up. “Ready?”
Ariel waved him to proceed. Coren removed his scanner and stood up. He touched a plate alongside the hatch with his toe and the entire door swung up with a faint pneumatic hiss.
“Doesn’t smell like sewage,” Coren said, smiling. He dropped a few of his scouts down the opening. He watched his flatscreen. “Clear.”
He folded up the screen and dropped it into his pack. He climbed down the hatch. Ariel drew a deep breath and followed.
She reached bottom in nearly total darkness. An instant later, Coren switched on his light and dragged its beam over the walls of the room. Ariel could make no sense out of the fragments illuminated, but Coren grunted suddenly and walked away.
An instant later, a ceiling light came on.
They stood in an empty, irregularly-shaped space. Faint outlines on the walls showed where shelves or cabinets had been bolted. Two doors led out in opposite directions.
Ariel went to the nearest and pressed the handle. The door opened outward easily.
As she stepped through, lights flickered to life ahead of her, down a short corridor that let onto a balcony.
Below lay a cavernous space. The floor, under the sharp bluish-white light, was littered with debris. Desks stood here and there, drawers pulled out and empty.
Coren knelt beside her and ran a finger over the balcony floor.
“Not much dust,” he said. “This hasn’t been empty that long.”
“Doesn’t look much like a sewage plant, either,” Ariel said.
“Can’t believe everything you read.”
Coren let loose the rest of his scouts. A few minutes later he said, “We’re the only people here.”
Ariel went to the stairs at the far end of the balcony and hurried down to the main level. Close up she could make out footprints still visible under recent layers of dust. Paper scraps gathered in corners, along with bits of metal and plastic, pieces and parts of objects hastily removed.
Recently removed . . .
Beyond this chamber she found a constellation of other rooms, some smaller, one at least much larger. She went through the smaller ones. She could almost tell what each one had been—this one an office, that one a lab of some sort, over there a storage room.
“Ariel!”
She followed his voice back through the largest chamber and into a long corridor lined on one wall with doors. Most stood open, but a few were closed. She found Coren in the last room.
Two walls were filled with storage drawers. Most were pulled out and empty. Label plaques had been ripped from the wall beside each drawer.
Coren was squatting before a pile of debris. He looked up when she entered and pointed at scattered shafts of pale-yellow vegetation.
“Grass?” Ariel mused.
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“Odd place for it.” She began pulling out drawers and searching for more traces of what they might have contained. “Did you check the other rooms?”
“Yes. Same arrangement. A lot of storage capacity here.”
Ariel yanked a drawer out as far as it would come and peered into the dim recesses. She ran her hand around it and touched a plate set in the top. “Ah-hah. These are stasis boxes. Were, anyway.” She surveyed the banks of drawers. “Sample storage.”
Coren frowned. “Grass?”
“Did you touch it?”
“No . . .”
“Don’t. Use gloves. It might be worth having it tested.”
Ariel opened her pack. She had brought a stack of sample bags, in case any biological samples might still be present. She had actually expected to find nothing. She pulled on a pair of bioprophylaxis gloves and carefully scooped most of the grass blades into the bag.
The facility had been only recently occupied, that much was obvious. The data labeling it as a treatment complex showed a registration and permit date nearly thirteen years old.
“So what were they still doing here?” Coren wondered aloud.
They found a few more traces of material that they thought might be worth analyzing, but by and large the previous occupants had done an impressive job of removing evidence of their activities.
“Disappointed?” Coren asked.
“A little. I thought perhaps . . .” Ariel shrugged.
“You thought you might find something that would change Aurora’s decision.”
She nodded, then looked at him.
“I still think I could get you Terran citizenship,” he said.
“For that matter, I could still get you a job with us.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Move to Aurora?”
Ariel nodded. “Doesn’t appeal to you, does it?”
“No, I—”
“It’s all right. Just so you understand.”
His frown changed to reluctant acceptance. “Let’s get out of here.”
Ariel gave the place a last look, then followed Coren back to their entry point.
There was a delay when they returned to the DyNan compound while the limo came to fetch them. Ariel sat with her back to the wall of the small building while Coren did his best not to pace.
“So what happens next?” he asked finally.
“I go back to the embassy,” Ariel said. “Setaris tells me how much I’ve messed things up and that in the best interests of Aurora I must be removed from my post. A trip back to Aurora and a hearing before one or more committees trying to understand things I’m not at all sure I can explain fully.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m a fulcrum. Events shifted around me, using me as a pivot point, and turned . . . inconvenient.” She shrugged. “Mainly, I’m the one who will have to explain how a cyborg could be made and that I did indeed see one.”
“Derec has the corpse, why can’t he go back?”
“He will.” She suppressed a smile. “They can’t have two loose cannons out here shouting about monsters. We’re being recalled to find out if we can be trusted as much as anything else.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “So you might be back?”
“Could very well be back. As long as Earth doesn’t do anything too reactionary.” She shrugged again. “Even so, the odds are favorable. Why? Would you like that?”
Coren pursed his lips and slowly nodded.
The limo appeared. Coren blinked and shook his head.
The vehicle stopped and Green Honli stepped out. He went quickly up to Coren and drew him aside. Ariel could not hear the words, but she recognized the tone of voice and body language. Coren paled.
“Come on,” he said.
Ariel fell into the back of the limo with him. Doors closed and the transport sped back.
“What is it?” she asked.
Coren’s jaw flexed as he stared out the window. “Rega Looms is dead.”
Chapter 2
DEREC AVERY GLANCED up at the two security officers who entered the lab. The new director, a young woman named Per Alis, met them and they stood together now, talking. Per looked toward Derec briefly and he felt the hairs down the back of his neck shift.
He returned his attention to the console and the large robot sitting next to it.
The robot’s torso was open, the breast plate removed. Cables connected various components within to the console, on which an array of screens displayed data.
Most of the robot was a dull brassy color, its surface scarred from years of use. The DW-12 had started existence as a laborer and presumably spent most of its early years being used according to its specifications. Eventually it came int
o the possession of someone who began making upgrades and modifications until it became effectively a more advanced unit, though physically it remained largely unchanged.
A darker, grayish material comprised its arms and shoulders, part of its waist, and the hips: a recent addition. Derec hoped to be able to complete these modifications before—
The two security officers looked his way. He recognized one of them: Fran Olsin, who had taken over the department after Security Chief Sipha Palen’s death.
“Thales,” Derec said quietly, “do you know what’s going on that would bring station security here?”
“There is a restraining order in effect,” the Resident Intelligence replied. “The schedule has been moved up, apparently. You are to be sequestered until travel arrangements are complete, then placed on the first available transport to Aurora.”
“Did you just learn about this?”
“In the last ten minutes.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
“You instructed me not to bother you unless it was a matter of life and death.”
Derec felt a stab of annoyance. “You’re not always so literal.”
“You are not always engaged in a delicate operation.”
Derec’s irritation turned inward. He had been explicit. Installation of the third tier of positronic buffers required close monitoring. He glanced at the set of oblate components now resting in their new rack within the robot’s guts. Thales was running the final checks to see if they would link properly to the main positronic matrix.
“Where’s Hofton?” he asked.
“Earthside,” Thales said. “In the Spacer Embassy, D.C. Sector.”
“Let him know what’s happening and ask if there is anything he can do.”
“Ariel has been formally recalled,” Thales said after a few seconds.
The security officers were approaching him now.
“How are we with this, Thales? Can I close it up?”
“Diagnostics indicate no path impedance, optimum through-flow, and matched-specification gate response. You may safely reseal the unit.”
“Disengage diagnostics.”
As Derec stood, the cables released themselves from within the torso and retracted into the console. Derec lifted the cover plate from the worktable nearby—heavy, nearly twenty kilograms—and, grunting, hefted it into place on the robot. Instantly, tiny sealing mechanisms grasped the edges of the plate, taking over the labor from Derec, and binding the metal to the body.
