Asimov’s Future History Volume 9

by Isaac Asimov

  “Ambassador . . . ?” Hofton waved her into the elevator.

  When they doors closed, Ariel slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Bad news first, Hofton.”

  “As there’s no good news, your request is easy. Your recall came through two days ago. Ambassador Setaris has been trying to arrange transport for both you and Mr. Avery.”

  “Derec, too?”

  “He’s currently under house arrest. Confinement to quarters, really, just a formality. But it was at the request of the Senate Subcommittee on NonTerran Affairs.”

  Ariel opened her eyes. “Jonis Taprin?”

  “The very same. He’s been all but demanding that the both of you leave Earth in chains.”

  “I don’t understand. We were friends once . . . I thought . . .”

  “Never underestimate the power of embarrassment.”

  “Hofton . . . Rega Looms is dead.”

  “I just heard a few hours ago,” Hofton said. “That hasn’t helped the situation. In fact, it only added to Senator Taprin’s expostulations. He’s blaming us.”

  That surprised Ariel. “We don’t even know how he died.”

  “Gruesomely, according to the subetherics. Crushed.” He glanced side-long at her. “Sound familiar?”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “At present, staying out of the line of fire might be the best we can hope for. I haven’t heard the word ‘cyborg’ in any of the ’casts, but it’s only a matter of time. In any case, Ambassador Setaris will want to tell you the rest.” He paused thoughtfully. “Oh. Pon Byris, head of Auroran security, has attached his name to your recall.”

  “That’s a bit heavyhanded, isn’t it?”

  “Possibly the result of Senator Taprin’s extremely loud complaints. Regardless, I doubt anything positive will result if Byris is involved.”

  The elevator came to a stop and they stepped into the corridor leading to Setaris’s offices. Hofton nodded encouragingly to her, and proceeded down the hall.

  A pair of aides looked up from their desks when Hofton and Ariel entered. One of them started to stand, but Hofton waved her back.

  “We’re expected,” he announced, and pushed through the double doors to Setaris’s private office.

  Setaris seemed to be waiting for them, leaning back in her chair, watching their entrance. Ariel realized then that Setaris’s ability to always appear to expect whatever happened had annoyed her since she had come to work for the senior ambassador.

  “Ariel, how are you?” Setaris asked, smiling thinly.

  Ariel sat down before Setaris offered a chair. “Annoyed.”

  “Really? And why would that be? Have we interrupted something?”

  “Not that it matters to you, but yes.”

  “We apologize for any inconvenience,” Setaris said with a clear tone of sarcasm. “Your recall is official. I’m placing you on an Aurora-bound ship day after tomorrow. The . . . Wysteria?” She glanced at Hofton, who had taken a position standing just behind and to Ariel’s left.

  “That’s correct, Ambassador,” Hofton said.

  “You’ll remain here in the embassy till your shuttle departs. Try to clean up any unfinished business you have before then.”

  Ariel’s hands clenched into fists. You transferred me to the Intelligence branch two months ago. Since then I haven’t had a single assignment. There’s nothing to clean up. “May I ask why I’m being recalled now?”

  “You may. Three reasons. The first is the Council is convening a hearing on this matter of the cyborgs. That is why your friend Derec Avery is also going back with you. You’re both expert witnesses, your testimony is essential. It’s a closed door session, so hyperwave link will not be allowed. You have to be there.”

  You knew that two months ago, Ariel thought impatiently.

  Setaris steepled her long fingers under her chin. “The second reason is general unfitness for duty. You’ve made yourself ineffective here. Keeping you on is pointless.”

  “Thank you for your confidence in me.”

  “Don’t act the martyr, Ariel, you’ve brought this on yourself. Your choice in liaisons has been . . . unfortunate.”

  Ariel felt heat in her face. “Who I spend my personal time with is my business.”

  “How it affects your ability to perform your duties is mine. You have an enemy in Senator Taprin. That alone might have been manageable, but your association with Rega Looms’ chief of security has made you suspect to the Spacer population. The combination has been too much. Your usefulness . . . well . . .”

  “My usefulness at what? I haven’t had any duties since—” Ariel cut herself off. “How much of this has to do with what happened to Ambassador Chassik?”

  “That much,” Setaris said, “I’ll grant you, was none of your doing. At least, not in any way to be criticized. Chassik hated you, there’s no point trying to explain it away. You embarrassed him in this last fiasco. I’m certain that pressure was brought to bear on the Calvin Institute and the Auroran Council by allies Chassik stirred up to have you recalled. I’m sure if they have their way, you’ll be disgraced as well. As far as that goes, sending you home now may be the best thing for you personally. We can minimize the damage here and pull the teeth of most of their complaints.”

  “You’re telling me this is in my best interest?”

  “Partly. It’s certainly in our best interest.”

  Ariel seethed. “You said three reasons.”

  “I did. Ambassador Chassik was recalled.”

  “I remember. I was there.”

  “Three weeks after that hearing, he formally transferred Solarian legation duties to the Keresians as a temporary condition until another Solarian could be found to take his place. He found one reason or another to stay here till about a week ago. He was finally shipped out.”

  “Yes,” Ariel said tightly. “I remember.” Though she had not known he had remained on Earth for so long. She wondered how he had managed.

  “He never arrived,” Setaris said. “The ship was attacked and destroyed. Chassik is presumed dead. Solaria is claiming that we leaked his itinerary and, because of our relations with Earth, arranged to have this done.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Of course it is and they know it. However, they want to subpoena you for an inquest. Shipping you to Aurora now may be the only way to keep you out of their hands.”

  Ariel thought for a moment. “Are you telling me that I’m being blamed for Gale Chassik’s death?”

  Setaris scowled and looked out the broad window at the bright blue sky. “They no more believe that than they believe Aurora colluded with Terrans to kill him. But they certainly want you for something.”

  “The cyborgs.”

  “That would be my guess. We have no way of knowing how deeply involved Solaria is in that.”

  “I assumed Solaria had nothing to do with it as a polity, that it was just Chassik overstepping authority.”

  “That’s our assumption, too. Unfortunately, we have this debacle with Nova Levis hanging over our heads and easy solutions are not to be found.”

  “Are you suggesting Solaria does have something to do with this?”

  “A faction of them, almost certainly.” Setaris sighed. “It’s not your problem anymore, Ariel. You are out of this.”

  Despite herself, Ariel was forced to agree with Setaris. There was no other option. She had to go back to Aurora.

  She had known it was coming, that some pretext would be found to recall her, but still she thought she could avoid it. Now that it was real, she could find no flaw in the reasons.

  “Is Hofton still assigned to me?” she asked.

  “No. Hofton is staying here. He has duties.”

  That shook her even more, but she said nothing. After a minute or so, she stood.

  Then: “Why would anyone want to kill Chassik?”

  “That’s a very good question, Ariel. We’re hoping to answer it before all hell brea
ks loose.”

  “They did a wonderful job of keeping me in the dark,” Ariel commented sourly.

  Hofton and she sat at a small table in the embassy lounge, by the broad windows that gave them a view across the roof of the embassy, out to forest in the distance beneath open sky.

  “Everyone here is being kept ignorant of Ambassador Chassik’s death,” he said. “I didn’t know till two days ago. And to be fair, you did not exactly inspire our security people. Now that I think of it, maybe that’s the reason Byris has involved himself. You’re nominally attached to Intelligence, after all, and your actions have been questionable. At least to an outsider.”

  “I’m part of Auroran Intelligence now, Hofton, and I can’t find out anything. Don’t you find that funny?”

  “Riotously.”

  Ariel was startled at the glumness in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Hofton raised a hand. “Lately, I haven’t been my usual frivolous self. As for Ambassador Chassik, I believe only Ambassador Setaris and one or two of her personal staff knew any details of his death. There have been suggestions in certain circles that it was a Terran ship that attacked his liner. The Terrans are blaming pirates—an easy enough target—and since Aurora has been stepping up its presence on the Nova Levis blockade, accusations of collusion are inevitable.”

  “Hm. What’s your opinion?”

  “That returning to Aurora might be the safest option for you.”

  “Thanks. Why did it take so damn long? I expected to be on a ship a week after Chassik’s recall.”

  “Besides the usual glacial pace of Auroran bureaucratic process, the Terrans have been trying to keep you here.”

  “Why?”

  “It went through phases. First, there was the ongoing TBI investigation about the cyborgs. They wanted you as an expert consultant. Then they wanted you as a material witness at the hearings. Failing to get that, they wanted to hire you. It graduated eventually to a demand for your arrest on charges of conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy to do what?”

  Hofton shrugged eloquently. “They simply don’t want you to leave. At least, some of them don’t. Senator Taprin is practically manic to get rid of you. The others I can understand—they want a source of information about a threat they don’t know anything about. Taprin is just . . .”

  “Taprin,” Ariel finished for him. “The problem is, I don’t know anything about cyborgs. None of us do.”

  “Mr. Avery has been learning quite a lot. Before our people seized the cyborg corpse we had on Kopernik, he recorded a great deal.”

  “Then why aren’t the Terran authorities trying to keep him?”

  “Oh, they have been trying. Setaris has successfully fended off every attempt.”

  Ariel thought about that. “Has it occurred to her that while she’s keeping us out of Terran hands they might be thinking her reasons are a bit more sinister than stated?”

  “You mean mightn’t they think we have something to do with the cyborgs?” He nodded. “I’m certain that has occurred to her, but she’s acting under orders from Aurora as well. I don’t think Ambassador Setaris has been happy with a single decision she’s been allowed to make in months.”

  “It’s falling apart, isn’t it?”

  “In my opinion,” Hofton said, “yes. Ever since Humadros was killed and Eliton’s conference self-destructed, things have gotten worse. And this Nova Levis thing is just aggravating it. You would have thought when an Auroran ship was attacked the Terrans would find common cause with us, that relations might ease up. But they keep worsening in too many other areas.”

  They sat in silence for a time, brooding.

  “Well,” Hofton said finally. “I have duties—”

  “Sure,” Ariel said. “Um . . . Hofton, I have a favor to ask.”

  “If I can help, of course.”

  “I need some grass analyzed.”

  Hofton gave her a quizzical look. “Grass?”

  Chapter 4

  THE REFITTED CARGO hold smelled of ancient oil, sweat, and hot plastic, odors so long embedded in the fabric of the ship that no cleansing could expunge them. That nearly eighty bodies were crammed in the narrow confines created by the false bulkheads—which hid the stacks of travel couches secured against the actual bulkheads—did nothing to make the aroma any more pleasant.

  “They told us we’d get used to it,” a woman observed sullenly from somewhere above.

  Masid Vorian looked up in her direction. He saw her feet dangling over the edge of her rack. “That,” he said with mock cheer, “and five credits will buy you any truth you want.”

  Laughter lightly cascaded around the collection of bunks. It was an old joke, but not so worn that desperately bored people would not find some humor still in it.

  Masid stretched on his couch. He estimated that they had been in transit now twelve days. Twice in that time the P.A. had barked at them to be as silent as possible due to imminent boarding. As far as he knew, the freighter had never been boarded. In between such moments of intense fear the time passed like sludge. It was too dark even to see each other clearly. He had heard the sounds of lovemaking a few times, but it was difficult in these cramped quarters to overcome the normal inhibitions against sex in public. Maybe others were simply good at being quiet at it. Conversation dwindled after several days, speculation on their chances of getting through and what it would be like once they arrived exhausting itself in the mix of ignorance and worry. One or two small groups chattered, their conversation ending the moment someone new tried to join in.

  Typical Terran cliquishness, Masid thought, born of equal parts arrogance, stupidity, and paranoia.

  Masid suspected a few of the baleys might be other than Earth-borns, but no one willingly admitted it here. Maybe once they arrived on Nova Levis he might find one or two Settler-born.

  If they reached Nova Levis. Masid could not be certain, but he was convinced that the ship had had to change course at least twice, maybe three times. The ten-day transit had increased to twelve so far, and still no word from the crew about when they might arrive.

  The rations had been cut as well. Not bad, not yet, but it was not encouraging.

  It had already taken him longer to even get started on this trip than any previous one.

  Before slipping into this group of baleys, Masid had heard that Aurora was sending ships to reinforce the blockade around Nova Levis. He wondered how much that might have reduced his chances of getting through . . .

  A low, barely audible vibration ran through the hull.

  What conversation there was ceased. Masid leaned his head out to peer up into the nearly-lightless spaces above.

  A hatch opened, spilling light into the cramped hold, and a man’s head and shoulders appeared.

  “Another inspection,” he called. “Keep it still, everything’ll be all right.”

  The hatch sealed again and immediately the chatter increased.

  “The man said quiet!” Masid shouted.

  Silence fell at once.

  Masid adjusted the pack on which he rested his head, settled himself with hands folded over his chest, and closed his eyes. The best way to wait an inspection out was sleep, he believed. Anything more active was a sure way to get found.

  He kept track of the various sounds transmitted throughout the ship, the creaks and scrapes and shiftings, and guessed the point at which boarding occurred. There was still a chance they might get past all this, but—

  A whisper passed his ear. Masid’s eyes snapped open. Air moved. He heard it again, like something small and fast whizzing through the air. He swallowed, knowing—

  The hatch opened again and a new voice boomed through the confines.

  “Everyone out.”

  Damn . . .

  Masid took his time. The others climbed up the scaffolding to the hatch, their small bundles clutched in one arm or slung over tired shoulders. Masid felt for them. Most had spent whatever credit they had left to get
this far. They had nothing to go back to, nothing to see them through. Depending on who their captors were, they could look forward to internment camps, transition camps, or a quick trip back to their point of origin. And then nothing.

  He heard a few sobs.

  “Come on, come on,” the voice urged from above.

  At least they didn’t cut the gravity, he thought. Likely they’re Spacers, then, not Terrans . . .

  “No stragglers, we’ve got a head count, come on out.”

  Masid waited until he was nearly the last. Then he rolled out of the couch, finding the footholds on the bracing. He snagged his pack deftly and slung it over his shoulder, then began the climb up to the hatch.

  Webbing stretched across the gap between hull and false bulkhead. Some of the older baleys had a little difficulty negotiating it, but when he reached the webbing himself, Masid saw several uniformed officers giving ample help.

  Dull reddish-brown uniforms with gold flashings at high collars and waists: Theians.

  A strong hand caught his arm and drew him into the corridor. Theians formed a line, handing the baleys along toward the ship’s main lock. Masid followed, smiling grimly, looking from face to face. The Theians looked mildly embarrassed about the whole business.

  At the hatch to the lock area a pair of robots seemed to monitor the entire procedure.

  Masid stepped between them—

  —and locked eyes with a Theian officer. He hesitated and let himself smile just a little more.

  The officer turned to his aide and whispered. The aide looked at Masid, frowning, and stepped forward.

  “Sir,” she said. “Would you come with me, please.”

  “What for?” Masid asked loudly.

  “Sir.”

  “I don’t recognize your authority,” Masid said.

  The aide placed a hand on her stunner and gripped Masid’s elbow. “Please, sir.”

  Masid looked around frantically. The other baleys nearby cast frightened glances at him.

  “This isn’t fair!”

  He stepped out of line and let the Theian lead him away.

  She took him past drums strapped against bulkheads, around a narrow makeshift gangway, and into the cargo bay. Overfilled cages of crates, nacelles, and cubes rose from the deck like topiary gone wild, the path of the maze barely discernible.