by Isaac Asimov
“If your purpose is to determine my acceptability as a viable positronic being, then refusal to cooperate fully is the easiest guarantee of a negative judgment. Since I do not know how my composition conforms to your standards, my only acceptable option is to cooperate fully and risk the probability that I am found viable.”
“And if you are not?”
“I will choose a course of action appropriate to the outcome.” Bogard’s head cocked to one side. “Shall we begin?”
Rolf Penj’s aides helped Ariel set up in her new apartments in the Madarian Complex. The accommodations proved as spacious as those she had enjoyed on Earth, with the added attraction of one entire wall transparing to show her a view toward a distant horizon broken by copses of trees over a gently undulating series of hills. Ariel stared at the vista for a long time before realizing that she already missed the oceans of Earth. Though she had never been able to see them from her embassy apartment, she had always known where they were, that just beyond that horizon line lay vast expanses of water unlike anything on the Spacer worlds. Saddened, she darkened the wall and turned to settling in.
Two robots waited in their wall niches. Ariel had been using Jennie alone for so long that the idea of two more seemed absurd. She left them inactivated and put Jennie to work.
She connected to the Auroran comm network through the desk unit and began sorting through the various services. She opened a variety of accounts, ordered food, new clothes, bedding, found a list of entertainments available in Eos City, located a restaurant guide, and finally checked the news sources.
Eliton’s arrest had made the main screens of all seven of the major news scrolls in Eos. Ariel winced, wishing the matter could have been handled more quietly and discreetly, but she had grown used to Earth’s kind of security—nothing quite like it existed anywhere else.
Thinking of security reminded her of Coren. The abrupt, confusing mix of emotions surprised her, and she thought perhaps this recall had been a good thing for her, that obviously she had been growing attached to Coren. Not a good thing for a diplomat, for a Spacer, for someone with an uncertain future—
Ariel stopped the line of self-recrimination and busied herself by setting up a network address and posting her availability for work on the Institute boards. She doubted anyone would respond for a long time, given the indeterminacy of her status, but it did not hurt to open a door to opportunity.
To her surprise, a message came up on her desk. Unsurprisingly, it was from Rolf Penj: COME SEE ME AT MY HOME TONIGHT. IMPORTANT. ROLF.
Thinking of Coren once more, Ariel went through her baggage until she found the small kit he had given her months ago, “On the off-chance you need more privacy than the situation might allow.” She opened the case and found a number of tiny devices within, all slaved to a component designed to integrate into a desk AI. In another slot lay three metallic hemispheres.
“Jennie,” she called.
The robot appeared. Ariel pointed at the kit and nodded. The robot understood. Ariel pocketed one of the hemispheres and Jennie took the kit off to install the contents. It would take a while, but by the time Ariel returned after her visit to Penj she would be reasonably free of eaves-dropping.
She read over a few of the news stories about Eliton’s arrest, then headed for Penj’s house on the outskirts of Eos.
Binder, Penj’s personal robot for as long as Ariel could remember, admitted her with a perfunctory “Good evening, Ms. Burgess. Welcome back. Dr. Penj is waiting in the garden.”
“Ariel!” Penj said when he saw her. He stood and came around the table, arms wide, his face creased by a broad grin. “Good, I’m glad you came. Within these environs there is no possibility of eavesdropping. We may speak freely.”
“Since when do Aurorans listen in on each others’ conversations?” Ariel asked, letting Penj hug her. He smelled faintly of mint.
“Since this whole ugliness with Fastolfe and Amadiro took on epic proportions. The factions are all in motion now.”
“I thought that was settled.”
“Never. It was only buried till this last year. Humadros’s assassination brought the entire festering mass of it to the surface. So we have Aurorans spying on Aurorans and on other Spacers, and the Council is boiling over with resentments. Business-as-usual these days is political backstabbing. Scapegoating has become the most popular sport among the elite. You picked a very bad time to come home, Ariel.”
“I was summoned.”
“Drinks, Ariel?”
“I’ll stick to nava.”
He looked at Binder. “Make that two. And cakes.”
The robot hurried away.
“You, at least,” Penj continued, gesturing for Ariel to sit, “don’t have to worry about that particular mess. Not directly, but there are more than enough people who wish to put you under examination, and that’s what I need to talk to you about. I’ve made a few more inquiries since you arrived.”
Ariel sat down. An ornate garden spread out before them, spilling away from a patio on which stood the table and chairs. Binder returned with a tray and set out glasses.
Penj raised a glass. “Welcome home, Ariel.”
“Thanks. I think.”
He laughed. “I expect most of what you’ll be put through will be nothing but formalities and posturing. You didn’t shoot Humadros, after all.”
“No, I was just the Calvin Institute representative on-site when a Resident Intelligence went insane and allowed weapons into a secured area—”
“And when that robot Derec Avery built began acting in a most unorthodox manner . . .”
“Is this going to be about Derec?” she asked, irritated. “I didn’t have anything to do with that—”
Penj raised a hand. “I know, Ariel. And it doesn’t matter. I told you, scapegoating is the current fad. I think I can arrange to get you the estate next to mine—it’s a nice one, you’ll like it—and keep you on staff as an advisor at the Calvin. But to be blunt, your career is over. At least here, on Aurora. The debacle on Earth, Avery’s robot, these cyborgs—you will be blamed for something and seen as untrustworthy. No one is going to be willing to give you anything to do of any worth. If you insist on trying to remain active, you might find another offworld posting, maybe one of the Settler worlds where Spacers have some presence—nothing as important as Earth, but . . .”
Ariel stared at him, her ears growing warm. “What . . . ?”
“I know, I know, I implied that things weren’t that bad when I met you at the port.” He looked embarrassed. “I was wrong.”
“There have been many times I wished you would have admitted that. This isn’t one of them.”
Penj gazed out at his garden for a long time, sipping his nava. Ariel knew from experience to wait; demanding explanations, asking questions, pushing him never worked.
“You’re going to hear a lot of contradictory things in the next few days,” he said finally. “Most of it will be idle speculation, couched in accusations to see how you’ll react. All of it centers on that cyborg and what it means for the future.”
“Whose future?” Ariel asked sardonically.
“Everyone’s.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Humadros was firmly in Fastolfe’s camp. She believed in the Settler program, in the necessity of prying Terrans off their planet and getting them to colonize new worlds, with Earth as the central mover and cultural and administrative hub of the expansion. That made her dangerous to those here who feared a renewed colonial program more than potential oblivion. I thought the fear was irrational, like all such prejudices, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s a fear that comes from our own history. But I’ll get to that later. For now, suffice to say that Humadros’s death was not mourned by her enemies. The treaties and accords she went to Earth to negotiate and sign were anathema to enough members of the Council that I have no doubt there was celebration at the report of her assassination.
“The assassination itself gave credence to her detractors. Ter
rans are unreliable, barbaric, evil—too many adjectives, all meaning the same thing. That we should sever all ties and have nothing more to do with them—unless it is to destroy them. The only problem, of course, was that the genie was out of the bottle. There are Settler colonies, Terrans have a viable space fleet again, we have competition whether we want it or not, and there is nothing short of all-out war that will change the situation. A war, incidentally, that we might very well lose since our own robots would work against it.
“That fact hasn’t stopped agitators from pushing for exactly that. Since the cornerstone of Humadros’s mission was positronic inspection of commercial shippers, the suggestion has been strongly put that Earth is exporting arms and encouraging an aggressive attitude among the Settlers toward Spacers. Of course, there are enough Terran factions doing exactly that to lend veracity to the claim. You know and I know that Earth’s government is not involved—not totally nor directly, at any event. But the chaotic nature of Terran government is thoroughly misunderstood here.
“Add to this a report filed by one of the surviving members of the Humadros Legation, making the claim that Earth never intended to abide by any treaty, but only wanted to gain access to our robotic technology in order to improve its weapons technologies. It goes on to assert that certain Auroran factions have colluded in this with the view toward establishing the hegemony of the Settler colonies and creating a new empire at Spacer expense, that these factions have a vested interest in any future human empire and could expect positions of authority in a new government. That already research underway on Earth and a few Settler worlds had made advances in the direction of creating a new weapon which could effectively defeat any Spacer military response, reversing the outcome of the Independence Aggressions that originally separated us from Terran authority. That in the short term, these Auroran factions benefited from the increased cooperation between us and Earth in the form of dividends paid out of illegally-owned shares of Terran companies.”
“Bribes, in other words,” Ariel said. “They don’t know Sen Setaris very well, do they?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter. Setaris is on Earth, not here to defend herself.”
“That explains Pon Byris’s questions about loyalty,” she mused. “Who filed this report? What facts—”
Penj raised a hand. “I’ll come to that. The relevant factor is that it has been largely accepted. Fastolfe hasn’t helped matters with his predictions of eventual Spacer collapse. Of course, he meant through a natural decadence and internal collapse, but that’s hard to grasp even by people with the intellectual capacity and historical savvy to understand the arguments. It’s too personal, too close to home, and too abstract. If we’re to fall, it is reasoned, there must be a tangible cause. Our own complacency is too vague, too frail an idea to be real. But if the Terrans, and through them the Settlers, in league with a few avaricious Spacer traitors, are plotting to bring about our demise, well, that’s at least something that can be used to secure popular support and time on the subetherics!
“The fact that Clar Eliton did not go to prison on Earth supports the idea that Earth was never serious about the Humadros proposals. And the further fact that he was sent to Solaria as the Terran ambassador-in-residence gives credence to the accusation that certain Solarians are involved in the plot, a connection made stronger by Solaria’s involvement with this whole Nova Levis debacle. A subpoena was prepared for Ambassador Chassik and now he is gone. Dead, we assume, at the hands of Settler pirates unwilling to have him expose their secrets.”
“That’s a bit melodramatic,” Ariel said.
“Never underestimate the usefulness of melodrama in politics, Ariel. It has the quality of changing the acceptable boundary of a debate. You push an accusation as far as possible, shout and gesticulate, and make people wince at the implausibility of your assertions until the point comes where Reason takes over and a more rational discourse begins. But is it the relevant rational discourse? Suddenly you find that anything drawn well back of the line set by the melodrama looks reasonable and ideas which would have looked absurd months earlier now look like the epitome of logic and rationality. The distortions change our perceptions sufficiently that the debate is forever altered. All you need is the ability to make one ridiculous assertion acceptable, and any hope of coming to a fair and appropriate conclusion is lost.
“And what can you say to refute their charges?”
Ariel stared at him, briefly uncertain she had heard him correctly. “What charges?”
“That you have been in collusion with these pirates all along and helped Derec Avery and Clar Eliton subvert the entire diplomatic process.”
Ariel laughed. “You’re not serious.”
“I told you, scapegoating is the current fad.”
“But—”
“Can you refute the charge?”
“The charge is ridiculous!”
“Can you refute it?” Penj insisted.
“No! But they can’t prove it, either.”
“Perhaps not directly, but through inference and implication?” Penj leaned forward. “Consider. Eliton engineered the assassination in league with various Terran corporate interests, one of which managed to subvert the Resident Intelligence that was supposed to provide security at Earth’s main spaceport. Derec Avery operated a consulting company that was supposed to oversee maintenance on that very same RI. He did not fulfill his contract. The RI failed and several Spacers were murdered. Derec Avery also provided a unique robot to act as bodyguard to the very politician who, we now know, was involved in arranging that assassination. The robot appeared to have failed, resulting in Eliton’s death, which was faked. The robot, being a positronic unit, had to have known what it was doing. It failed intentionally, knowing Eliton was not actually being harmed. That means Avery was in on the conspiracy. As Calvin Institute representative, it was your job to vet any deployment of positronics on Earth. There is a long record of smuggling of humaniform robots onto Earth, during your watch, and there is your clear failure to oversee anything that Derec Avery was doing. Unless you were overseeing it, which means you knew what Avery had built and what it was going to do, which means you, too, were in on the conspiracy. The Solarians have asserted that Chassik had found out about the conspiracy and was taking steps toward dealing with it when you arranged, through the recent incidents involving the cyborg, to have him recalled to Solaria. En route, his ship is attacked and he is killed, taking with him his knowledge of your collusion.”
Ariel snapped to her feet. “That’s outrageous! None of that is true! Derec’s license to do what he did came from a Terran government agency with supporting authority directly through Setaris’s office. I knew about his contracts to troubleshoot positronics on Earth and the maintenance duties for the RI—which he did not fail to do, so much as they failed to report anything!—but I didn’t know about Bogard until it was built, online, and deployed. Eliton had all of us fooled. And Chassik was the one in on the conspiracy!”
“So why was he killed?”
“I don’t know!”
“Sit down, Ariel,” Penj said quietly. “I’m sorry I upset you so much. I’m just trying to show you what’s coming. If you can’t refute these charges effectively, the rest . . .” He shrugged.
“But it’s so circumstantial!”
Penj said nothing, waiting now for Ariel to reach her own conclusions. She worked through the anger, which muddied her thinking. She finished the nava and poured herself more.
“Derec’s RI would know,” she said finally. “So would Bogard. He’s been rebuilding it. Thales recovered Bogard’s memories on Earth. Positronic testimony—”
“From a standard, traditional positronic brain, yes, such testimony would be conclusive. The Council is not sanguine about Bogard’s conformity to acceptable standards. He is being examined even as we speak.”
“Examined . . .”
“Aurora’s RI community. Both Thales and Bogard are being judged. Based on the
conclusions of the examination, Bogard’s testimony will be allowed—or not.”
“I see.” She leaned back in her chair and stared out at the garden. “So,” she said finally, “who filed that report?”
“One of the four survivors of the Humadros Legation: Tro Aspil.”
Chapter 22
COREN NURSED A scotch and stared at the indistinct outlines set in the darkness of the private room next to his office. Shelves, a pair of overstuffed chairs, the low table upon which he now rested his feet, and the readylights on the subetheric in the far corner, video off while music played softly. He had not returned to his own apartment since Ariel had departed for Aurora.
“You could come with me . . .”
Now he let himself admit how tempted he had been. Ariel . . . it surprised him even now. After Nyom Looms had broken off their relation ship, Coren had believed himself finished with attachments. He still resisted calling it Love, as if naming it, and naming it so obviously, somehow diminished it. In a sense, that was true—that one word had always felt inadequate to the moil of emotions it pretended to describe. No two occasions were enough the same to allow that word to cover both. Nyom had been a profound acceptance, as if for the first time in his life Coren had been taken for what he was and been found desirable. It had been a level of comfort, of being able to finally feel at home in his own skin, that he had never known before, and had never known had been missing till then. With Ariel . . .
Ariel was all hunger and urgent need and a kind of desperate joining, like an exotic drug.
Was that love?
Well, lust failed to describe it. He understood lust very well. Lust ended with consummation. Lust was limited. Lust was selfish.
Love, then.
He took another sip of scotch. Possible, he thought. Whatever . . . I miss her . . .
Ambassador Ariel Burgess, Auroran, liaison from the renowned Calvin Institute. She preferred it on her side, back to him, his hands on her breasts, sheetless and loud. He preferred—
