Earth

by Ben Bova

  * * *

  The dinner sped to a happy conclusion. Over wine and dessert De Mayne called up on the wall screen a blueprint of the Jupiter Oceanus.

  “We won’t have to modify it much,” Cousteau said, pointing at the image. “Merely install a larger seat to accommodate my more sizable rump.”

  The others laughed, but Para asked, “Can you pass the physical tests that will be required?”

  “With ease, my friend,” said Cousteau. “With ease. I have been taking stem-cell therapies for many years. I am physically much younger than my years.”

  Tray heard himself ask, “Can it be arranged so that I can go with you?”

  Cousteau’s shaggy brows rose noticeably. “You? You want to be a passenger? Not very likely. Oceanus is not a pleasure boat, you know.”

  “But I feel I should be aboard,” Tray said. He noticed Loris staring at him, and with an effort of will turned his eyes away from hers.

  Cousteau seemed unhappy with the idea, but said, “First let me get the Council’s committee to name me captain of the mission. Then we will see if we can shoehorn you into the boat somewhere.”

  “Thank you,” Tray said. Then he added, “And I presume that Para can take the position of one of the android crew members?”

  Breaking into a thin smile, Cousteau replied, “Why not? Would you like to bring along a brass band, perhaps?”

  Grinning back at him, Tray replied, “No. I can bring music along on my handheld.”

  CONFRONTATION

  Two days after the dinner for Cousteau, Tray received a call from President Balsam.

  Not that Balsam himself called. One of his aides, a lissome blonde with sky-blue eyes and a sylphlike figure, called to invite Tray to a meeting with the Council president.

  Tray swiftly agreed.

  But De Mayne shook his head when Tray told him of the invitation. “Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” the baron muttered.

  “I couldn’t really refuse his invitation,” Tray said.

  “No, I suppose not. But I don’t like it.”

  Regardless of the baron’s suspicions, Tray flew to Copenhagen once more and, with Para guiding him, made his way through the dizzying maze of corridors and underlings that comprised the Council’s headquarters. At last he and Para arrived at Balsam’s private office, a bare two minutes before the time appointed for the meeting.

  The same lovely blonde, wearing a clinging short-skirted dress of blue that matched her eyes, rose from behind her desk in the outer office to meet them.

  “Mr. Williamson,” she purred. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” said Tray, trying not to stare at the slim curve of her cleavage.

  “Your android can remain here while you converse with President Balsam.”

  Tray turned to Para, who nodded minimally.

  “President Balsam wants to speak to you privately,” the blonde explained.

  With a shrug, Tray acceded. “I suppose that’s all right.”

  But once Tray entered Balsam’s inner office, he heard Para’s voice over his inbuilt communicator. “I’m afraid I’m being deactivated. President Balsam does not want me to listen to your conversation.”

  Tray hesitated, just inside the door of Balsam’s office. The president was on his feet, walking around his broad desk with both arms extended.

  “Mr. Williamson,” he said, a wide smile on his fleshy face.

  “Mr. President,” answered Tray, suddenly feeling alone, defenseless.

  Balsam was all smiles as he grasped Tray’s shoulder and led him to the small round table and upholstered chairs by the office’s ceiling-high window. A graceful carafe and a pair of wineglasses rested atop the table.

  “We’ll be more comfortable here,” he said, pointing to one of the chairs.

  Tray hesitated. “Your people are shutting down my android companion,” he said.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Balsam said easily. “Private discussions should be private. Your machine will be activated again once we’re finished.”

  Feeling outmaneuvered, uneasy, Tray sat in the chair Balsam indicated. He said, “I’m a little overwhelmed: the newest Council member invited to a private meeting with the Council president.”

  “Ah, but you’re much more than a new member,” Balsam said, still smiling. “You were a special friend of Councilman Kell, and you were aboard the Athena when that tragic accident occurred.”

  Tray heard himself ask, “Was it an accident?”

  Balsam’s smile disappeared. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’ve just appointed a special committee to investigate the incident,” Tray replied. “Isn’t it up to them to decide whether it was an accident or not?”

  Balsam’s smile returned, but not as broad as before. “True enough, true enough.”

  Tray sat silently, watching the Council president.

  Balsam shifted in his chair as he said, “I understand that Harlan Cousteau has asked to pilot Jupiter Oceanus when it searches for Athena’s wreckage.”

  “Yes,” said Tray. “Apparently he and Councilman De Mayne are old friends … or acquaintances, at least.”

  “So I understand. The man’s a daredevil.”

  “He’s lived a long life. Daredevils usually don’t.”

  Balsam briefly looked surprised, but he gathered his emotions and replied, “He’s been very lucky.”

  “And smart.”

  With a tilt of his head Balsam agreed, “Yes. Smart. I’ve got to grant you that.”

  A silence fell over them. Tray felt as if Balsam was probing him with his eyes, trying to X-ray him to see what was going on inside his head.

  Tray asked, “Are you going to approve Cousteau’s request?”

  “Me?” Balsam blurted. “That’s not up to me. The special committee will decide on Cousteau’s qualifications to pilot the submersible.”

  “It’s his design, I believe.”

  “Yes, yes. But is he capable of actually running the vessel? Down in the depths of the Jovian ocean?”

  “You could override the committee’s decision.”

  “Ah! You see? You don’t expect the committee to approve him.”

  “Not if you indicate that they shouldn’t.”

  Balsam’s face froze. “You blame me for all this, don’t you?”

  Tray hesitated. “I don’t know. There isn’t enough evidence to blame anyone.” Before Balsam could reply, he added, “Not yet.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Balsam said, “I want you to know that I had nothing to do with the accident. Neither did Captain Tsavo.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Balsam’s smile looked forced. He said, “I hope that Cousteau can find and recover Athena. I’m sure that a thorough study of the wreckage will show that your suspicions are groundless.”

  “Then what went wrong with the vessel?” Tray asked. “And with Mr. Kell’s survival suit?”

  Balsam spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “Who knows? That’s what we’re asking Cousteau to find out for us, isn’t it?”

  Tray nodded, but a voice in his mind whispered, A man may smile and smile, and still be a villain.

  AN OFFER (BRIBE?)

  Balsam gestured to the decanter and glasses on the table between them. “Would you care for some wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “It’s not poisoned,” Balsam said lightheartedly.

  Tray smiled at him. “Of course not.”

  Hunching forward, his hands resting on his thighs, Balsam said, “The reason I asked you here is to discuss the disposition of Jordan Kell’s estate.”

  Suddenly confused, Tray echoed, “His estate?”

  “Yes. He wasn’t one of the richest members of the Council, but over the years he amassed a sizable estate. A few tens of millions in properties, investments, and such.”

  “I never thought about that.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. But it seems to me that you should
receive the lion’s share of his wealth.”

  Tray felt shocked. “Me?”

  “You,” said Balsam.

  “Why me?”

  Waving one hand in the air, Balsam replied, “Oh … you and Kell had a special relationship, didn’t you? He loved you like a son, didn’t he?”

  Coldly, Tray muttered, “We were not lovers.”

  “Who said that you were?” Balsam asked, the picture of injured innocence.

  “I presume that Kell left a will,” Tray said.

  “Yes, of course. Leaves the bulk of his estate to various charities. He died without any family at all, you know. Except for you.”

  “We had no legal relationship.”

  Balsam’s smile returned, sly and knowing. “That’s what lawyers are for. I’m sure that we could bend Kell’s will a trifle to find room for you.”

  “You’re offering me a bribe.”

  “Not at all! I know you’re planning to marry Loris De Mayne. Think of this as a wedding present.”

  “A bribe,” Tray repeated.

  Balsam puffed out a heavy sigh. “You’re suspicious.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “No! Not in the least. Lord, I’m trying to help you, Trayvon.”

  Getting to his feet, Tray said, “I don’t need your kind of help. And I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my private affairs!”

  Balsam’s thin, crafty smile returned. Slowly pushing his considerable bulk up from his chair, he said, “You have no private affairs, Councilman Williamson. Your entire life is exposed to public view, as it should be.”

  “And yours, as well.”

  Balsam smiled pityingly. “You have no idea of what you’re dealing with, do you?”

  “What am I dealing with?”

  “The combined power of most of the solar system’s industrial and commercial complex. An integrated structure that extends from the solar power installations at the planet Mercury to the helium-three scoop ships at Jupiter that provide the fuel for the human race’s nuclear fusion power plants. And beyond. You can’t fight them! You can’t beat them! I know from experience that you can’t!”

  “Fine,” snapped Tray. “Let’s see how far I can get. I’m going to join Harlan Cousteau aboard Jupiter Oceanus and find the wreckage of Athena. Then we’ll see if the vessel was sabotaged or not.”

  “Assuming,” Balsam said, raising one finger, “that you reach the Athena. And that you and Cousteau return from the Jovian ocean alive.”

  * * *

  Tray stormed out of Balsam’s inner office and saw Para standing inertly beside the desk of the Council president’s luscious blond assistant.

  “Reactivate the android,” he snapped at the woman.

  She looked past Tray’s shoulder. Tray whirled around to see Balsam standing in the doorway. He nodded to his assistant.

  “Reactivating,” she said in a small, cold voice. “Sequence nine-nine-one.”

  Para stirred to life. “Hello, Tray,” the android said. “Is your meeting finished?”

  Unwilling to trust his voice, Tray nodded.

  With Para at his side, Tray left President Balsam’s office. As they weaved their way through the Council’s maze of offices and corridors, Para said softly, “From your facial expression and your slightly elevated skin temperature, I presume that your meeting did not go well.”

  Tray glanced at Para and nodded. “He offered me a bribe.”

  The android said, “That’s rather incriminating, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Not a damned thing.”

  “Frustrating.”

  His fists clenching as he strode down the long, seemingly endless corridor, Tray muttered, “Very frustrating. Very.”

  * * *

  On the flight back to Normandy, it suddenly occurred to Tray that he should have Para thoroughly examined once they got back to the De Mayne estate.

  I was only in Balsam’s office for a few minutes, he thought, but that might have been enough time for a team of expert engineers to tamper with Para’s programming.

  Para looked normal enough, Tray thought as he eyed the android sitting beside him. But …

  “Para,” he began, hesitantly, “I think we should have you thoroughly checked out once we get back to the chateau.”

  Para turned and focused its optronic eyes on Tray. “I agree. I was deactivated while you were in President Balsam’s office. I have no idea what took place during that time.”

  “It was only about five minutes,” Tray said.

  “Long enough to tamper with my primary programming,” said the android.

  Despite himself, Tray felt conflicted. This is my companion, he thought. My bodyguard. My friend.

  “You won’t mind…?”

  Para’s semiflexible lips curbed slightly upward: as much of a smile as the android could express. “I am an android, Tray,” it said. “I don’t have emotions. I don’t get angry. I understand why you want to check me out.”

  Tray reached his hand to Para’s, resting on its lap, and grasped it firmly. “You’re my friend, Para. My best friend. My only friend.”

  “And you are my friend, as well.”

  “I guess I’m just being paranoid.”

  The semi-smile returned to Para’s lips. “A wise human being once pointed out that even paranoids can have enemies.”

  CHATEAU DE MAYNE

  Baron De Mayne swiftly agreed to Tray’s request for an inspection of Para.

  “Five minutes is time enough for a team of experts to infect the android’s brain thoroughly,” said the baron, from his wheelchair. “Lord knows what they might have inserted into his programming.”

  But a whole day of inspecting Para’s brain showed nothing amiss. Apparently, the android’s mental programming had not been touched.

  Tray, Loris, the baron, and Para were celebrating the news at dinner, when a call came from Copenhagen, from Harlan Cousteau.

  The man’s squarish, blunt face filled the dining room wall screen. He was smiling happily.

  “The committee has approved me to captain Jupiter Oceanus,” he announced, without preamble. “We fly to Jupiter within the week.”

  Tray felt a thrill of mixed anticipation and apprehension race through him.

  Then Cousteau’s brows knit and he added, “I am afraid, however, that the committee rejected Tray’s request to join the crew. They said he had no technical qualifications for the mission and the submersible’s accommodations are too tight to bring passengers aboard.”

  The breath sighed out of Tray.

  “I’m afraid I agree with their decision,” Cousteau said. “I am sorry, my young friend.”

  Tray heard himself ask, “Can Para go?”

  Cousteau blinked at the question. “Your android? Yes, I suppose he can be programmed to take one of the robots’ assignments.”

  Turning to Para, Tray asked, “Are you willing to go?”

  Para replied, “If that’s what you want.”

  “No,” Tray replied. “I’m asking you what you want.”

  “I…” Para hesitated. “My programming does not include personal satisfaction. I do what I am instructed to do.”

  Tray felt frustrated. “But can’t you—”

  Baron De Mayne interrupted. “Para, my friend, is there any instruction in your programming that forbids you from joining the mission?”

  Almost before the baron finished speaking, Para shook its head minimally. “No. There is no such prohibition in my programming.”

  Turning back to Tray, the baron said, “Et voilà, the machine can go.”

  Tray nodded warily and looked at Para as if he were sending his mechanized friend to its death.

  * * *

  The next day Para left for the port city of Brest, where Jupiter Oceanus was stationed. The android boarded the short-hop jet airplane as if his mission was little more than a sightseeing jaunt. Tray felt a sullen foreboding deep within himself, a fee
ling of impending doom hovering over him.

  But the investigative committee’s hearing was scheduled for the next day, and Tray tried to concentrate his attention on what he would tell the committee.

  It turned out he had very little to say. Sitting in the communications center of the De Mayne chateau, Tray and Loris both attended the meeting remotely. The committee was sitting in Copenhagen, but thanks to virtual reality technology, Tray and Loris felt that they were actually in the hearing chamber with the six examiners.

  Loris recounted her experience in the Athena submersible, from the moment she boarded the vessel until she and the others were picked up by the rescue vessel from Jove’s Messenger. Her testimony took most of the morning, and Tray was impressed at how much detail she recalled.

  After a brief break for lunch, Tray and Loris returned to the chateau’s communications center and the hearing room in Copenhagen. Tray told the examiners what he remembered of the ill-fated jaunt into Jupiter’s ocean.

  “And there was no indication of a malfunction before you tried to return to the surface?” asked one of the examiners, a sharp-eyed marine engineer.

  “None that I know of,” answered Tray. “Lieutenant Sheshardi was piloting the vessel; if there were any technical difficulties, he would have been the one to recognize them.”

  “Sheshardi is dead,” said one of the female examiners.

  Tray bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Very well,” said the chairman of the examiners’ team. “Tomorrow we will replay the recording of the mission made by the android Para.” Then he rapped his gavel to officially close the session.

  As he got up from the chair he’d been sitting in for the duration of the hearing, Tray turned to Loris, who was stretching languidly beside him.

  “Mance wasn’t at the hearing,” he said to her.

  Loris’s brows rose a bare centimeter. “Maybe they heard his testimony before ours,” she said.

  “Maybe.”

  As the two of them walked out of the communications center, Tray said, “Let’s invite him for dinner and see what he has to say about the hearing.”