“All right,” he said, sitting down. “You’ve become head of security, is that what you’re saying?” He waved her toward a chair. “You may speak freely, no one can listen in, and I’ve always expected candor.”
“I remember.” She clasped her hands behind her back, continuing to stand. “Yes, I have. You walked out. It was necessary.”
“Good. At least someone knows what happened.”
“I don’t know everything that happened. I just know that you quit.”
“You kept that out of general circulation.”
“I didn’t see it as my place to disseminate gossip.”
“I’m not going to undercut you. I did quit. As far as I’m concerned, when I finish what I have to do, I’m going back to being quit. If you’ve been head of security, as far as I’m concerned you still are.” He leaned forward. “As long as you don’t interfere with me till I’m done.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I want to find Rega’s killer. Plus finish the thing that put us at odds in the first place. Will you help me or fight me?”
“I’ll help. Fighting you . . . I’d lose.”
“Maybe. You’re very good at what you do.”
Her expression softened. “None of us expected . . . no one knew . . .”
“When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow. Closed casket. He didn’t want any cosmetics done, you know how he was. But . . .”
“Who found him?”
“Me and Lio Top.”
“Lio. His campaign manager.”
“She’s been his liaison at board meetings for the last several weeks.”
“He stopped attending?”
“Only voice comm. Then even that stopped. We thought, with the senate race over and his daughter’s death—”
“I gather you saw him from time to time?”
“No, not really. Once or twice. Mostly it was Lio.”
“I want to talk to her. Did anyone else have access to Rega?”
“No . . .”
“You sound uncertain.”
“Well . . . I could never prove it, but it seemed sometimes that someone was living with Rega.”
“Someone . . . a woman?”
Shola shrugged. “I’m sorry, boss. I could never get close enough and I didn’t feel right about using any invasives.”
And now he’s dead . . .
Coren kept that thought to himself. “I need to see the recordings of his comm messages over the last couple of months.” He drummed his fingers idly on the edge of the desk. “What’s the mood?”
“Awful. No one knows what’s going to happen next. Rumor has it that Rega never groomed a successor.”
“He wasn’t that old. I suppose he didn’t think he needed to yet.”
“The board doesn’t know what to do.”
Coren found that doubtful: Someone would have a plan, an idea what they wanted to do if nothing else. But no one would be willing to step forward just yet. “All right. Copy me the arrangements, then let it be known that I’m back. While I’m here I’ll walk you through the parts of the job I never told anyone about.” He smiled, he hoped reassuringly. “Meanwhile, I’ve got your support?”
“I’d love to find out who did this.”
The edge in Shola’s voice made the hairs on Coren’s neck bristle. “Then you’re it. I’ve got to catch up now.”
“Sure.” She went to the door. “Welcome back, boss.”
“Thanks.”
He requested a department list from his desk. He selected the bio-research division and studied the names appended. After a few minutes’ consideration, he tapped one and waited for the link to open.
“Organics. Willis Jay here.”
“Mr. Jay, this is Coren Lanra . . .” He hesitated briefly, then added, “Head of security.”
“Yes, Mr. Lanra?”
“Are you available for the next hour? I have something I want to bring over to you for analysis.”
“Well . . . sure, I’ve got some time.”
“You’re in your office?”
“My lab. Right next door.”
“Be there shortly.”
Coren broke the link and opened his pack. He took out the sample bag of grass. Ariel had divided it up before catching the semiballistic back to D.C., giving him a third. He slipped the package into his jacket pocket and headed for the research wing.
The offices of DyNan were usually quiet and a bit overly-serious, but what Coren walked through now felt sepulchral. To be expected, he thought. Still, it got to him. By the time he reached the research area and found the department of Organic Research, he felt guilty, almost ashamed.
Willis Jay looked up at Coren’s entrance, eyes large and pale green, and slowly rose to his full height, head-and-shoulders above Coren.
“Mr. Jay,” Coren said, extending a hand, “I’m—”
“Coren Lanra, yes. What can I do for you?”
Jay’s grasp was quick and light and he sat immediately back down.
Coren placed the sample bag on his desk.
“I found this. I’d like it analyzed.”
Jay picked it up and held it to the overhead light. “Grass.”
“I deduced that much.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In an abandoned lab. Beyond that, I’d rather not say.”
“So there could be contaminants of an unknown type?”
“That’s what I’d like you to find out.”
Jay set the bag back down. “And I suppose you don’t want this to go any further than us.”
Coren felt a smile tug at his mouth. “You suppose correctly.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me any idea what specifically I might be looking for? No? Give me a couple of days, then.” He looked up at Coren. “We’d all heard a rumor that you’d quit.”
Coren was surprised at the change of topic. “Really. Where did you hear that?”
“Rumor. Talk in the kitchen, that sort of thing.”
“I suppose it wasn’t true, then.”
“It appears not.”
“Any other rumors attached to that one?”
Jay sniffed. “You’ve been seeing an Auroran ambassador.”
“Ah. Now that one is true.”
“I suppose it’s not a rumor, then.”
“How long have you been with DyNan, Mr. Jay?”
“Fifteen years, I think.” Jay looked thoughtful for a moment. “Are you going to the funeral?”
“I suppose.”
“Rumor is that Mr. Looms was crushed to death.”
“Can’t confirm or deny that. I don’t know. Where’s he being kept?”
“The morgue, I imagine. The police took the body away.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“Two days from now. I wonder who will run the company after this.” Jay stood again and picked up the bag. “I’ll get back to you about your grass by the funeral, Mr. Lanra.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. Jay.”
“Just Jay.”
“Thanks, Jay. Let me know what you find.”
Coren returned to his office by a circuitous path. Along the way he looked into open doors, greeted people, paused in earshot of conversations for a few moments—all to get a better feel for the mood in the building. Somber, he decided, but with an edge of anger, as if Looms’ death were a personal betrayal. People did not work for Rega Looms just to have a job—if they came to DyNan with that in mind they rarely lasted long—but because they personally believed in what the company did and came to feel the same way about Rega. By the time he sat down at his own desk again, Coren believed that the company by and large would welcome answers to Looms’ murder.
It still puzzled him that Rega had not, apparently, accepted his resignation.
For the last couple of months, Coren had begun testing the waters for new employment. He had found more options than he had expected. After Ariel, he had told himself, he would look fo
r a new job. They had both known it would end—she knew her recall by Aurora was inevitable. There was little enough time as it was.
As for Rega . . . after years of working for the man, they had finally come into ideological conflict.
Coren had been looking for the murderer of Looms’ daughter. And Rega had wanted him to stop. Setting aside Coren’s personal feelings toward the late Nyom Looms, there was no way he could see this as other than a direct threat to Rega and DyNan. Rega had placed him in an impossible ethical quandary.
It seems Rega had thought it over and decided that I was right . . .
It would have been wise for Rega to have at least told him.
Maybe he’d still be alive if I’d known I was still working for him . . .
Coren shoved that thought aside. That way lies madness, he knew. This was in no way his failure.
What now? He had resigned. Pretend it had never happened?
No . . . that would be unethical.
What do I owe you now, Rega?
After a few minutes’ thought, Coren decided that his last obligation to Rega Looms was to find out how he had died and if there were anything he could do about it.
He started accessing records to catch up on the last few months.
direct access subroutine category six Thales-to-Bogard evaluation standard in process, copy log, copy sequence, interrogatory systems profile, match template, revise epistatic drift at point zero-one, revised deviation reference initial protocols subheader Bogard
Query: self-diagnostic
Engaged
Assessment
Deviation on sublevels two, nine, twenty-three, forty-one, and forty-two
Analysis of deviation
Category error in standard definition of subject profile, internal/experiential conformity deviance in basic parameters
Specify category
Three Law base assumptions, BIOS reevaluation in process, inconclusive, repeat function
Define evaluative failure, specify location, specify assumption
Evaluative failure in action prompts, location topologically nonspecific, system-wide, assumption holistic evaluation reducible to question of type
Specify question
Question: What is human?
3
ARIEL CLIMBED out of the embassy limo and started across the garage to the elevators. As she reached the doors, one set opened and Hofton stepped out.
“Ambassador,” Hofton greeted her, giving a slight bow from the waist. He took the pack from her and draped it over his left shoulder.
“Hofton. When did you get back?”
“Last night, actually.” He looked past her at the embassy security. “I’m to escort Ambassador Burgess directly to Ambassador Setaris. We won’t require your presence.”
The pair of officers hesitated. Ariel could see that their orders did not allow this much discretion.
“My responsibility,” Hofton added. “If she escapes, you may shoot me in public.”
Both of the security officers reddened visibly, then nodded.
“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 embarrasse
d 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.”
Isaac Asimov's Aurora Page 4
