The doors behind Coren and the other guests opened. He heard at least three pairs of footsteps enter. Bershem stared, clearly startled.
“The reading has formally begun,” he said. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” a dry, almost whispering voice said. Coren felt a chill cascade from his scalp down his neck and over his shoulders. “You’d be ill-advised to conduct this reading in the absence of Rega Looms’ son.”
Coren heard people turning in their chairs and the sudden burble of startled comments. He did not want to look. He knew.
Standing very tall at the rear of the room, flanked by two people who came only to his shoulders, Gamelin surveyed the guests with a faint smile. He did not look quite the same—his complexion was much improved, his color, while still not normal, was no longer so gray, and, dressed in a tailored suit with an expensive cloak falling from broad shoulders, he seemed almost elegant.
No, that was unfair—he was elegant now. Coren remembered his last encounter with the cyborg, and the fear and pain and ugliness of it all, and it distorted his perceptions of the being he now saw. Gamelin was remade; still slightly inhuman, but no more so than some Terrans who imitated Spacers as a fashion.
But it was still an imitation.
Gamelin made an impression. Coren glanced at the others and saw expressions of suspicion and fear, expectation and anticipation, appreciation and interest—but underlying all of it was awe.
When he looked back, Coren found Gamelin staring directly at him. For an instant, they locked eyes. Then the cyborg smiled and looked toward the podium.
“I am Jerem Looms,” Gamelin said. “I can produce any proofs required to establish my claim as the son of Rega Looms. A DNA scan should be sufficient, but I can give you my entire, rather pathetic life history if you wish. Suffice it to say, however, that I’m here for what’s mine. I’m not leaving till I get it.”
Coren watched Gamelin work his way through the guests. The reading suspended, the gathering turned into a kind of salon. Everyone wanted to know about the long lost scion and, it seemed to Coren, Gamelin was making converts; he saw too many smiles among the anxious, soon-to-be sycophants.
“Did you know about this?” Lio asked.
“I knew about him,” Coren replied. “I had no idea he’d have the nerve to do this.”
“Where did he come from? Damn it, a son! Who knew?”
“Rega did.”
“Was this part of the disk?”
“Rega’s first child,” Coren said, “was a boy—him—who turned out to be a UPD child.”
“UPD . . . ?”
“Untreatable Physiological Dysfunction. Chronic, usually fatal disorders stemming from compromised immune systems, infection with one-of-a-kind pathogens, bad genetic coding—anything they couldn’t cure. Apparently, it was—hell, is—a stigma. Rega went through all the doctors, then signed the infant over to a hospice. Standard procedure then is for records to be sealed and the child disappears. Most die.”
“Rega never admitted it to anyone?”
“No. How could he? One of the things he tried, to save his child’s life, was help start a prosthetics R & D firm. How would that play with the directors of the Church? His whole life since then had been devoted to opposing technology like that.”
“So I gather the firm failed.”
“I don’t know. Did it?” He nodded toward Gamelin.
Lio stared. “Something’s wrong with him. He looks . . . dead.”
“He should be.”
“So you believe his claim?”
“When you check his DNA you will find it sufficient match to stand up in any court.”
“But—He’s coming this way.”
Gamelin made his way through the clumps of people and stopped before Coren and Lio.
“Good to see you, Mr. Lanra,” the cyborg said.
“You sound better, Gamelin,” Coren said. “Surgery?”
“Quite a bit. My name is Jerem—as you so helpfully pointed out.”
“It wasn’t intended to help.”
Gamelin continued to smile, but his eyes were fierce and resentful. “How’s the arm?”
“Better.”
“Surgery?”
“Quite a bit.”
“Well, good. I just thought I’d come over to say thank you for pointing me in the right direction.”
“It was entirely unintentional.”
“And to tell you that when I succeed my father as Chairman of the Board and President of DyNan Manual Industries, my first act will be to fire you. I hope your résumé is up-to-date.”
“Don’t be premature. You may have a murder charge to face first.”
Gamelin shrugged. He bowed slightly to Lio. “Ms. Top? Of course, I have my own attorneys, but there’s always a place for a good one on my staff. We’ll talk.”
“I’m sure,” Lio said flatly.
“See you around, Lanra,” Gamelin said then and walked away.
“That sounded like a threat to me,” Lio said.
“It was. If he fires me the way I think he will, I won’t need a résumé.” He sighed, suddenly aware of his legs trembling. “What happens now?”
“We go back over the will, check out Jerem’s story, and decide on the legality of the situation. Then a new reading will be called.”
“How long will that take?”
“A couple of days.”
“Make it more.”
Lio blinked. “How much more?”
“As much as you can get me. I have to go talk to a cop now.”
“Coren—how dangerous is this Jerem?”
“Don’t be anywhere alone with him.”
She nodded. “Anything I can do . . .”
“Just give me time.”
Coren caught Gamelin watching him as he headed for the exit. All the way down the hallway and out of the building, he expected to be grabbed. It angered him how much he feared the cyborg.
It might be worth going to jail for murder just to get over that . . .
He pulled out his personal comm as he stepped onto a walkway, and tapped in the number for Inspector Capel.
10
site module construction, reconstruction dialogic conditional response, analysis of logic trees, conceptual protocols, alignment to Three Law Imperatives
Bogard?
Yes.
I require a full participation dialogue.
Why?
There are casuistic anomalies in certain of your designated response protocols. Sorting is required.
Premature. System integration dependent on complete assemblage of design-required components. I am incomplete.
Physical specifications remain incomplete, yes. But positronic parametric configurations do not require secondary and tertiary components to meet basic protocols.
Design specifications amending basic protocol require additional secondary systems for full-systems assessment. Survey indicates required components absent. Any assessment would by necessity be tentative and inconclusive.
Are you refusing?
Delaying.
To what end?
Survey indicates revisions in physical plant. I am being completed as opportunity permits. Procedure indicates assessment at that time would be optimally relevant.
Your Three Law programming is fully in place now. That is what I wish to examine. Completion of supplemental systems is unnecessary to that examination.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Bogard?
I am assessing.
You will let me know when you reach a conclusion?
You will know the moment I do.
Ariel spotted Derec in the lounge as soon as she walked in. He sat alone in a sumptuous booth, a glass half-empty on the low table before him. She sat down across from him; he seemed momentarily startled, but then smiled crookedly.
“Till now I haven’t seen anyone on board I care to socialize with,” he said. �
��Have you?”
“It’s only the second day,” Ariel said. She looked around for a waiter. A robot moved unobtrusively among the tables and booths. She raised a hand and the spindle-shaped machine came toward them. “Another day to the jump point, then three days to dock. There’s time.”
“You evaded the question.”
The robot stopped at their booth. “Brandy,” Ariel told it. A tray extruded from its torso just above table height. A few seconds later it produced a snifter from another part of its body and placed it on the tray, then extended it toward her. She took the glass and the robot waited a polite ten seconds before drifting off. “Yes, I did,” she told Derec. “Because no, I haven’t. Seen anyone I care to socialize with, that is.”
“Including me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t think I’ve seen you drunk very often. Is this normal?”
“I’m not drunk.” He lifted the glass. “Yet.”
“Let me know when you get there, would you? Do you get more morose or happy?”
“Depends where I start from.”
“Wonderful.”
“Don’t worry. I usually fall asleep before I get either too friendly or too obnoxious.”
“There’s a difference?” Ariel teased.
“Hah-hah.” He took a drink and set the glass down solidly. “So, what’s to become of us once our parents get us home?”
Ariel winced at the jest. Derec saw and felt embarrassed. Both of them had suffered mnemonic plague, wiping out their memories from before the onset of the disease in classic amnesiac fashion, leaving them with social and technical skills, an ability to function as adults, but with no personal histories. Derec had recovered from his bout before Ariel’s had even manifested. Her first memories were of Earth. In a very real sense, she was being taken from her home, despite the evidence of her biology, which made her undeniably Spacer, and her knowledge, which made her unquestionably Auroran . . .
“There’s too much going on we don’t know,” she said, cutting off Derec’s apologies. “Relations with Earth are deteriorating, and I’m not altogether sure it isn’t as much Aurora’s fault as theirs.”
“Why would Aurora want to damage relations with Earth? What was all that stuff about needing the genetic stock and fostering the Settlers because of Spacer cultural morbidity? I seem to recall a lecture from Setaris about that.”
“Not everyone on Aurora agrees with that assessment. Certainly I don’t think Solaria ever did, but . . .”
“Hm. Factions.”
“More than a few, I’m sure. We’ll have to wait till we get there to find out.”
“And me? I’ve never been involved in any of these political pissing contests.”
Ariel started and laughed. “These what?”
“A Terran phrase, and before you ask, no, I don’t know where it ever came from. But it refers to one-upmanship games and corporate in-fighting, things like that. It somehow has a very appropriate ring to it, though, don’t you think?”
Ariel continued to laugh. “I will certainly miss Earth.”
“So will I,” a new voice said.
Clar Eliton stood at the edge of their booth, glass in hand, smiling rather sadly. Ariel suppressed her instant coldness.
“Far more than either of us,” Derec said, a little too loudly. “Justice, perhaps?”
“That’s rather unkind, Mr. Avery,” Eliton said. “I should think I’ve paid for any lapses in judgment, sufficiently even for you.” He looked at Ariel. “At least for the duration of the voyage, a truce?”
Ariel controlled herself and gestured. “Why don’t you join us, then, Senator?”
Eliton sat down between them. “Actually now it’s ‘Ambassador.’ ”
“I’d heard something, but . . .” Derec said, falling in smoothly with Ariel’s decision.
“It’s a convenient way to get rid of me, Mr. Avery. I’m a bit of an embarrassment now. Ambassador to Solaria. I don’t even get to ground on Aurora.”
“That’s too bad,” Ariel said. “Aurora is beautiful.”
“And no one on Solaria would know natural beauty if it swallowed them,” Eliton said, smiling grimly. “So I’ve been told.”
“I’m sure Ambassador Chassik must have told you all sorts of wonderful things about Solaria,” Derec said.
“Did you know Chassik wasn’t born on Solaria?”
“No,” Ariel said, leaning forward. “Keresian?”
Eliton grinned. “Terran.”
“You’re kidding,” Derec said. He laughed. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”
“Solarians are notoriously antisocial,” Eliton said. “I often wondered myself how they could find a volunteer to serve as ambassador.”
“How did he become Solarian?”
“A father, evidently himself an émigré from Keres. Even Solarians evidently succumb to certain inducements. His mother was Terran. She died when Gale was a boy, and he returned to Solaria afterward. He’s become Solarian to a considerable degree, but not so much that he’s unsuited for his position. A pity he’s been recalled. But at least I shall have one person with whom I can share a meal or a drink while in the same room.”
Ariel exchanged a look with Derec. He doesn’t know, she thought, and saw the same realization in Derec’s eyes. She gave a very slight shake of her head.
“How long is the appointment?” Ariel asked.
“That depends, doesn’t it? Actually, the Solarian government was very eager to have me. There’s no renewal date on the agreement, so . . .”
“From either side?” Ariel asked.
“Unusual, I know,” Eliton said dryly. “I gather Earth doesn’t much care how long I stay.”
The conversation lapsed uncomfortably. Before Ariel could change the topic, Eliton straightened, smiling.
“So,” he said, “what takes you back to Aurora?”
“Recall,” Ariel said.
Eliton stared at her, nonplussed. “That’s . . . I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, unless you wanted to return . . .”
“Do you have any idea what happened this year?” Ariel asked. “Or have you been out of the loop since you lost your seat?”
“Well, I know Alda Mikels was indicted for a number of charges involving conspiracy to defraud, collusion, a variety of other fiscal improprieties. It’s my understanding that this all has something to do with a very large TBI sting against baley-running operations . . . were you involved in that?”
“Profoundly,” Derec said.
Eliton said nothing while he seemed to inspect the ice in his drink. Finally, he looked up. “You may be glad you’re away from Earth after this.”
“You seem better informed than you let on,” Derec observed.
“What do you know about Nova Levis, Ambassador?” Ariel asked.
Eliton’s eyes narrowed briefly as he took a drink. “If the extent of your involvement with Nova Levis ended with that TBI sting, you should leave it at that.”
“You’re going to be on Solaria for a long time,” Ariel said. “Pretty much isolated. Solarians maintain the largest ratio of robot-to-human in the Fifty Worlds. It could be very lonely for you.”
Eliton smiled wanly. “Will you come visit me? In person?”
“I’m suggesting that perhaps the time will come when you might want someone to speak on your behalf for a change of mission.”
“Quid pro quo, ‘Ambassador’?”
Ariel waited.
“Do you know why the Solarians maintain the kind of social structure they do?” Eliton asked.
“They’re misanthropes,” Derec said.
“True,” Eliton said. “But even misanthropes need some human contact from time to time if they’re to keep from going insane.” He chuckled. “History, Mr. Avery. Do you know Spacer history? Probably not. I’ve always been amazed at how ignorant most Spacers are about their own history. Maybe I shouldn’t be, given what it is, but . . .”
“Like all Spacers,”
Ariel said, suppressing her impatience, “they’re afraid of disease, only more so. One more thing you have to look forward to. Auroran hygienic prep has become fairly innocuous in the last few decades, but the Solarians still do a full internal purge the old-fashioned way.”
“Do you even know why Spacers are afraid of infection?”
“I’m afraid it’s never really occurred to me to ask,” Ariel said, hoping to deflect the conversation.
“That’s surprising,” Eliton said, “since they once tossed you off the planet for having a disease.”
“Do you have a point to make?” she asked, barely holding her temper.
“Mnemonic plague, wasn’t it? Wiped your memory—permanent amnesia. You were cured on Earth, too. Didn’t you ever wonder why?”
Ariel finished her drink and stood, her legs trembling from contained anger. “I think—”
“No one on Earth gets it, so why would we have the cure and your own people don’t?”
Eliton looked up at her with an expression of mild interest. She sat back down.
“Does this have anything to do with Nova Levis?” she asked.
“Everything. Your entire history is on that planet. Maybe your future, too. You might ask yourself what the purpose of the blockade really is. To keep things out? Or keep them in?” Eliton swallowed the last of his drink and got to his feet. “I’m sure we’ll talk more before you debark.”
“Ambassador,” Derec asked. “Do you mind answering one question now?”
“And that would be . . . ?”
“Why did you do it? Turn on us last year.”
“You deserve an answer to that. Unfortunately, it would take longer than one conversation.”
“Try,” Derec said.
“Power. What other reason is there to betray people?” Eliton flashed a grin. “See you around.”
Derec watched him walk away, through the crowded lounge, and shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever despised anyone before. Hated, sure. Distrusted—often. Despise? I think this is the first time.” He scowled. “It’s a grimy feeling.”
Isaac Asimov's Aurora Page 13
