Isaac Asimov's Aurora

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  “I can fix it. Give me some time. Meanwhile . . .”

  Derec watched her cross the dock and enter an office. A few minutes later she returned, followed by an Auroran official. The man brought with him a constellation of extensions of various sizes, the largest nearly twenty centimeters in diameter.

  The extensions assumed wider orbits as the man stopped within handshake distance of Derec (though he refrained from offering his hand). Derec watched the small devices warily for a few moments.

  “Mr. Avery,” he said, “I’m Flar Desko, coordinator for Eos import con­trol. Chief Petty Officer Craym has just informed me of an error in your accommodations.”

  “It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve been . . . home . . .” Derec cleared his throat, feeling it catch at the word. “My housing assignment, I’m informed, will be inadequate for my needs.” He waved at the crates. “I have a lot of material I need to set up.”

  Flar Desko frowned at the crates. “All this is . . . ?”

  “Mostly an RI.”

  His eyes flickered briefly. He turned his head slightly to the left. “Dar­ius, do you copy?” A moment later, he nodded. “Good. See to it.” He focused on Derec. “My apologies. A new set of accommodations is being prepared. Give us a few minutes and I’ll have a transport for you and a robot to take you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem, Mr. Avery. Welcome home.”

  He spun around and walked away.

  “I suppose I should really thank you,” Derec said to Clin.

  “Of course. Dinner tonight would be sufficient.”

  “Of course.”

  Derec watched her stride back up the ramp, into the ship. If anything or anyone had gone a long way toward making him feel welcome, she had.

  Why . . . ?

  He slapped the thought down. Leftover paranoia, he thought.

  Bay doors scrolled up, letting in a flood of warm light. A big hauler backed into the dock, and robots emerged from its rear to begin loading Derec’s property.

  He walked around the transport and stepped onto the exterior apron.

  A road led arrow-straight into the slender towers and mushroom domes of Eos City, capital of Aurora, twenty kilometers away. Morning sun covered their porcelain and jeweler’s brass shapes with a thick, but­tery glow. The sky above—the sky! open and unobstructed by a canopy—was greener than Earth’s, almost turquoise in the yellower light of Tau Ceti, but it did not matter. It was sky and it was beautiful.

  Between the port and the city stretched savanna, grasses waving in teasing winds, like undulant waves on the oceans of Terra.

  Within moments, all Derec’s trepidation and ambivalence about com­ing here dispersed. It was too lovely to fear, too familiar, in spite of his handicapped memory, to deny.

  “Sir.”

  He turned toward a tall, elegantly-formed robot.

  “Yes?”

  “We have loaded everything,” the robot said. “We are ready to take you to your domicile.”

  “You have the address?”

  “Yes, sir. Would you care to enter the transport?”

  “Of course.”

  Derec climbed aboard the big hauler and took a seat up front, before the piloting console. The canopy gave him a full 180° view. He settled into the comfortable couch.

  “Your restraining field is now active,” the console informed him. “Please do not attempt to leave your seat during transit. Are there any physical or mental conditions with which we should be aware to ensure your safety and comfort?”

  “No.”

  “Prepare for departure.”

  The transport lifted gently and moved out of the dock. As it picked up speed, Derec felt a moment of exhilaration that surprised him. He thought he would never be pleased to return to Aurora—the entire journey here, save for the two periods he had spent with Clin, had been a constant emersion in anxiety and resentment.

  But now, with Eos drawing visibly closer, he felt a welcome anticipation.

  Details separated out from the amalgam of smooth shapes. There did not seem to be a sharp edge or straight line throughout the Byzantine maze of the city. He picked out the lights in individual rooms, railings around balconies, external lifts traversing the multistoried height of var­ious structures. As the transport entered Eos, he began to notice the patina of wear and age on surfaces—but an elegant stain, in oil-on-water colors over pale porcelain skins. He could see people on the streets and occasionally inside vast rooms. Other vehicles shot past him, small pri­vate craft as well as large work transports like this one.

  Near the center of Eos he recognized what he thought to be public structures and official buildings. He knew the council building well enough, with its collection of melon-and-egg-shaped shells, and opposite it rose the slender towers of the resource administration offices.

  The transport dropped to a lower altitude and veered right. Beyond the towers of resource administration, a series of gracefully curving walls rose. Lower still, and Derec spotted a loading platform at the base of the third wall from the government buildings.

  “Prepare for landing,” the console informed him.

  The transport settled lightly on the platform.

  “Your restraint is off, Mr. Avery. Welcome to Harisom Domiciles. An escort will meet you to take you directly to your new quarters. We will unload your possessions and bring them up shortly thereafter.”

  “Thank you,” Derec said, standing.

  A humaniform met him at the door of the transport. The pale eyes and slightly artificial texture of the face covering gave it away at a glance. As he spoke with it, Derec noted the lack of any expression. He was aware that some humaniforms had been constructed that fully mimicked human physical attributes, but he had never seen one. This unit was as close as most people ever saw. On Earth, he had grown used to referring to any bipedal, bilaterally symmetric robot as humaniform, but here there were subtler distinctions.

  “Mr. Avery?” it inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “I am Denis, your liaison and orientation advisor. Are you comfortable with this arrangement?”

  Derec hesitated. “What arrangement?”

  “Having a humaniform robot in this capacity.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You have just arrived from Earth. I understand that you have spent several years there. It is possible you have adopted attitudes which may cause discomfort in the presence of—”

  “I haven’t. You’ll do.”

  “Very good, sir. If you will please follow me, I will take you to your domicile.”

  Derec fell into step half-a-pace behind the robot. He studied it as they walked. It seemed clothed in pale blue, neck to toe. It came up to Derec’s jawline in height and appeared to be modeled on an athlete’s build.

  “Do you anticipate remaining on Aurora long, Mr. Avery?”

  “I don’t know. I do not anticipate returning to Earth. Why?”

  “The length of your residence will determine the level of robot assignment. I will continue in this capacity until such time as you may decide to replace me, or until you otherwise change your residential arrangements.” Denis glanced at him. “You have no personal robots now?”

  “I do, but it’s currently deactivated.”

  “Do you intend to activate it?”

  “It requires repair. Once that’s done, I may.”

  “That will also determine my continuing as your liaison.”

  They passed beneath a broad archway into the building. Their steps echoed off the high ceilings. Derec looked back after several strides to see the glow of open daylight once more.

  Denis led him to an elevator. It took them up six floors and opened into the apartment.

  Derec stared. He had never had so much personal space on the surface of a planet.

  The furnishings were plain and unobtrusive—sofas, chairs, low tables—but pleasingly elegant. The windows let in ample sunlight. Derec went f
rom room to room. Huge bed, a fully-equipped kitchen, closets everywhere. He stopped before five human-sized depressions in the wall of what he assumed to be a guest bedroom.

  Wall niches for robots. Empty. He tried to remember the ratio of robots to humans on Aurora—twenty-to-one?—and wondered if there was a social hierarchy attached to number of servants.

  The floor was tiled, but his feet seemed to sink a few millimeters as he walked. He entered another guestroom he took to be an extra bedroom, but all he found in the spacious room were more robot niches, counter-tops, and a computer station.

  “Do you have a question?” Denis asked from the doorway.

  “Um . . . what’s this for?” Derec gestured at the room.

  “Your lab, sir. I was given to understand that you required one. Is there a problem?”

  Derec blinked, amazed. “No. No problem at all.”

  Ariel encountered two security guards at the shuttle egress. They pre­sented their IDs and asked her to accompany them, then led her to a small office a short distance from the public Customs inspection station.

  A man looked up from the flatscreen on his desk when she entered. “Ambassador Burgess?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at the guards. “Leave us.”

  When they left, he gestured Ariel to sit.

  “I’m Chief of Planetary Security, Pon Byris,” he said. “Forgive the intrusion, but I must ask you a few questions which may seem unusual.”

  “No problem,” Ariel said.

  “You gave us notification of Ambassador Eliton’s presence on board the Wysteria. Were you aware of any reason we might wish to detain him?”

  “Not specifically, but I thought it was a safe assumption no one here knew of his presence on board. On the off-chance that you might want to talk to him . . .”

  Byris nodded and glanced at his screen. “Have you been in contact with anyone here other than through Ambassador Setaris?”

  “No,” Ariel answered.

  “No personal communications?”

  “No. If you have my records open, you know I did not leave behind any personal relations. My family has never acknowledged me since my original exile—”

  “You were not exiled, Ambassador—”

  Ariel held up a hand. “I don’t want to get into semantics over it. I was asked to leave due to a medical condition. When I was finally allowed back, no one who previously knew me wanted anything to do with me. Call it what you like, I had no ties to sever when I accepted my posting on Earth.”

  Byris pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Has that in any way affected your feelings toward Aurora?”

  “Any specific way you had in mind?”

  “Politically.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.”

  “Would you say you harbor any animosities toward Aurora as a result of your treatment?”

  “You’re questioning my loyalty?”

  “I’m trying to determine whether or not you would have any cause to sympathize with those who might wish Aurora harm.”

  Ariel laughed. “Frankly, I might if I knew anyone who does. But those I knew who do wish Aurora harm I left behind on Earth. And they were all Terrans. If you’ve read my reports, you know I worked against them.”

  “I’ve read the reports, I know what Ambassador Setaris thinks of you. I wanted to get a sense of it myself.”

  “To answer your original question, no, I have been in communication with no one here until my message concerning Ambassador Eliton.”

  “I see. Tell me, Ambassador, did you have much personal contact with the survivors of the Humadros Legation?”

  “I had none.”

  Byris looked surprised. “But I thought—”

  “All our communication was through commlinks. I never actually met any one of them on Earth. I tried to set up meetings, but . . .”

  “I see. You spoke to them, though?”

  “I spoke to one: Benen Yarick. She attempted to fulfill the legation mission—”

  “None of the others?”

  “No.”

  He looked troubled.

  “You can verify all this through my logs,” she said.

  “Oh, I believe you, Ambassador.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve placed Ambassador Eliton in protective custody in the Judicial Complex. Is there any reason you wish to speak to him?”

  “No. I imagine the Council has more than enough to talk to him about.”

  “Very good. Then, I only want to ask what you intend to do, and if you are willing to appear upon request of the Courts at any hearings con­cerning your tenure on Earth and matters involving Ambassador Eliton.”

  “I intend finding quarters,” Ariel said, “taking a long nap, and waiting for a new assignment, assuming one is forthcoming. Of course I’ll make myself available. I imagine that I would be subpoenaed in any case.”

  “Of course, but a statement of cooperation on record now can save time and inconvenience. A formality, that’s all.”

  “I see. Then, if there’s nothing else . . . ?”

  “We’re finished. Thank you. Oh, and please register your address with my office as soon as you have it.”

  “Register with Planetary Security?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “New policy in place since the Nova Levis blockade. Again, just a for­mality. No need to register with anyone else once you do so with us.”

  “Nova Levis . . . of course.”

  She stood.

  Byris resumed studying his flatscreen. When Ariel reached the door, he said, “Welcome home, Ambassador. Enjoy your stay.”

  Ariel stepped out of the office, feeling unsettled. Nova Levis . . . it’s affecting everything . . .

  Ariel passed through customs after only a brief, innocuous interroga­tion, and strode into the main reception area of the port. The chamber sprawled, a vast expanse beneath a pearl-white dome suspended by deli­cate arching arms, between which stretched huge windows letting in the golden light of Tau Ceti. People moved in Brownian trajectories, followed by robots of various types as well as the orbiting “electron” shells of their personal extensions. Ariel remembered the tech from her days at the Calvin, but back then only a few wealthy Aurorans and government officials used them. Now it appeared everyone possessed a cadre of floating eyes, ears, and sensors, all attached to a homebased RI.

  Eos Port did not seem crowded, but Ariel knew that was illusory. Union Station in D.C. on Earth, huge as it was, could fit within this sin­gle chamber. One-person transports were available at numerous stations throughout. Most Aurorans chose to walk.

  Ariel moved anxiously, surveying the scene. Robots stood on pedestals at wide intervals, giving information or stepping down to provide assistance. She saw no lines, no booths, no official desks. As she scanned the scene, she felt disturbed that no party of officials had come to meet her. Only that single, troubling interview with the head of Planetary Security . . . and no one else. She had passed his inspection and now could safely be let loose on Aurora.

  She almost laughed. She needed to adjust her expectations. Things happened at a different pace, in a different order on Aurora. She knew there would be more questions in due course; Byris had all but promised her that, with his request for a “statement of cooperation” for the courts. There was no need here, after having passed any reasonable security check on board ship, above on the station, and now on the ground, to embarrass her or cause unnecessary alarm among the rest of the people present by treating her as a potential threat. Respect, especially between fellow Aurorans, if not genuinely felt, was always practiced.

  We are not Terrans . . .

  But even though she had told Byris that she had no one here, some part of her still expected—

  “Ariel!”

  She stopped abruptly at the sound of her name spoken by a familiar voice. She looked around. At first she saw no one she knew. Then—

  He came toward her en
ergetically, one hand half-raised in greeting. Ariel recognized the hair first—lead gray and uncharacteristically long and disheveled by Auroran standards—then the wide, gleeful grin. He wore a brilliant red shirt above grayish-white pants. He was slightly heavier than the average Auroran, a bit shorter, and clearly less reserved.

  “Ariel, I thought you’d run right out of here and never see me.”

  Ariel felt her face tug into a smile. “Dr. Penj?”

  Two younger-looking assistants hurried in his wake.

  “Well, you haven’t forgotten, then,” he said loudly. “I would have been crushed if you had, even more so since you haven’t sent me any kind of correspondence since you left for Earth.”

  He stopped in front of her and raised his arms, hands spread as if to seize her by the shoulders. He looked down at her feet and brought his gaze slowly up to her face.

  “You look tired but on the whole better. Terrans must agree with you.”

  “I’ve met a few who weren’t terrible. Dr. Penj . . .”

  “You know better than that. ‘Rolf’ it is, and ‘Rolf’ it had better remain.” He turned. “These are my current aides: Yvon and Farlos. And before you ask—human, yes. I left Binder behind. He can be a pest when it comes to Terrans. He still considers anyone from Earth a source of infection. Embarrassing.”

  Ariel started laughing.

  “What?” Rolf Penj asked with mock indignation. “All these years and you laugh at me? She thinks I’m amusing,” he said to his aides. “That’s only because I am, of course, but I’m not trying to be now and she’s laughing. You can see how she must have been as a student, always reacting in exactly the wrong way during class.”

  Ariel saw smiles playing on the more ideally Auroran faces of Yvon and Farlos. She stifled herself.

  “You evidently haven’t changed a bit,” she said.

  Penj’s thick eyebrows rose. “I hope not. It took me a long time to get to a condition I liked—I intend to keep it till I’m tired of it. Do you have any luggage?”

  “It’s already on its way to storage. I don’t have a domicile yet. I suppose I’ll get one—”

  “Where in particular?”

  “I gather at the Calvin Institute hostelry. Are the Madarian Apart­ments still—”