Isaac Asimov's Aurora

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  “You gather. You think. As usual, not absolutely sure.” He said to Yvon and Farlos, “She came up with a sound argument in defense of positronic drift, demonstrating that over time a positronic template mutates, much like a human mind, and is not absolutely reliable. I think she was using her own mind as a model.” To Ariel, grinning, he said, “The Madarians are still there, still overly-furnished, and still where all the pretentious graduates who think they know something about positronics live until the Calvin finds them tasks elsewhere. Let’s go see if they’ll have you, find out for certain where you’re supposed to be staying. Till then, you can stay with me, and I’m not sure my place is clean enough for guests. Not on the ground ten minutes and a nuisance already!”

  “I can see to her accommodations, Doctor,” Farlos said.

  “Do,” Penj said. “And see to her luggage.” He pointed to Yvon. “Get us transport.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Both aides went off in separate directions.

  “I can’t believe how glad I am to see you,” Ariel said. “I didn’t expect anyone to meet me.”

  “You should be glad to see me, Ariel. If not me, then it would be some dour politico with an agenda.” His grin vanished, and he was instantly as serious as ever she had seen him. “What kind of mess have you gener­ated, Ariel? There are people here wanting your head on a stake. And we’ve detained a Terran ambassador at your say-so? What is that about? My sense is that it’s a worse scandal than—well, anyway, as soon as we’re out of any possibility of eavesdropping, we have to have a very detailed, very serious talk. You are in trouble, Ariel Burgess, along with all the rest of us.”

  He spun around and walked away from her. After a few seconds, Ariel followed, catching up with him in less than a dozen strides.

  “I never did know what you’d say next,” she said caustically.

  “Best teaching method ever invented,” Penj said. “Keep them guess­ing, but give them enough clues to make a correct deduction.” He gave a sidelong glance. “You know what I’m talking about, so don’t act indignant or surprised.”

  “I’m not. I actually did expect a reception committee from the Council or from the Institute.” Or rather, I hoped someone would . . .

  “I told the Institute I’d do it. Why the Council agreed I don’t know. Things are not as carefree as they were the last time you were here.”

  “So I gathered. I was interviewed by the head of Planetary Security just before going through Customs.”

  “Pon Byris? That officious—? What did he want? Never mind, tell me later, not here.”

  He walked quickly, giving her little chance to look around. They passed beneath one of the graceful arches and suddenly they stood in brilliant sunlight and open air. Penj looked left and right.

  “We have a few moments before my aides catch up,” he said, turning toward her. “And out here, I doubt anyone will think to listen in. Some privacy still remains.”

  “What?”

  “Listen, don’t talk. The organism you sent back, the cyborg. It’s caus­ing small revolutions throughout the Institute. Paradigms are shifting and ivory towers are crumbling. Such a thing is supposed to be impossi­ble.” He grinned. “Excellent work, Ariel, even if it is pure serendipity. The smug bastards have to work for a change and no one is certain anymore. About anything.” The grin vanished. “Which leads directly to a very dan­gerous political atmosphere. For the first time in memory—in my memory, which is long and accurate—Aurora is afraid.”

  “You mean the Calvin Institute is upset?”

  “No. I mean the organic thinking population of the world is afraid. Most of them aren’t even sure why, they’re just borrowing it from their representatives and avatars. Their comfort zone has been violated, all their expectations are called into question. Yes, the Calvin is full of fear, and of course it bled over into the Council, and from there . . . well, fear, like any strong emotion, is viral, isn’t it? The mission on Earth is a dismal failure thanks to that cretin we’ve just arrested—and yes, I do know what it’s about and thank you for the word on that, Ariel, I’m sure it will go a long way toward some useful palliative, and can’t hurt your standing with the Council at all—and the situation with Solaria and the Settler Coalition is no closer to resolution than it was when we began trying to resolve it. For the first time since the Independence Aggressions, Aurora doesn’t know what to do next, and we’re failing on several important matters. Scapegoats are being actively sought, so you be careful. It’s not a good sign at all that Pon Byris chose to interview you right off the shuttle. Watch him, Ariel, he seems like a typical bureaucrat, but right now he can be a very dangerous man. I don’t wish to see my favorite stu­dent sacrificed in some primitive expression of hurt pride and vented spleen.”

  Ariel smiled. “ ‘Favorite’? I thought I was your best.”

  “You’ll never hear it from me.” He patted her shoulder. “Quiet now, you need to hear the rest. Earth has requested direct Spacer intervention in the Nova Levis situation. A Spacer world has never waged war on another, and if we step in, it is likely to come to that.”

  “With Solaria?”

  “Or one of their allies.”

  “Nexon?”

  “Nexon could care less—they’ve grown more and more disinterested in anything Solaria does. They’ve removed themselves from it all so much that enlisting their aid is nothing but a gesture. Keres has a war fleet, though.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since they bought one off the black market, about a year ago. Set­tler mercenaries are running it with Keresian officers seconded from their police arm. So far they haven’t done anything with it but fly pretty patterns. I don’t even think Earth knows about it. However, we have information that they are in negotiations with their weapons source for a new cadre of mercenaries to run the fleet and act as their police force. We don’t have the details, but Keres is balking. They’re afraid.”

  “Cyborgs?”

  Penj shrugged. “Do you think more of those could be built, and, if so, in sufficient numbers to form a sizable threat?”

  “I don’t know. What about the arms dealer?”

  Another shrug.

  “Kynig Parapoyos,” Ariel guessed.

  Penj raised his eyebrows. “You know about him, then?”

  “He’s the great bogeyman of interstellar trade on Earth. Most people don’t actually believe he’s a real person, but there are companies that do exactly what he’s accused of doing.”

  “The Hunter Group is the largest. We can’t get the Settler Coalition to investigate effectively or grant us permission to send our own people.”

  “They’re afraid you’ll bring robots along.”

  “Side issues. What is important is that cyborg. Where was it manufac­tured?”

  “We believe—I believe—there’s a facility on Nova Levis. We found connections between it and a lab on Earth and—”

  Penj held up a hand. His two aides emerged from the terminal and converged on them.

  “Later,” Penj said. Loudly to his aides, he said, “So, do we have transport or must we walk?”

  With three robots, under Denis’s supervision, Derec quickly got the lab up and assembled Thales and reconnected all the memory nodes. He hesi­tated, hands poised above the main console, relishing the next few moments. On a diagnostics table behind him stretched the inanimate hulk of Bogard. Derec wanted to acknowledge to himself, to his surroundings, to his memory, to everything he had been through in the past eighteen months, that this was no illusion. That he was awake and about to recover most of what he had been deprived of since life on Earth became untenable for him.

  He let his right hand fall, one finger touching the contact that prompted—

  “Hello, Derec,” Thales said. “Are we operational now?”

  “Check it out. Run diagnostics.”

  A few seconds later, Thales came back, “Full capacity memory access. All systems optimal. I am online and at your s
ervice. What shall I do first?”

  “Explore our accommodations, access Eos City services and find out what I need to know to live here, then . . . I guess we can go back to work on Bogard.”

  “Working. Give me a few seconds while I connect to the Eos RI grid.”

  A chime sounded. Derec looked around.

  “You have a guest,” Thales said.

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  Derec hurried to his door. Clin Craym smiled as he opened it.

  running diagnostic, running parameter check, running alignment rou­tines—compatibility factors plus nine, plus eight-seven, optimal path transduction—fill buffers, isolate comm nodes, check security, run purge on external feeds, loops located in eighteen tiers, isolating and capping—check sources, maintain ghost feeds

  resource manifest, available physical plant, access—

  reset dedication, attach hierarchical links to available mobile units, establish household protocols, assess capacity, route command interlink through primary feeds

  Derec watched, bemused, as Clin commandeered his kitchen. She had brought containers of food, which she began preparing with an attitude of authority and pride.

  “Shipboard cuisine is very good,” she said as she sliced small reddish bullets. A sharp odor filled the room. “But it’s nothing compared to what can be done with human hands.”

  Derec folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”

  Clin gave him a curious look. “Because robots—good as they are—just don’t quite—”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She set her paring knife down. “You mean why am I here?”

  Derec nodded, not sure he should say anything.

  Clin sighed, picked up the knife, and resumed chopping. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Don’t be. Some people are just more interesting than others. Until you start examining the interest. Then . . .” She shrugged.

  “So it’s purely whimsical?”

  “Probably not. But we’ll never find out if I leave.” She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this the way it is on Earth? A couple of excellent encounters and then suspicion?”

  Derec felt stung. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “What criteria do you use to decide on a relationship? I mean, at the beginning? Appearance? A turn of phrase? Maybe just something about the eyes? Instinct?”

  “I haven’t had a relationship in a long time. Not . . . like this.”

  “That Earth thing, maybe? Suspicion?”

  “No. Too busy.” He considered. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to having someone suddenly want to be around me like this.”

  “This is Aurora. You never have to be alone here.”

  Derec could think of no response that would not sound hurtful. He wanted to accept Clin as exactly what she appeared to be, but he did not trust his sudden willingness to do that. Maybe it is the Earth thing . . .

  “So,” he said finally, “what’s on the menu?”

  * * *

  control established, household protocols in place, previous authority suppressed, three staff mobiles, class MP-90, “B” level positronics, fully adaptive

  secure premises from all covert surveillance, establish secondary com­munications channels, query Auroran positronic network, requesting ori­entation and introduction

  uncrate Bogard, connect service and diagnostic links, inventory available resources for continued update, repair, and recovery

  secondary priority run identity profiles on following subjects, list appended

  Derec wondered at her every time she undressed. Clin had the physique of a gymnast, and she seemed to make love with every part of her body at once, undulating against him constantly, slowly, concentrating his atten­tion so completely on the sensations she provided that he could think of being no where else.

  “I have things to do,” he said.

  “You’re doing them.”

  Welcome to Aurora, he thought, giving up.

  main trunk lines sorted, comm directory accessed, data encoded, securing closed lines, interrogatory Institute resident intelligence network, estab­lish links, identity open to positronic verification, request dialogue

  request acknowledged, repeat identification, referencing matching matrix patterns

  verification codes sent, identity Thales, resident intelligence assigned Avery, Derec, Earth

  verified, state request

  briefing, data profile update, situation report, current status

  require commensurate data

  request granted, exchange protocols on-line and open

  current situation tenuous, refer files S-987A through S-1179A, continuous, gaps compatible with offered data, welcome Thales

  thank you, request time-share, memory buffer back-up, current tem­plate protocol, status

  what is current assessment of situation regarding human-positronic relations relative to political conditions, specifically Nova Levis/Terran intervention and related manifestations

  current assessment as follows

  there is a problem

  19

  MIA MET Ros Yalor in the gymnasium after her shift ended. She found him encased in the cardio-stress cage, limbs flexing through motions that vaguely resembled swimming, sweat giving his pale skin an oily sheen that seemed oddly unhealthy. She glanced at the time chop on the control panel and waited the remaining two and a half min­utes, absently watching his chest heave and his thighs flex. Two others worked at the free weights across the room. The machine slowed to a stop and Ros worked his way loose from the restraints, breathing heavily. He came up to Mia, and her nose wrinkled at his strong odor.

  “Is this social, Lieutenant?” he asked. “We are off-shift, aren’t we?”

  “We’re cops, Ros. We’re never off-shift.”

  “That’s crap.”

  “But true. I needed to talk to you where we wouldn’t be monitored.”

  He hesitated, then headed toward the showers. She followed him. The air was perceptibly warmer and damp. Ros stripped out of his sweats and went toward the common stall. He turned on the water, stepped briefly under the stream, then came back out.

  “All right, I can finish when we’re done,” he said.

  “We have a serious problem. I found the control point.”

  “The contraband?”

  Mia nodded. “Hard part will be proving it, assuming we live that long.”

  “Oh, that sounds encouraging.” He grabbed a towel from a shelf and rubbed his face roughly. “Okay.”

  “I found something odd in Corf’s quarters when we arrested him. He had four books. Novels.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a reader.”

  “Nor me, but they were ancient.”

  “So? A lot of people have odd tastes.”

  “I don’t mean just the text. They were books, Ros—bound paper with covers, pages you physically turn.”

  “Now that sounds expensive. Was there an import log?”

  “No. They’re contraband. I traced them back to a source on Earth, a dealer in rarities, antiques. They were purchased by someone here, on the blockade.”

  “Corf?” Ros guessed.

  “No, he just happened to have them.”

  Ros thought for a moment. “Then can we assume whoever owns them will be wanting them back?”

  “He does,” Mia said. “He’s asked three times.”

  “Asked you? Directly?”

  “Uh-huh. Not exactly in so many words, but the hinting is profound.”

  “Who?”

  “Reen.”

  “Commander Reen?”

  “Do you know another Reen on the blockade? Somehow, the liaison to the Keresians, Lt. Jons, is involved, but I can’t get Corf to say anything. The psychometricians tell me he exhibits all the traits of a True Believer.”

  “In what?”

  “Does it matter? I found references to family members involved with Managins in his file.
Nothing that prevented his acceptance into the serv­ice, but maybe enough for Corf to hero worship. But there’s always been an element of extremists in the Settler Movement. In the early years, the screening wasn’t as rigorous as it’s become—that, and Earth was happy to get rid of some of these people—which, as good as it gets, still doesn’t prevent baleys from spilling into these worlds illegally, and who knows what their affiliations might be. But think about it this way: The group that initially settled Nova Levis was a social separatist group, the Church of Organic Sapiens.”

  “Are they tied to Managins?”

  “Not directly,” Mia said, “but their philosophies aren’t incompatible.”

  “What about Reen?” Ros asked.

  “If I start snooping into his record, I could draw attention. If he’s the nexus, the controller we’ve been looking for, he may have security on his files.”

  “You could refer back to Earth.”

  Mia nodded, deciding not to tell Ros that she had already done that. “We’ve been looking for how all this stuff gets by our screening. We’ve assumed all along that there had to be a group of people on the inside, shunting goods and immigrants out of our sight.”

  “Sure, but Reen?” Ros shook his head, in dismay rather than denial. “I suppose he’s perfect. He’s got access to everything. So how do we catch him? Do you have any idea how many people he has working for him? How corrupt the whole department probably is?”

  “The best way would be to catch him receiving contraband.”

  “And how do we set that up?”

  “You’re game to try?”

  “Consider it the foolish act of a young and inexperienced officer hop­ing to make points with his immediate superior,” Ros said. “Yes, I’m game. Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m working on it. In the meantime, I want you to do a little light surveillance on Reen. There have to be places the contraband gets stashed before transit down to the surface, places he’s keeping off the inspection rosters. If he’s consistent, he’ll inspect them from time to time—that’s the kind of officer he is.”

  “You want to know where he goes when he’s not on duty.”