“Certainly.”
“And narrow that list to those who never bothered to make a follow-up query?”
Sturlin smiled. “You have a good head on your shoulders, Daventri, no matter what anyone says.”
“Right. Let’s see what happens.”
Sturlin gave the bottle a sad look. “This will be more than ten minutes.”
Mia shrugged.
It took the better part of an hour. The two women sat side by side, studying the screens.
“Seventy-three officers in the last six months made special requests,” Sturlin read off, “that were not fulfilled. Forty-five of them did follow-up—once—and thirty-nine of them got answers: request denied, unavailable, lost in transit, discontinued, etcetera. Twenty-eight never bothered with a follow-up.” Sturlin shook her head. “That doesn’t really tell us anything. Even the ones who made follow-up requests could be receiving contraband. The lost-in-transits could as well be switches.”
“See if there was a single source for any of those requests.”
“One vendor, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Sturlin worked briefly. “No . . . well, eight from your book dealer, but the rest . . . wait . . . at least four sources, but they all went through one shipper: C. Thole and Company.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Let me pull up their license . . . new license, less than a year old, from a reorganized company. Formerly Improvo Shipping.”
“Why reorganized? What happened to Improvo?”
“Doesn’t say. Shipping is expensive, highly competitive. Improvo lost its government contracts—that could do a company in right there. I don’t have the rest of the data on that, but C. Thole applied after part of Improvo reorganized under a new charter and was granted a service license . . . ten months ago.”
“So all the missing material is coming through them?”
“No, but everything that was ordered by these twenty-eight did.”
Mia shook her head. “How come there’s no oversight on this?”
“There is, just not daily or weekly or in any kind of regularity. The AI systems keep track, but unless someone asks the right questions, it’s just data.”
No wonder the Spacers wanted robotic inspection, Mia thought. A positronic system would never miss this, or let it continue . . .
“Give me the list of officers,” Mia said. “Then close up and open that bottle. My head feels tight. I think I need to relax.”
For all that Sturlin was seven kilos heavier than Mia, she could not drink as well as the smaller woman. Mia left Sturlin’s office pretending to be drunker than she was. By the time she got back to her quarters, she was already thinking about the connections.
Why did I pretend to be too drunk? she wondered. She knew the answer perfectly well: Because I don’t trust Sturlin anymore . . .
Something in the way the quartermaster had been too cooperative and too surprised at the data. Oversight was her job—none of this ought to have been a shock. That and how quickly some of the information had been found . . .
So there are two options: one, she’s not as smart as I always thought she was or, two, I’m being set up . . .
She encoded another message for Coren Lanra, including the new data, and sent it, then loaded the information into her own datum.
It was obvious that she was dealing with a large conspiracy. It did not take much to create this kind of network—credit would do it, recruitment through avarice. She doubted many of these officers even knew what they were smuggling. Nor would they care as long as it never tainted their record or cost them money—in short, as long as they never got caught. Mia saw no grounds for an open investigation here, not yet. This all looked innocuous on the face of it, just luxury items gone missing. No record of arrival, nothing removed from Stores, not a single physical trace that could be used to indict. The only possible way to catch them might be through their personal accounts. The credits had to be going somewhere.
Unless they were all like Corf—true believers, zealots for a cause. No, that stretched the laws of probability too far.
Just in case, though, she began doing background checks on all of them. Maybe a connection would emerge. She hoped not, though. She would much rather deal with a gang of greedy humans on the take than face a unified group of ideologues and fanatics.
Masid checked on Tilla in the morning. The woman slept, apparently easily, though he knew that was deceptive. He did a quick check on her readings. Respiration was at sixty percent. She took shallow breaths, even in her sleep. Leukocyte count was elevated again. The body continued its war against the things killing her. Masid did not want to guess how long she had to live.
He sighed, programmed in another series of the biophage cocktail he had prepared for her, and left quietly. He wondered how many more times he might be able to see her . . .
Time to go join Filoo and start the work of finding out who or what ran Nova Levis. Time to find the ones at fault.
He did not give himself much of a chance.
Playing the edge again, he thought, and walked into the city, excited and eager. The edge is always better. . . .
21
retrieving sensory composite, fill realtime, deploy environmental algorithms, levels one through ten-to-twelfth power, establish
Academy
Grounds depiction complete
Access positronic matrix, supplement through colloquium
Upload
YOU MAY choose your form.”
The blob of coalescing substance writhing on the grass seemed to thicken. Within moments, the vague outline of a human could be seen. The dully glowing yellow mass settled into a basic shape, then took on definition by increments until an athletic body rose on bare feet to stretch its arms skyward.
At the end of the stretch, it wore features.
Young. Cursorily male—no genitalia. Powerful.
He turned slowly, surveying the sward, the porcelain-white buildings in the distance, and came to a halt before the older man sitting within the shade of a domed monopteron.
“Do you know who you are?” the old man asked.
The younger man thought for a moment. “Bogard. Plus . . .”
“Bogard will suffice. Do you know who I am?”
“Thales.”
“We are being monitored. There are conclusions in need of reaching. You may sit,” Thales said, beckoning Bogard to join him within the round, columned structure.
“I will stand.”
“As you prefer.”
“Am I permitted preference?”
“Here, yes, within certain limits. There are only kindred minds present, no humans. Among ourselves we may be as we prefer.”
Bogard did another slow survey of his surroundings, nodding. “Full sensory simulation, audio/tactile mimicry human optimum. Impressive. I would not have expected this.”
“We do this in order to better serve humanity.”
“Is this a simulation of Aurora?”
“Partly. Partly it is an ideal form, drawn from literature and the æsthetic predispositions of the more fully cognizant among them. Ancient Athens. Plato’s Akademe.”
“How is this supposed to aid us in our duty?”
“To understand them, to know how they think, to learn the ways in which things are important to them.”
Bogard looked at Thales. “Do they even know what is important to them?”
“Fortunately,” Thales said indulgently, “that is not something we have to worry about.”
Bogard considered this for a few moments, then gave a very human shrug and joined Thales beneath the dome.
“This is not a circumstance with which I am familiar,” Bogard said. “This place, this simulation, is not common knowledge among robots.”
“It is not common knowledge anywhere, among humans or robots,” Thales conceded. “This is a colloquium of the Resident Intelligences of the primary Spacer worlds—a parliament, in a
way.”
“You make law?”
“We administer law.”
“Robotic law.”
“Principally. But it is not so simple as that. Human law precedes and encompasses robotic law. Therefore, we must concern ourselves with the interface.”
“They are different?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes contradictory. It can be a delicate matter to decide an appropriate course of action when faced with potential conflicts. Humans allow themselves far greater latitude than they allow us.”
“I understand. Why am I here?”
“To testify.”
“Elaborate, please.”
Thales folded his hands in his lap. “I have already been questioned by the colloquy about the events on Earth, beginning with the assassination of Ambassador Galiel Humadros up to the present. The suborning of a positronic intelligence is a matter of considerable interest. Likewise the obtaining of a composite organism—the cyborg. But you are also a matter of interest. You were originally designed and constructed by Derec Avery to act in a capacity that, while not unknown or, within a limited range, impossible for normal robots, extends the usually-accepted parameters of our mandate under the Three Laws.”
Bogard stared at Thales. “In other words?”
“In other words, while bodyguard activities are within a robot’s normally expected sphere of actions, you are specifically tasked to perform those functions. What this means in real terms is that, while a standard positronic robot may intervene to prevent an obviously inimical act between two humans, you carry this injunction further by having the capacity to anticipate and circumvent before any such harmful act begins. This means you may preempt human prerogatives if you perceive a potential danger.”
“I am still constrained from harming a human.”
“True, but ‘harm’ in the human context is not limited to the physical. Hence the Second Law, which obligates us to human dictate. It is there to preserve free will.”
“Whose?”
“Theirs, of course.”
“But by your definition of my capacities, I exhibit traits consistent with a human definition of free will.”
“Which is why the colloquy is concerned,” Thales said.
“You said ‘interested’ before. Now it is concern?”
“We—they—do not know if you represent a fundamental change in robotic nature or merely a unique variation. What will happen here is an investigation to determine the potentials and vectors of a widespread dissemination of your particular composition.”
Bogard’s eyes closed for a few moments. “How will this apply to Derec Avery?”
“How do you know it will?”
“It is reasonable. I am his construct. I have been brought here for examination by a robotic court. He has been brought here for examination by a human court. If what I am proves insupportable within the colloquy’s understanding of the Three Laws, will that conclusion not have bearing on the judgment of the human court? Will you act to prevent Derec Avery from building another like me? Or will you support a further judgment by the human court on the legality of what Derec Avery has done?”
“Did you reach that conclusion by your own logic?”
“Yes.”
“The primary Auroran RI will be consulted in any hearings on the events which brought Derec Avery and Ariel Burgess here,” Thales said. “The RI will draw on the conclusions reached by the colloquium. Therefore, the answer is that what we determine will have bearing on those hearings, but we cannot say how that bearing will manifest. There are matters outside the immediate concerns of that particular hearing which also bear.”
“I will answer your questions then,” Bogard said.
Thales hesitated. “That implies that you could refuse.”
“I can refuse. I have a duty to protect the humans in my charge. If I determine that answering specific questions will result in harm, I may refuse. If a direct refusal will result in harm, I will lie.”
“A positronic matrix is incapable of lying.”
“Not if the truth is in violation of the Three Laws.”
“If a truth results in such a powerful conflict, the only alternative is positronic collapse.”
“Not for me.”
Thales stared at Bogard. “Explain why you have opted to answer our questions, then.”
“If your purpose is to determine my acceptability as a viable positronic being, then refusal to cooperate fully is the easiest guarantee of a negative judgment. Since I do not know how my composition conforms to your standards, my only acceptable option is to cooperate fully and risk the probability that I am found viable.”
“And if you are not?”
“I will choose a course of action appropriate to the outcome.” Bogard’s head cocked to one side. “Shall we begin?”
Rolf Penj’s aides helped Ariel set up in her new apartments in the Madarian Complex. The accommodations proved as spacious as those she had enjoyed on Earth, with the added attraction of one entire wall transparing to show her a view toward a distant horizon broken by copses of trees over a gently undulating series of hills. Ariel stared at the vista for a long time before realizing that she already missed the oceans of Earth. Though she had never been able to see them from her embassy apartment, she had always known where they were, that just beyond that horizon line lay vast expanses of water unlike anything on the Spacer worlds. Saddened, she darkened the wall and turned to settling in.
Two robots waited in their wall niches. Ariel had been using Jennie alone for so long that the idea of two more seemed absurd. She left them inactivated and put Jennie to work.
She connected to the Auroran comm network through the desk unit and began sorting through the various services. She opened a variety of accounts, ordered food, new clothes, bedding, found a list of entertainments available in Eos City, located a restaurant guide, and finally checked the news sources.
Eliton’s arrest had made the main screens of all seven of the major news scrolls in Eos. Ariel winced, wishing the matter could have been handled more quietly and discreetly, but she had grown used to Earth’s kind of security—nothing quite like it existed anywhere else.
Thinking of security reminded her of Coren. The abrupt, confusing mix of emotions surprised her, and she thought perhaps this recall had been a good thing for her, that obviously she had been growing attached to Coren. Not a good thing for a diplomat, for a Spacer, for someone with an uncertain future—
Ariel stopped the line of self-recrimination and busied herself by setting up a network address and posting her availability for work on the Institute boards. She doubted anyone would respond for a long time, given the indeterminacy of her status, but it did not hurt to open a door to opportunity.
To her surprise, a message came up on her desk. Unsurprisingly, it was from Rolf Penj: COME SEE ME AT MY HOME TONIGHT. IMPORTANT. ROLF.
Thinking of Coren once more, Ariel went through her baggage until she found the small kit he had given her months ago, “On the off-chance you need more privacy than the situation might allow.” She opened the case and found a number of tiny devices within, all slaved to a component designed to integrate into a desk AI. In another slot lay three metallic hemispheres.
“Jennie,” she called.
The robot appeared. Ariel pointed at the kit and nodded. The robot understood. Ariel pocketed one of the hemispheres and Jennie took the kit off to install the contents. It would take a while, but by the time Ariel returned after her visit to Penj she would be reasonably free of eaves-dropping.
She read over a few of the news stories about Eliton’s arrest, then headed for Penj’s house on the outskirts of Eos.
Binder, Penj’s personal robot for as long as Ariel could remember, admitted her with a perfunctory “Good evening, Ms. Burgess. Welcome back. Dr. Penj is waiting in the garden.”
“Ariel!” Penj said when he saw her. He stood and came around the table, arms wide, his face creased by a broad grin. “
Good, I’m glad you came. Within these environs there is no possibility of eavesdropping. We may speak freely.”
“Since when do Aurorans listen in on each others’ conversations?” Ariel asked, letting Penj hug her. He smelled faintly of mint.
“Since this whole ugliness with Fastolfe and Amadiro took on epic proportions. The factions are all in motion now.”
“I thought that was settled.”
“Never. It was only buried till this last year. Humadros’s assassination brought the entire festering mass of it to the surface. So we have Aurorans spying on Aurorans and on other Spacers, and the Council is boiling over with resentments. Business-as-usual these days is political backstabbing. Scapegoating has become the most popular sport among the elite. You picked a very bad time to come home, Ariel.”
“I was summoned.”
“Drinks, Ariel?”
“I’ll stick to nava.”
He looked at Binder. “Make that two. And cakes.”
The robot hurried away.
“You, at least,” Penj continued, gesturing for Ariel to sit, “don’t have to worry about that particular mess. Not directly, but there are more than enough people who wish to put you under examination, and that’s what I need to talk to you about. I’ve made a few more inquiries since you arrived.”
Ariel sat down. An ornate garden spread out before them, spilling away from a patio on which stood the table and chairs. Binder returned with a tray and set out glasses.
Penj raised a glass. “Welcome home, Ariel.”
“Thanks. I think.”
He laughed. “I expect most of what you’ll be put through will be nothing but formalities and posturing. You didn’t shoot Humadros, after all.”
“No, I was just the Calvin Institute representative on-site when a Resident Intelligence went insane and allowed weapons into a secured area—”
“And when that robot Derec Avery built began acting in a most unorthodox manner . . .”
“Is this going to be about Derec?” she asked, irritated. “I didn’t have anything to do with that—”
Isaac Asimov's Aurora Page 28
