Isaac Asimov's Aurora

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  Penj raised a hand. “I know, Ariel. And it doesn’t matter. I told you, scapegoating is the current fad. I think I can arrange to get you the estate next to mine—it’s a nice one, you’ll like it—and keep you on staff as an advisor at the Calvin. But to be blunt, your career is over. At least here, on Aurora. The debacle on Earth, Avery’s robot, these cyborgs—you will be blamed for something and seen as untrustworthy. No one is going to be willing to give you anything to do of any worth. If you insist on try­ing to remain active, you might find another offworld posting, maybe one of the Settler worlds where Spacers have some presence—nothing as important as Earth, but . . .”

  Ariel stared at him, her ears growing warm. “What . . . ?”

  “I know, I know, I implied that things weren’t that bad when I met you at the port.” He looked embarrassed. “I was wrong.”

  “There have been many times I wished you would have admitted that. This isn’t one of them.”

  Penj gazed out at his garden for a long time, sipping his nava. Ariel knew from experience to wait; demanding explanations, asking ques­tions, pushing him never worked.

  “You’re going to hear a lot of contradictory things in the next few days,” he said finally. “Most of it will be idle speculation, couched in accusations to see how you’ll react. All of it centers on that cyborg and what it means for the future.”

  “Whose future?” Ariel asked sardonically.

  “Everyone’s.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Humadros was firmly in Fastolfe’s camp. She believed in the Settler program, in the necessity of prying Terrans off their planet and getting them to colonize new worlds, with Earth as the central mover and cultural and administrative hub of the expansion. That made her dangerous to those here who feared a renewed colonial program more than potential oblivion. I thought the fear was irrational, like all such prejudices, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s a fear that comes from our own history. But I’ll get to that later. For now, suffice to say that Humadros’s death was not mourned by her enemies. The treaties and accords she went to Earth to negotiate and sign were anathema to enough members of the Council that I have no doubt there was celebration at the report of her assassination.

  “The assassination itself gave credence to her detractors. Terrans are unreliable, barbaric, evil—too many adjectives, all meaning the same thing. That we should sever all ties and have nothing more to do with them—unless it is to destroy them. The only problem, of course, was that the genie was out of the bottle. There are Settler colonies, Terrans have a viable space fleet again, we have competition whether we want it or not, and there is nothing short of all-out war that will change the situation. A war, incidentally, that we might very well lose since our own robots would work against it.

  “That fact hasn’t stopped agitators from pushing for exactly that. Since the cornerstone of Humadros’s mission was positronic inspection of commercial shippers, the suggestion has been strongly put that Earth is exporting arms and encouraging an aggressive attitude among the Set­tlers toward Spacers. Of course, there are enough Terran factions doing exactly that to lend veracity to the claim. You know and I know that Earth’s government is not involved—not totally nor directly, at any event. But the chaotic nature of Terran government is thoroughly misunder­stood here.

  “Add to this a report filed by one of the surviving members of the Humadros Legation, making the claim that Earth never intended to abide by any treaty, but only wanted to gain access to our robotic technology in order to improve its weapons technologies. It goes on to assert that certain Auroran factions have colluded in this with the view toward establishing the hegemony of the Settler colonies and creating a new empire at Spacer expense, that these factions have a vested interest in any future human empire and could expect positions of authority in a new government. That already research underway on Earth and a few Settler worlds had made advances in the direction of creating a new weapon which could effectively defeat any Spacer military response, reversing the outcome of the Independence Aggressions that originally separated us from Terran authority. That in the short term, these Auroran factions benefited from the increased cooperation between us and Earth in the form of dividends paid out of illegally-owned shares of Terran companies.”

  “Bribes, in other words,” Ariel said. “They don’t know Sen Setaris very well, do they?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. Setaris is on Earth, not here to defend herself.”

  “That explains Pon Byris’s questions about loyalty,” she mused. “Who filed this report? What facts—”

  Penj raised a hand. “I’ll come to that. The relevant factor is that it has been largely accepted. Fastolfe hasn’t helped matters with his predictions of eventual Spacer collapse. Of course, he meant through a natural deca­dence and internal collapse, but that’s hard to grasp even by people with the intellectual capacity and historical savvy to understand the argu­ments. It’s too personal, too close to home, and too abstract. If we’re to fall, it is reasoned, there must be a tangible cause. Our own complacency is too vague, too frail an idea to be real. But if the Terrans, and through them the Settlers, in league with a few avaricious Spacer traitors, are plotting to bring about our demise, well, that’s at least something that can be used to secure popular support and time on the subetherics!

  “The fact that Clar Eliton did not go to prison on Earth supports the idea that Earth was never serious about the Humadros proposals. And the further fact that he was sent to Solaria as the Terran ambassador-in-residence gives credence to the accusation that certain Solarians are involved in the plot, a connection made stronger by Solaria’s involve­ment with this whole Nova Levis debacle. A subpoena was prepared for Ambassador Chassik and now he is gone. Dead, we assume, at the hands of Settler pirates unwilling to have him expose their secrets.”

  “That’s a bit melodramatic,” Ariel said.

  “Never underestimate the usefulness of melodrama in politics, Ariel. It has the quality of changing the acceptable boundary of a debate. You push an accusation as far as possible, shout and gesticulate, and make people wince at the implausibility of your assertions until the point comes where Reason takes over and a more rational discourse begins. But is it the relevant rational discourse? Suddenly you find that anything drawn well back of the line set by the melodrama looks reasonable and ideas which would have looked absurd months earlier now look like the epitome of logic and rationality. The distortions change our perceptions sufficiently that the debate is forever altered. All you need is the ability to make one ridiculous assertion acceptable, and any hope of coming to a fair and appropriate conclusion is lost.

  “And what can you say to refute their charges?”

  Ariel stared at him, briefly uncertain she had heard him correctly. “What charges?”

  “That you have been in collusion with these pirates all along and helped Derec Avery and Clar Eliton subvert the entire diplomatic process.”

  Ariel laughed. “You’re not serious.”

  “I told you, scapegoating is the current fad.”

  “But—”

  “Can you refute the charge?”

  “The charge is ridiculous!”

  “Can you refute it?” Penj insisted.

  “No! But they can’t prove it, either.”

  “Perhaps not directly, but through inference and implication?” Penj leaned forward. “Consider. Eliton engineered the assassination in league with various Terran corporate interests, one of which managed to subvert the Resident Intelligence that was supposed to provide security at Earth’s main spaceport. Derec Avery operated a consulting company that was supposed to oversee maintenance on that very same RI. He did not fulfill his contract. The RI failed and several Spacers were murdered. Derec Avery also provided a unique robot to act as bodyguard to the very politician who, we now know, was involved in arranging that assassination. The robot appeared to have failed, resulting in Eliton’s death, which was faked. The robot, being a positronic unit, had to have
known what it was doing. It failed intentionally, knowing Eliton was not actually being harmed. That means Avery was in on the conspiracy. As Calvin Institute representative, it was your job to vet any deployment of positronics on Earth. There is a long record of smuggling of humaniform robots onto Earth, during your watch, and there is your clear failure to oversee anything that Derec Avery was doing. Unless you were overseeing it, which means you knew what Avery had built and what it was going to do, which means you, too, were in on the conspiracy. The Solarians have asserted that Chassik had found out about the conspiracy and was taking steps toward dealing with it when you arranged, through the recent incidents involving the cyborg, to have him recalled to Solaria. En route, his ship is attacked and he is killed, tak­ing with him his knowledge of your collusion.”

  Ariel snapped to her feet. “That’s outrageous! None of that is true! Derec’s license to do what he did came from a Terran government agency with supporting authority directly through Setaris’s office. I knew about his contracts to troubleshoot positronics on Earth and the maintenance duties for the RI—which he did not fail to do, so much as they failed to report anything!—but I didn’t know about Bogard until it was built, online, and deployed. Eliton had all of us fooled. And Chassik was the one in on the conspiracy!”

  “So why was he killed?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Sit down, Ariel,” Penj said quietly. “I’m sorry I upset you so much. I’m just trying to show you what’s coming. If you can’t refute these charges effectively, the rest . . .” He shrugged.

  “But it’s so circumstantial!”

  Penj said nothing, waiting now for Ariel to reach her own conclu­sions. She worked through the anger, which muddied her thinking. She finished the nava and poured herself more.

  “Derec’s RI would know,” she said finally. “So would Bogard. He’s been rebuilding it. Thales recovered Bogard’s memories on Earth. Positronic testimony—”

  “From a standard, traditional positronic brain, yes, such testimony would be conclusive. The Council is not sanguine about Bogard’s con­formity to acceptable standards. He is being examined even as we speak.”

  “Examined . . .”

  “Aurora’s RI community. Both Thales and Bogard are being judged. Based on the conclusions of the examination, Bogard’s testimony will be allowed—or not.”

  “I see.” She leaned back in her chair and stared out at the garden. “So,” she said finally, “who filed that report?”

  “One of the four survivors of the Humadros Legation: Tro Aspil.”

  22

  Coren nursed a scotch and stared at the indistinct outlines set in the darkness of the private room next to his office. Shelves, a pair of overstuffed chairs, the low table upon which he now rested his feet, and the readylights on the subetheric in the far corner, video off while music played softly. He had not returned to his own apartment since Ariel had departed for Aurora.

  “You could come with me . . .”

  Now he let himself admit how tempted he had been. Ariel . . . it sur­prised him even now. After Nyom Looms had broken off their relation ship, Coren had believed himself finished with attachments. He still resisted calling it Love, as if naming it, and naming it so obviously, somehow diminished it. In a sense, that was true—that one word had always felt inadequate to the moil of emotions it pretended to describe. No two occasions were enough the same to allow that word to cover both. Nyom had been a profound acceptance, as if for the first time in his life Coren had been taken for what he was and been found desirable. It had been a level of comfort, of being able to finally feel at home in his own skin, that he had never known before, and had never known had been missing till then. With Ariel . . .

  Ariel was all hunger and urgent need and a kind of desperate joining, like an exotic drug.

  Was that love?

  Well, lust failed to describe it. He understood lust very well. Lust ended with consummation. Lust was limited. Lust was selfish.

  Love, then.

  He took another sip of scotch. Possible, he thought. Whatever . . . I miss her . . .

  Ambassador Ariel Burgess, Auroran, liaison from the renowned Calvin Institute. She preferred it on her side, back to him, his hands on her breasts, sheetless and loud. He preferred—

  The comm chimed. Gratefully, he groped for the device on the sofa and thumbed ACCEPT.

  “Lanra.”

  “Boss, it’s Shola.”

  Coren sat up straighter. “Yes.”

  “I have the files you told me to get, the ones covering Rega’s invest­ments—”

  “Right. Did you go over them?”

  “You told me not to.”

  Coren waited.

  At last, Shola sighed. “I did. I’m not sure what it means, though.”

  “That’s all right. I can explain it. Did you find references to Nova Levis?”

  “No.”

  “Hm. They’ve been tampered with, then.”

  “By who?”

  Coren took a moment to appreciate the level of sincerity Shola managed. What a waste, he thought grimly.

  “Our erstwhile pretender to the family estate,” he said.

  “Rega’s son?”

  “He’s no more Rega’s son than I’m the king of Solaria.”

  “But the DNA matches—”

  “All that can be faked, you know that. Come on, Shola, use your head. The data that would prove him a fraud was in those missing files.”

  “Oh . . .”

  When she remained silent for several seconds, Coren cleared his throat. “Not to worry. There are backups.”

  “Really?”

  “Rega was more careful than to keep only one copy of something, you know that.” He paused. “I should take care of this alone, just for security reasons, but that could compromise the validity of the documents in court . . .”

  “Why go alone?”

  “Who do I take? Someone lifted those files. Have any ideas who?”

  “No, but—dammit, boss, I’ll go with you.”

  “You’ve been managing security for the company in my absence. You’re my best agent.”

  Shola made a dismissive noise. “How long could this take?”

  “A day. I need to get into the residence in Kenya District.”

  “Where the funeral was?”

  “That’s the place.”

  “Boss, I’m sure the company won’t self-destruct if both of us are absent for a couple of days.”

  Coren smiled wryly. “Maybe.”

  “I’ve known you too long, boss. You suspect someone, surely.”

  “Who’s new? I was out of the loop for a couple of months.”

  “Well, about four people,” Shola said. Coren doubted anyone else would have heard the note of relief in her voice. “Of those, the only one I could think that might be questionable would be Gansi Tellen.”

  “Why questionable?”

  “Previous employer was Imbitek.”

  “And we hired him? Why?”

  “He got cut loose when Mikels went to prison and Towne took over. Not just him, but most of the Imbitek security staff. He looked the safest bet and we needed to replace six people who left right after Rega announced his resignation from the election.”

  “Hmm. Okay, you. Tomorrow night, we’ll catch the semiballistic and retrieve the files from Rega’s private cache.”

  “What about Tellen?”

  “Nothing yet. Give him some duty that’ll keep him occupied for a week. I’ll look into it when we’re finished with this.”

  “All right. Where do you want me to meet?”

  “At the station. I don’t want a data trail, so we’ll get our tickets at the gate.” Coren gnawed his lower lip. “Good work, Shola. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, boss. See you tomorrow night.”

  “See you then.”

  The connection broke and Coren dropped the comm. He rubbed his face. He had really hoped he had been wrong about Shola. He hated it
when he proved himself right this way. Cynicism had saved his life on occasion, and had certainly enabled him to do his job effectively, but it was no kind of philosophy for a happy existence.

  He picked up the comm again and tapped in a number.

  “Yes?” a familiar voice answered.

  “It’s Lanra. Everything is set, everyone is in motion.”

  “Very good,” Hofton replied. “I’ll inform Ambassador Setaris. Our people will be in place on schedule. Will you be in the clear?”

  “That’s my intention. Remember to go masked. We still don’t know all Gamelin’s capacities.”

  “Already anticipated. Tomorrow night, then?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Coren sat in silence for a time, working on the remainder of his scotch. At length, he went into his office and accessed his desk.

  “Get me the DyNan personnel files for new employee, security section, Gansi Tellen.”

  “Working,” the desk said. “Displaying file now.”

  A screen extruded from the desk and text scrolled onto it.

  “Good,” Coren muttered. “Call him at home, please. Secure protocols in force.”

  Inspector Capel waited in a booth near the rear of the restaurant. He nod­ded in greeting as Coren approached. Coren slid in across from him. A waiter appeared almost instantly, and Coren ordered a nava.

  Capel made a face. “You don’t really like that stuff, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Coren said. He fished a hemisphere from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table.

  Capel eyed the object suspiciously. “Those are not exactly legal.”

  “Precisely why they’re so useful,” Coren said. “No one expects upstanding citizens like us to use them.”

  “I take it we need the privacy?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  The nava arrived and Coren ordered a sandwich. Capel demurred.

  “All right,” Capel said. “I’m here.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. In about three hours, I’m boarding a semi-ballistic to Kenya.”

  “Back to Looms’ house?”

  “The very place. I’ve arranged to have a problem taken care of. In order for it to stick, I need something from you.”