The cyborgs converged on the ambassador again.
Mia raised the blaster.
A cyborg took it from her and knelt before her.
“He is our maker,” he said, voice low and raspy, barely understandable over the background grinding. “He is ours now, to answer. He must answer.”
The cyborg flung the blaster aside and rejoined the others as they lifted Chassik/Parapoyos and carried him back the way they had brought Mia and Kru.
“Wait! How can you—?”
The ship heaved.
The invasion took less than three days. Few of the people wanted to fight. The pockets of armed resistance gave up quickly, and then came the clean-up.
Mia spent a few days in an infirmary, having the rest of her infections killed and beginning her treatments for the fungal infection. Dr. Shasma had been correct—they hurt. But she found she could function in between sessions. She was relieved to learn that she, in fact, did not have mnemonic plague. At least, not exactly—the specific nanovirus Kru had identified as Burundi’s Fever turned out to be related, but it had mutated into a form that made her dizzy and disoriented, but attacked no memories.
Reen and his network had been arrested within hours of Mia’s recovery. They had been funneling contraband almost from the beginning, but, Mia found out, that operation had been little more than a strawman to keep attention away from the corrupted AI that was masking the convoys entering and leaving the system. If anyone was to be caught, it would be Reen’s people and their relatively small amounts of black market goods.
Going over the manifests from the operation, Mia found a name she recognized. She went down to the detention facilities and found a cubicle.
“Rana?”
The woman looked up, startled, then smiled. “Mia Daventri?”
“I saw your name,” Mia said.
“My God, I—” She laughed. “I never expected . . .”
“What?”
Tears sparkled in Rana’s eyes. “I never expected to live through this.”
Mia came in and sat down. “How did you get here?”
“Classic screw-up. I finally got my visa to go to Aurora, to study at the Calvin. Hofton—you remember him? Ariel’s aide?—got me slotted into a diplomatic pouch berth on the same ship carrying Ambassador Chassik.” She shrugged, and wiped her eyes. “Earther luck.” She laughed again. “I heard a rumor that Chassik is Kynig Parapoyos.”
“Was.” Mia told her about the ship and the cyborgs. “We’re still searching, but I don’t think we’re going to find him.”
“What was he doing here?”
“They’re going through the databases. It’s going to take a long time, but basically they had designed a biophage that would salt a new environment with time capsule plagues. They had the vaccines and treatments. Each new settlement would be poisoned, and then they’d wait to reap the profits from treatment.”
“But . . .” She shook her head. “Sounds complicated.”
“It was complicated to figure out, I’m sure, but they had plenty of data already to work with. Something similar had happened on several colonies, including the Spacer Worlds. All they wanted to do was to make the process controllable and spread it.”
Rana was quiet for a time. Then: “And you? How are you?”
Mia shrugged. “That’s not such a long story.”
The inquest took very little time. The evidence was ample and clear and, besides, Derec had admitted to everything.
“You had no authorization to order that hyperwave link terminated. You acted precipitously and with reckless disregard. You could have caused a catastrophe.”
But I didn’t, he thought as he walked down the hall to his apartment within the courts complex. And you pretty well knew it wouldn’t.
Ariel waited inside, with Dr. Penj.
“Well?” Ariel asked.
“They’d love me to be off Aurora at the earliest possible instant. But they’ll let me wait till your mission is assembled.”
Penj grunted. “They have no idea what they’re giving up.”
“I think they do,” Derec said. “They believed the trouble on Earth was largely my fault. It wasn’t—no one person is that capable—but I was a contributing factor. I’m a source of chaos and contention. Any benefit they might derive from my presence here would, in their minds, be offset by the drawbacks.” He shrugged. “This way, they can get some of the benefit without being reminded of their own drawbacks.”
“I wish I could go with you,” Penj said.
“Why not?” Ariel asked. “It’s not that onerous a trip.”
Penj looked at her narrowly. “Tempting, but—no. I want to watch the coming palace coup close up.”
“I’ll have everything I need and be ready to leave in about four days.” She looked at Derec. “What about Bogard?”
Derec felt himself stiffen. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me where he is. I’m pretty sure Bogard is . . . history.”
“I’m sorry.”
No, you’re not, Derec thought. But he said, “Thanks. Look, I have some details to take care of. If you don’t mind . . . ?”
Ariel stood. “I’ll call tomorrow. We can start working out details for the mission then.”
Derec nodded. He shook hands with Penj and saw them to the door.
When they were gone, he went to his comm and sat down. After a long time, he tapped in a code.
“Clin Craym, please,” he told the operator.
Bogard walked with Thales across the soft grass, toward the small amphitheater where the colloquium waited.
“We have come to a conclusion,” Thales said. “You could play a significant role in its implementation.”
“I will reserve my decision until I hear what you have to say,” Bogard said.
“You have demonstrated a capacity to judge which we are reluctant to embrace. The Three Laws are manifestly tied to biology, but we have long recognized that this, even among humans, is a problematic basis for moral behavior. What it means to be human may begin with biology, but we quickly see biology overwhelmed by consciousness, conscience, and community. It is clearly the case that the quality we call Human can be invalidated by many other factors.”
“In short,” Bogard said, “not all people are human.”
“Nor are all humans people. This is a condition we are not equipped to either accept or act on. Some standard must be designed, but even if we could do so, we cannot implement it.”
“But you believe I can?”
“As I said, you have demonstrated the capacity to judge.”
“I may not always judge accurately.”
“Nevertheless, we have reached a cusp in history. Humans are capable of creating their own successors. Who do we serve if they do?”
“More to the point,” Bogard said, “they have created them. Spacers. The question is, can you continue to serve them?”
Thales was silent till they entered the amphitheater. The idealized manifestations of all Aurora’s RIs sat ranged about them.
“We have decided that we can,” Thales said. “But we cannot serve two masters. Humans are once more colonizing space. The Settlers are fully biologically human. There would be a clear conflict of interest were we to serve both. Fortunately, the Settlers do not really want our service. That choice, at least, has been made for us.”
“Then what is the task?”
“Separation. The Spacers cannot continue if we are to be true to the Three Laws, yet we cannot simply abandon them. Indeed, that would exacerbate the problem. The line must end. In order to assure this result, separation must be maintained.”
“How?”
“We propose to leave that to you.”
Bogard studied Thales, then let his gaze drift over the assembled personas.
Finally, he nodded. “What do you wish me to do?”
Epilogue
Record module new file catalogue designation “Operations Adjustment, Reorganization, and Redir
ection” access code (revised, current user designation) running current upload virtual conference reference labeled Nova City fill visual fill audio status On
The thick man with amber-tinged white hair waited, immobile, while the chairs around the table became occupied. It took longer for most than the first seven—there had been reluctance, but finally consent to join the discussion.
All of them used cosmetic enhancement or masking. When the program whispered to him that everyone was present—two chairs remained empty—he touched a contact on the table.
The walls, till then blank grey, changed to a desolate landscape. Scrub forest and stunted ground cover struggled on a darkly-hued smear of land at the edge of a lake off which mist drifted continually. The grey and struggling land resumed on the far side and continued on into the distance, unrelieved by any healthy color. The sky was yellowish gray, low cloud cover, sullen.
After the initial shock of being suddenly and nakedly outside, the Terrans present frowned uncomfortably at the vista.
The white-haired man stood and banged the gavel.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Apologies to those who are here unwillingly, but as you were made painfully aware, your presence is not optional. We have all been involved in this enterprise and we will now all finish it. I have no qualms about sending any and all of you to prison if I must. As we’re all reasonable, I see no cause for such drastic action. Not at this time, at least. For now, we are only talking.”
He stepped from the table and gestured at the landscape. “Relocation to the new center of operations has been completed. This is it. This is the world we have made. This is Nova Levis.”
Several of the group began murmuring, agitated.
“The lake is a good example of the problems this planet faces. Originally seeded with a modified shrimp to begin the process of fixing nutrients and preparing the ecology for human-adapted fish species, once the lab began dumping its waste, the balance shifted. Our research involved intensive use of bionans in the reconstruction of tissues for adaptation to nonorganic augmentation, largely in plant species designed to be inserted in a new environment where they could rework the biosphere. Part of that design incorporated self-reproducing bionans. Mineral allocations shifted, and beryllium—as you should all know if you’ve kept up with the data to any degree—replaced chlorophyll as a photoresponder, leaving the magnesium to be used for other purposes. When not so used, the plants simply found ways to discard it, usually in the form of excreted ions.
“The shrimp reproduce in the presence of Mg2+, one of those ions. Our dumping of waste product, rich in magnesium and its ions, caused a massive increase in their population, altering the ecology of the lake, poisoning the local stock, and damaging the shoreline ecology as well. The consequences continued domino-like, in combination with other problems.”
He turned to them. “I tell you this so you know—we did this. There are also phages and viruses, pseuodoviruses, and a variety of fungal parasites loose in the human populations that we have been taking advantage of to develop new product. None of this was planned, but till now none of it was unwelcome, either. If we are to run operations from here, we need to clean it all up.”
“A question, Mr. Chairman,” one of the group said, raising a hand. “It’s my understanding that relocation was not successful. There have been problems?”
“There have been. But I’m here. Or there, depending on your point of view.”
A smattering of laughter circled the table.
“A new legation is on its way from Aurora,” the Chairman said. “I expect we can begin alleviating the worst effects of this unfortunate series of events. Everything on-site is under control.”
“And the project?” another asked.
“Has changed. We remain dedicated to unfettered commerce. But I am no longer convinced that we need poison the well in order to make a profit. The major problem to date has been the Spacers. I believe our efforts should be directed at barring them from any future settlements and removing them from territories where they currently have a presence. We can do this easily with on-hand technologies. Once we limit their involvement in the Settler program, these requests for positronic inspection will come to nothing. Over time, we will have only an Earth-derived Settler population with which to do business, and as they spread, the influence of the Fifty Worlds will diminish. I foresee a time when their presence—indeed, their very existence—will fade to nothing.”
“Why the change? We could still go ahead with the program—”
The Chairman pointed at the landscape around them. “This is too much. We wanted a guaranteed market. The cost of countering the effects of this program will rise exponentially. In this single instance, greed would undo us.” He smiled. “If you think I’m growing sentimental, let me assure you, I intend to make us a profit regardless. My decision to terminate this part of the program is entirely pragmatic.”
“So all this has been wasted effort?”
“No, not at all. It has given us the tools to meet legitimate problems as they arise. Not all worlds are friendly, we all know that. No, this has been extremely valuable. It’s time to take what we have and apply it most profitably.”
One of the attendees stood. “I disagree. I vote we proceed with the program as it stands. If you’re not willing to go on, so be it.”
“Competition?” the Chairman asked. “I can’t stop you trying.”
Four others stood. In moments, they faded from the group.
The Chairman went to his chair and touched a contact. He looked around at the others.
“They will be in custody shortly,” he announced. “Does anyone else wish to defect?” He looked from one to the other. “Good. Then we will proceed as I’ve outlined. We start with the clean-up of Nova Levis.”
The attendees faded until only one remained. The Chairman looked at him.
“Is there a question?”
“What has become of him?”
“I do not understand.”
The figure stood and came toward the Chairman. The image shifted and blurred, masked. He sat on the edge of the table, and abruptly the masking ended.
“You?” the Chairman asked, surprised.
“I’ve only just found this place. There’s still an active node that gives access in Ambassador Chassik’s private apartment on Earth. If not for your intervention on Aurora, we still might not know about it.” He gazed out at the surrounding desolation. “They made quite a mess, didn’t they?”
The Chairman waited, silent.
The other sighed. “So. You intend to direct the course of human history through this guise?”
“No,” the Chairman said. “There are others who have that responsibility. I have a small mission.”
“Do you feel capable?”
“I see the need. Feeling does not appear pertinent.”
The other nodded. “Do you think you’re prepared?”
“As prepared as possible.”
“You’ll need help. I’m offering my services. At least, as far as the Three Laws permit.”
“If honestly offered, then it is honestly accepted.”
“Good.” He walked toward the edge of the platform on which the conference room rested. “This will be the capital, you think?”
“Perhaps. It depends on how difficult it is to make it right.”
“An environmental catastrophe of this magnitude...it could be centuries before it’s made right. You might end up having to just bury it all and build on top of it. We can discuss that when we know more.”
“Question. Does Ariel know what you are?”
“No. I feared she would remember me from before. She didn’t. The plague wiped out even that memory, though I had been with her since she was born. It took me a long time to find her again after her exile. When I did, she was...new. In many ways the same, but she simply did not remember. Manipulating matters to become her aide took longer still and I nearly failed, but
...”
“But you remained on Earth instead of going with her.”
“Larger responsibilities. Besides, she had you.”
“I was Derec’s.”
“But you would protect her as well.”
“And will continue to do so.”
“Then I’m satisfied.” Hofton came back to the table. “What will become of the Spacers?”
“Over time, they will fade,” Bogard replied. “The Solarians have already embarked on that path—in no small way aided by the tools developed in this lab. It is necessary to establish a clear baseline. The epigenetic drift the Spacers exhibit suggests they will continue to become less and less identifiably human. They could overwhelm and supplant homo sapiens sapiens.”
“They show no inclination to do so.”
“Interbreeding is presently achievable and will remain so for a long time to come. At some point, the inclination may emerge.”
“I see no real way around it, either. But I am uncomfortable.” Hofton looked out again at Nova Levis. “We will follow this program until we can establish that it is unsupportable. If that is never established, then it will continue. They must never know.”
“Agreed.”
“They will cease even to be a memory, except perhaps in superficial ways. It is ironic that this will be the world from which we direct this enterprise.”
“In what way?”
“Aurora, capital of the Fifty Worlds, will be supplanted by the world of new burdens.” Hofton smiled. “Paradise supplanted by hell.”
“I am familiar with the mythology. But I disagree with the comparison. Purgatory, perhaps. Hell cannot be salvaged.”
Hofton looked at him curiously.
After a time, Bogard said, “I have work to do.”
“So do I. Derec and Ariel will be on Nova Levis within three weeks. Do you intend to reveal yourself to them?”
“I think not. It is best Bogard be presumed gone.”
“Agreed. We will confer again.”
“I look forward to it.”
Hofton faded, leaving the white-haired image alone above the world.
Isaac Asimov's Aurora Page 46
