by Isaac Asimov
The line of robots on either side saluted. Mia felt herself grin.
Who’s idea was that? She glanced back at Bogard, but it seemed unaffected.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” Mattu said through the link.” The Auroran legation is still enroute from Kopernik. Three minutes.”
“Do we let him talk?” Gel asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
“One says no,” Mattu replied, his own voice revealing none of his feelings. Mattu, team leader, was the oldest of them, the most experienced, and he had repeatedly cautioned them against letting their sentiments show. “You have a job to do,” he often said, “despite the politics.”
They slowed down. The Senator picked up on the signal and made more smiles and handwaves. The catcalls diminished as the party neared the other end of the tunnel; the crowd had been screened so that more supporters than detractors filled the gallery. Even so, Mia was grateful Eliton’s vice senator, Taprin, had had other commitments today. The antipathy toward Eliton was bad enough. Having both of them present would only have increased the negative reactions.
“Flesh, not steel!” someone yelled, voice amplified. station security waded into the crowd, looking for the speaker.
Mia’s nerves danced upon hearing the popular motto of the current radical reform movement. She had heard rumors that Eliton had attempted to invite representatives from the Order for the Supremacy of Man Again, trying to be as inclusive as possible, but the Managins had refused... to the relief of Eliton’s handlers. That did not mean, though, that they would not show up.
More dignitaries arrived, forming a brief parade of politics and commerce. Several others waited on the platform that dominated the floor by the arrival gate.
Within the gallery, ropes held the crowd in check. Fewer robots stood at wider intervals, since human security did most of the work here. Mia caught brief squirts of comspeak from the officers, all of it reassuring, everything positive. Even with the advance screening, Mia had expected more hecklers and protestors. A group of police passed her, on its way somewhere, faces intent. Out of the possibility for so much chaos, it amazed her how much order prevailed.
The entourage reached the base of the raised platform. Mattu mounted the broad steps, eyes roving intently. He stood for a few seconds at the top, frowned briefly, then gave the all-clear, and Senator Eliton came up.
“Looks like a walk in the park,” Gel said. “Stay sharp,” Mattu cautioned.
The assembly on the platform was a cross-section of Earthly power. Mia recognized a few lobbyists from various coalitions, but mostly she saw industrialists. Alda Mikels of Imbitek stood in the midst of his own cadre of functionaries and security, which looked lighter than Mia expected. Nearby, Rega Looms, CEO of DyNan Manual Industries, and his handful of aides milled among themselves, appearing uncomfortable and out of place. Mia was surprised to see a face she recognized hovering on their periphery. She had not seen Coren Lanra for over a year, since he had resigned from the Service. She caught his eye and he smiled and nodded.
“Wouldn’t you know,” Gel commented through the link, “Lanra would be babysitting Luddite, Inc.”
Mia ignored the remark. As with most of Gel’s observations it held more acid than substance.
It was curious, though. Coren had quit over protest at bringing robots like Bogard into Special Service, though Bogard was the first and so far the only one. She had heard that Lanra had opened his own agency, a small office somewhere in the southeast corridor, but if he was doing security for DyNan she wondered if perhaps he had given that up for a corporate sinecure. Though he had made his feelings about robots clear, Mia had not thought him sympathetic to Looms and his radical notions of a return to some sort of premechanized idyllic past. But a job is a job, she supposed, and turned her attention back to her own.
She recognized Ambassador Gale Chassik of the Solarian embassy in the midst of his entourage of six. Ambassador Sen Setaris of the Auroran embassy was absent, but her chief aides, Lys Morglen and Daril Falnyk, as well as her other senior aides, were present. Mia thought that odd, but who could tell about Spacer protocol?
Among the rest of the assembled dignitaries were several representatives from much smaller firms, able to get only one, at most two, people on the reception stand. Functionaries from a number of government offices weaved among them. Mia glanced out at the field of faces below. She could never find the feeling of trust Gel managed when he decided security was perfect. Instead, she always looked for what had been missed, thankful when she did not find it. She paused at the sight of another group of security guards moving off through the crowd. A couple of newscams moved closer then, hovering above, angling for the best views.
“Wing Three here,” Mia said into her com. “How close do we let the subetherics get?”
“They have full clearance, Three,” One said.” Just don’t let them clobber the Parcel.”
“Copy, One.”
Eliton moved among the guests, shaking hands and engaging in the expressive banter Mia could never quite accommodate. She had listened once, closely, as he worked a roomful of supporters, smiling with a sincerity he seemed able to turn on at will, and mouthing a stream of engaging nonsense that pleased those around him enormously. He made a point of knowing everyone’s name and at least one personal fact about them, and he possessed a superb memory. Mia put it down to the requirements of office and stopped trying to analyze it.
Eliton hesitated at one person, only a second, but Mia caught it. Then the smile, partially dimmed, brightened to full and his hand shot out as usual. Mia wondered who the woman was. She looked familiar, something to do with Settlers.
“Bogard, identify person now shaking hands with Senator Eliton,” she subvocalized through the link.
“Viansa Risher, Settlers’ Coalition.”
“Ah. Thank you, Bogard.” She had been a last minute inclusion, Mia remembered, though the Settlers had petitioned for representation here for months.
“One minute,” Mattu announced, then moved alongside Eliton to inform him.
Mia did a last sweep of the gallery–more security movements caught her attention–then closed with Gel and Mattu to stay near Eliton.
“Did anybody copy what the RI is doing with crowd control?” she asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Mattu frowned again, looking past her. “I don’t–” He listened to his link, then turned toward the debarkation tunnel. “They’re here.”
In the air, like a ghostly chimera, the announcement of the Kopernik shuttle’s arrival carrying the Auroran legation appeared over the concourse entrance. Everyone’s attention turned to the concourse; even the din of babble from the gallery lessened expectantly. The media news cams buzzed above the crowd, concentrating on the arriving Spacers as they emerged onto the platform.
Their clothes seemed brighter, their complexions fairer, eyes clearer; they averaged slightly taller than Earthers. Galiel Humadros, Ambassador Extraordinary, led the procession of Auroran representatives onto the platform. Her hair glimmered, golden and thick, and her face exhibited the kind of placid confidence Mia associated with wisdom and experience. A step or two behind her walked her aides, and behind them came the bulk of the legation, the counterparts of the Terrans they now met under the full gaze of the planet.
Mia felt there was something strange about the way they looked, as though something was missing. Then she realized that they were without their robots. Every image, every real life encounter, every report she had ever seen about Spacers showed their ubiquitous robots. Now, apparently, as a gesture of good will, they were without them. It made the Spacers seem naked, vulnerable. Mia’s respect for them increased, even though she knew it was little more than the politics of image–public relations, a token to help ease the tensions their coming raised.
Eliton stepped forward to bow in greeting and extend his hands to the Ambassador, matching the Auroran poise. Mia felt a brief surge of pride.
“Welcome to Earth, Amb
assador Humadros,” Eliton said, his voice amplified now to echo across the gallery.” It is an honor and a privilege to have you walk upon our soil–”
Mia blinked, catching a movement from the corner of her vision. She turned and saw Bogard’s head suddenly pivot a moment before she heard through her link, “Something is wrong. The RI–”
In the next instant, as she reached for her sidearm, the first explosions thundered across the chamber.
Two
MIA DROPPED TO a crouch under the sound of the blasts. Bright bursts of light and thick roiling smoke erupted all around the perimeter of the gallery. The constant noise of the crowd turned to a cacophony of screams and panicked shouts. Mia could not hear her link over the onslaught of noise. She searched the front ranks of spectators as they alternately dropped to the floor or tried to rush for the exits. The station robots stood motionless as if suddenly switched off.
Security–everyone’s–ordered the assembled dignitaries to get to the floor. As Mia turned, she could not immediately locate Eliton. He had been clasping hands with Ambassador Humadros, who now stood right there, looking around, confused.
Mattu rushed toward her, waving his arms like great wings. “Down! Down! Down!”
Mia flinched at the sharp percussive sounds of projectile weapons fire. As she began to wheel around once more she saw several people on the platform jerk and dance in a macabre ballet, their clothes erupting in splotches of red. She continued turning, dropping to one knee, blaster coming to bear. She saw people in black standing in the thick of the crowd, aiming weapons at the platform, the barrels jerking spasmodically. She heard the highpitched whine of projectiles cutting the air around her, to left and right.
Mia aimed automatically, picking one target after another, partly hypnotized by her own efficiency as they fell.
But there were so many...
And some did not fall, even though she knew she had hit them...
“We have total penetration!” she heard Mattu yell through the link. “Total–!”
Silence. More explosions. The mob was in full terrified retreat, jamming itself against the exits, bottling itself in its mindless haste. The immobile station robots fell, trampled by the stampede.
All comlinks had been routed through the RI, but it seemed now that the RI had shut down.
“Bogard, switch to team link,” she shouted, hoping the robot could hear her over the noise. “Do you have Parcel?”
Bogard did not answer immediately, and a swift brush of fear trailed down Mia’s spine.
“Bogard, respond!”
“Agent Daventri. I require assistance.” Bogard’s voice came through clearly, deceptively calm, on the team channel.
Mia risked a glance over her shoulder. Bogard stared back at her, shorter now, its torso flared out into an encircling shield, and she knew Eliton was in the center of that small but impenetrable enclosure of amalloy.
“Ambassador Humadros,” Bogard said. “Senator Eliton is demanding I protect her.”
Mia scanned the crowd around them and found the ambassador, huddling about five meters to Bogard’s right, her hands hovering uselessly about her head. She looked completely abandoned by reason, eyes wide and staring, unseeing. Mia started toward her.
A body collided with her and she staggered back, bringing her free hand up defensively to fend off an attack. But it was no assault, only one of the unfortunate dead, caught by gunfire, his falling, lifeless body torn up and bleeding.
In that moment, she saw Bogard retract its shield from around Eliton. The Senator staggered away from it, redfaced and shouting, pointing at Ambassador Humadros.
That should have been impossible, she knew. Eliton was Bogard’s primary concern, and only a specifically coded command could change that. Nevertheless, Bogard moved away from Eliton, toward the Spacers. It moved slowly, uncertainly, as if resisting the instruction.
But now, Eliton was exposed. Mia moved toward him, turning around to face the assault. Her heel suddenly caught on something and she raised her leg to step over it, then glanced down at the obstruction; the body of one of the Aurorans. It surprised her; the woman looked like she was sleeping, eyes closed easily, lips slightly parted. Mia shuddered and forced her attention back on the edge of the platform.
Black-masked gunmen leaned against it now, spraying the assembly. Mia began taking them out, one by one, down the line, walking backward as she did, waiting for the inevitable projectile that would stop her.
When it did, she stumbled, falling over, and found herself staring up at the ceiling arching high above.
I’m hit, she thought. I’m dying...
Then she rolled over. She pressed a hand against the soreness spreading across her left side. Her ribs ached, but her hand came away from the bruised ‘area dry. She blinked and looked around and found that another body had struck her, its head still in her lap, eyes staring emptily upward. She shoved it away and scooted back.
Far more people than seemed possible still stood, huddling against each other. As she watched, a few more fell, bodies twitching under the deafening gunfire. Mia had never seen anything like this. Training simulations covered lone target situations, energy weapons, area-wide toxins–
Why hasn’t the tranq gas been released? she wondered.
The points along the rib supports for the walls and ceiling that housed the nonlethal gas dispensers appeared unopened. The gallery security system had failed; Union Station’s positronic Resident Intelligence apparently was not functioning.
“One!” Mia yelled. “Wing Three here! We have systems failure, we have–”.
Her earpiece remained dully silent. All com was down. Then she remembered that it also had been routed through the RI for convenience, so the positronic brain could manage all the coordination without the complications of competing com systems. The only com she had was the direct link to Bogard and it, too, had been linked to the RI.
Mia recovered her blaster and got to her feet. She looked for Eliton.
She found him lying in a heap, blood spattered across his chest. Bogard stood over him, immobile. Nearby, she saw Ambassador Humadros, also dead.
She tried the com anyway, scanning the massacre for her teammates. “Wing Two, Wing One, this is Wing Three. Parcel is down! Repeat, Parcel is down!”
All she heard was the faint hiss of a disconnected link.
“Wing One, Wing Two,” she called. Nothing. “Bogard, respond.”
There was a click. Then: “I–I–I–”
The staccato skipping in the link added to the fear rising in her.
“Bogard, reestablish,” she commanded. “Local parameter, Mia respond. Confirm.”
“Con–confirm–Mia–I–” Bogard, new priority, on me. Omega-five catalogue reset. Respond.”
“Priority reestablish–Mi-Mia.”
“Discontinue uplink to Union Station Resident Intelligence.”
“Uplinking–up–uplink incomplete. Protocol rejected. Discontinued.”
Abruptly, the assassins began to retreat. Mia watched, dismayed, as they backed from the edge of the platform. It seemed to her that some of them vanished even as she stared directly at them. They fired their weapons over their heads, driving people away from them, opening paths. She saw one of them grab a man by the arm and toss him against several others, using him as a ram to force his way through. The mound of people crushed together near her still comprised many survivors, the dead sprawled around the perimeter of the huddle as though discarded from its midst.
“What the–?” she muttered. “Bogard, with me. Track assailants. Locate likeliest apprehension.”
She felt Bogard alongside her before she saw it move. It towered over her and she could feel its attention directed at the retreating forms.
“Three confirmed.” A bright red tracer beam reached out over the heads of the still rippling crowd to identify three figures in black.
“With me,” she repeated and jumped to the floor. Her ribcage throbbed.
> She struck the edge of the mob and began shoving. It was like trying to do sculpture in water. Panicked faces stared at her, brief glimpses of the hidden parts of strangers that she might never have seen, might never see again, stripped of their calm civility and complacent sophistication. She thought she understood. Their systems had failed them, the world that coddled and protected them now showed them how much they depended on what they could not do for themselves. They were vulnerable, probably for the first time in any of their lives, and there were no rules to follow, no plan, no direction. Hands reached for her, eyes begged her–she seemed the only one acting in all this chaos, able to choose, to decide–but Mia batted and brushed them all aside and forced her way through.
In truth, these people had nowhere to go. They were packed together. As she neared the far wall she saw why. The doors were sealed. The preparatory phase for pacification had occurred and all the exits had been closed, waiting for phase two, the release of the gas.
Suddenly, people simply backed away from her, jamming themselves against each other in renewed hysteria. She glanced back and saw Bogard, right at her heels, its shoulders stretching wide, presenting a visible though false menace.
“Still have them, Bogard?”
“Locked on.”
“Great.”
Finally, Mia broke free of the press. Before her rose an expanse of wall mottled by the rich veining of blue marble. Off to the right, another wall stood away from the main wall, making a passage which gave access to the service warrens.
The door was open.
“Through here, Bogard?”
“Correct.”
Mia hesitated at the service door and peered around. Bogard touched her shoulder gently and drew her back, then moved through the access.
“Clear.”
She rounded the edge, weapon ready.
