Asimov’s Future History Volume 8

by Isaac Asimov

  “A certain class of Terran, yes, I’m sure. But those people are also looked upon with suspicion by the average Earther. Wealthy clientele will buy something like this as much to insult what they perceive as lower class citizens as to have the benefit of a state-of-the-art machine. There are clandestine shops where you can buy a new body for a standard drone and turn it into a humaniform. I assure you the people vandalizing your merchandise are not of the same sort as those buying it.”

  Udal winced, his eyes dancing briefly, avoiding contact with her. “Earthers!” he repeated, making the word sound vile. “Why don’t we have these sorts of problems elsewhere?”

  Ariel bit back a response regarding the prejudices of Spacers. It would do no good here, dealing with this problem. Udal would go over her head, disregard her advice, and only complicate an already awkward situation. She covered her reaction by studying the image of the drone. It did not look very dronelike. The brain casing was certainly large enough for a positronic brain.

  “This is a retrofit, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly. “An older model..,” She tapped commands on her terminal and another projection opened alongside the catalogue image. The system began looking for a match. In a few seconds, the kaleidoscope of robot types stopped on one that could easily be the twin of the drone. “A DP-P7. I thought it looked familiar. These are expressly forbidden here.”

  “It’s not the same model, I assure you–”

  “Any Terran with a catalogue and no real understanding of what they’re seeing wouldn’t understand the difference. Were any other models damaged in this attack?”

  Udal looked to one side. “No.”

  “Your warehouse is in the Convention Center District, isn’t it? I think a visit from my staff is in order.” Ariel narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Udal, if I find out that you’re importing through the black market–”

  “You’re supposed to be our advocate here!” Udal shot back. “I am a legitimate dealer with a legitimate grievance. The local authorities don’t seem particularly interested and I have come to you as a fellow Auroran.”

  “I sympathize, Mr. Udal, but what do want me to do?”

  Udal relaxed and smiled, his teeth brilliant in their Auroran perfection. The change was startling. “I understand you will be sitting in on the upcoming trade talks Senator Clar Eliton is chairing. I’m told Ambassador Galiel Humadros herself is coming. If you could bring it to their attention that these fanatic assaults on property have the potential to derail any progress they might achieve, it would help a great deal. Frankly, any more of these vandalisms and I may have to pull up stakes and go home. My insurance premiums are high enough as it is, but”

  “I’m flattered that you think so highly of my position here, but I’m only the commerce liaison for the embassy. My function is purely advisory–”

  “Then by all means, advise. Besides, you underestimate your potential. You’re also an attaché from the Calvin Institute, and the Calvin Institute is respected even by the Earthers. A word from you–”

  Ariel’s com beeped. “Excuse me, Mr. Udal.” She touched the contact. “Yes?”

  “Ariel, you better check the subetheric,” Ariel’s aide, Hofton, said.

  “In a few minutes–”

  “Now.”

  Annoyed, Ariel gave Udal an apologetic shrug and turned on her set. Across the room, an image formed a meter or so out from the wall projector.

  The scene confused her for a moment. Then she recognized Union Station, except... there were bodies on the floor, people huddled here and there, red stains on the platform where the reception for Ambassador Humadros was to take place...

  Udal sucked in his breath sharply. “Is there sound?”

  Ariel fumbled for the controls.

  “–lice have informed us that so far none of the perpetrators have been apprehended,” a reporter was saying. “The death toll so far is ten, including Senator Clar Eliton and members of his staff. Repeated requests for explanations on how weapons got past the security systems have so far received no satisfactory answers. I repeat: Senator Clar Eliton and the Auroran Ambassador Galiel Humadros have been murdered, as well as several members of their respective staffs, in an assault by a number of armed assailants who have all managed to escape. None of the security measures supposedly in place operated, either afterward or apparently before the assault.”

  “They didn’t... I... have to make some calls...” Udal plucked his recording from Ariel’s desk player and headed for the door. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Burgess. I’ll let you know …”

  “Mr. Udal.”

  He stopped and looked at her, face open with shock.

  “Warehouse those drones until we can clear this up. I don’t want to see any more of these on the open market.”

  Udal sighed, exasperated, but nodded. He glanced at the subetheric again.

  She watched him hurry out the door, his face locked in an expression that she thought must mirror her own. She looked back at the subetheric broadcast, at the aftermath of the slaughter.

  “Here again is a replay of the scene that took place not fifteen minutes ago in the main gallery of Union Station.”

  Ariel turned the sound down and touched the com. “Hofton, get me Setaris at the embassy, soon as possible.”

  She watched the blackclad assailants charge from the midst of the spectators, firing wildly, people dropping terrified, wounded, and killed–unable to accept the actuality of it. This had to be a drama, a hoax, a piece of fiction, not a news report. History contained accounts of such acts, but they never happened anymore.

  “Ariel,” Hofton’s voice intruded. “Ambassador Setaris.”

  Ariel touched another button and the space above her desk projector filled with the head and shoulders of a woman with severe green eyes and silver-white hair.

  “Ariel?”

  “You’ve seen?”

  “Yes, a few minutes ago. Things are a bit tense around here.” Setaris hesitated, her face briefly yielding to sorrow. “Lys is dead, I think, and Daril.”

  Her deputies, two thirds of the principle Auroran ambassadorial representation on Earth. Ariel tried to imagine how Setaris felt. She and Lys had been lovers once...

  “Who–?” Ariel started to ask.

  “We haven’t a clue. As usual, the TBI is being less than informative. Most of what we know has come from the same source as everyone else has–the media. I’m glad you called, though. There will be a panic from the business community. I expect flight, abandonment. If there is anything you can do to calm them down”

  “Calm them down! You’re joking!”

  “I’m perfectly serious. We can’t have a wholesale exodus of the very people this effort was supposed to help. If they leave, then the worst factions on Earth will have won, no matter who is responsible for this atrocity. We might never regain a toehold if we turn our backs on them now.”

  “Given your sympathies, would you really consider that such a loss?”

  “I’m not prepared to go into that with you now, Ariel,” Setaris warned. “Yes, I would. More than you might expect me to acknowledge.”

  Ariel suppressed a sharp response and forced herself to think it through. “What should I tell them?”

  “That you, for one, aren’t leaving and that the Calvin Institute intends to work as closely as possible with Terran authorities to find out who is responsible. For all we know, this is just the random act of a bunch of social frustrates.”

  “Earth has plenty of those. But”

  “Whatever the truth may be, Ariel, our present reality is that Humadros’s mission cannot fail. Especially not now. If we allow ourselves to be frightened away and give up on any future dealings with Earth, we may very well condemn ourselves to a slow death, assuming we escape a war.”

  Ariel felt herself flinch. “I always suspected you agreed with me, but I never thought I’d hear you say so.”

  “We can debate the extent of our mutual perspective at another time. For the m
oment, can I count on your support?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  “Is Humadros dead? Is it confirmed?”

  “Yes. And her staff. And Eliton. I don’t know which bothers me more, Humadros or Eliton. He was the best ally we had.” Setaris frowned thoughtfully. “What about his vice senator, Taprin? You know him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know Jonis.”

  “How does he stand regarding Eliton’s policies?”

  “He’s never been the firebrand Eliton is–was–but they were in the same file on the subject.”

  “Talk to him if you can, see what his response is going to be. We need information as much if not more than action, Ariel.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Ambassador. Call me if–well, call me.”

  Setaris nodded, smiling hollowly. The image winked out.

  Ariel glanced back at the subetheric ‘cast, then turned it off. They would be replaying that for the next several days at least; she could get a copy of the complete report at any time.

  This is impossible, she thought. Union Station was operated by a positronic resident intelligence, the first permitted to operate openly on Earth in decades. It was a showpiece, in fact, set up and licensed as a demonstration of the potential benefits of positronics for Earth. The First Law imperative would have made it impossible for the RI to allow anyone in with a weapon that did not have prior clearance. It would not allow the RI to permit this sort of terrorist act to be carried out–the RI should have used the mobile robots as a means to disarm, block, or otherwise interrupt the attempt.

  Everything Ariel knew about positronics and robotics–which was not inconsiderable–told her that what had just happened could never have occurred. Unless the RI had been modified in some way to subvert those safeguards...

  “Damn you, Derec,” she muttered aloud. “You finally did it.”

  No Spacer would attempt to tamper with the Three Laws, none that she knew. But Derec Avery was another matter. She had not seen him since their last argument–a bitter, irrational exchange during which both had said hurtful, unretractable things–which had ended years of friendship and occasional passion. Derec had wanted to stretch the Three Laws, see how far they could be pushed, play with the strict, almost sacred parameters of robotic construction, and she had walked away, unable to accept even the most reasonable of his points. It hurt even more to think that she had been right and he had not listened.

  She stabbed her com. “Hofton. We have a lot of work to do. See if you can trace Vice Senator Taprin and connect us. I need to talk to him ASAP. Then get me the list of on-planet Auroran businesses, then clear the com.”

  “Right away. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Send a message to Derec A very at the Phylaxis Group. Six words. ‘I see you got your wish.’”

  “Sign it?”

  “No. I think he’ll know where it came from.”

  Five

  THE FLOOR OF the main gallery had been cleared of people and blood by the time Derec finished with the RI. He looked out the window, a cup of coffee in hand, at the cavernous expanse, all gleaming faux marble and granite, the essence of a past era when travel was as much ritual as necessity. He had stood in more spectacular port facilities, architectures more elegant and impressive than Union Station p. C., but none that manifested history and significance to the same degree. The place seemed mythic, and its lines resonated with heritage.

  A few security people followed forensic units that sniffed and searched for minute bits of potential evidence, but Derec doubted anything further could be found to aid them. This was the final dotted i and crossed t of the physical investigation.

  Bogard and the woman it had been carrying were long gone. Derec’s work here had allowed no time for him to check on the robot before now. Making the operational transfer from the corrupted RI to the Phylaxis RI had taken hours of close attention. Bogard became an afterthought.

  Now, with Bogard in mind and his work completed, with only minor details to vett, Derec had accessed a casualty list a short while ago. He had been relieved to see Ariel Burgess’s name absent. She had not been here with the others from the embassy. Given what he had seen on the ‘casts, he was amazed more people were not dead. The assault had been fast and vicious and apparently indiscriminate beyond the assassinations of Humadros and Eliton.

  A beep drew him back to the board. Kedder leaned across it and pressed a contact. “The air scrubbers are back online and... yes, the biomonitors in food service are up, too. Looks like your surrogate is in complete control.”

  Derec followed a tree of diagnostic glyphs down a screen. “Could you check on the delay factor through the sensory net? It shouldn’t be more than a few thousand nanoseconds, but”

  “Right.” Kedder unfolded from the chair and strode toward the master console.

  Derec glanced at another screen and saw that the memory dump was about finished. He pressed the com. “Rana?”

  “Here.”

  “We show a completed core transfer on our end. What about”

  “Who is Derec Avery?” a new voice demanded.

  Derec looked up and saw two men standing at the main console, staring down at Kedder, who gestured at Derec. By the time they stopped before him, Derec recognized them for government security.

  “Mr. Avery?” the shorter of the pair asked. His face had the jowly look of late middle-aged worry. He wore his short hair in a herringbone weave that seemed to float a few millimeters above his scalp.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Agent Cupra, Special Service. This is Agent Gambel. I understand you’re here on behalf of the Phylaxis Group?”

  “That’s right.”

  Agent Cupra extended a disk to him. “This relieves you of all responsibility and authority for any dealings with the Union Station RI or related systems and bars you from any official inquiries. It also requires you to turn over to us any documentation, recordings, or reports generated since the events precipitating your involvement.”

  “What? But–”

  “Special Service is assuming all investigative privileges and confiscating all relevant data.”

  Derec slipped the disk into a slot on the board and scanned the document that came up on one of the small auxiliary screens. The seal of the Service appeared, followed by paragraphs of dense legalese which basically verified what these agents were telling him.

  “This is highly irregular. Phylaxis has an arrangement with the government concerning any and all outside spec problems with positronics. This part of the investigation is our responsibility.”

  “Not in this instance. You’ll find the documentation in order.”

  Derec hesitated, staring at the disk in his hand.

  “Whose word will you take, Mr. Avery?” Agent Gambel asked softly. “We assure you, this is all in order. Feel free to verify it with whomever you wish, but we do have the authority to do this and we will have it done now.”

  “What about the surrogate? It’s our RI, we have to monitor it.”

  Agent Cupra frowned slightly, then shrugged. “That’s only to continue operations of Union Station, correct? We have no interest in that.”

  Derec pocketed the disk. “I will check on this.”

  “Your privilege, certainly,” Agent Gambel said. “Now if you don’t mind?”

  Derec leaned on the board and touched the com button, breaking contact. “Fine. If you’ll come around here, I’ll show you what we’ve set up so far.”

  “You haven’t seen any of the buffer files of the RI?” Agent Cupra asked.

  “No, only the playbacks from the video feeds. Do you have something to contain the RI matrix?”

  “We’ll give you an address,” Cupra replied. He smiled briefly, insincerely. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  Derec wandered across the now spotless floor of the main gallery, his footsteps ringing distantly around the immense space. Agents Cupra and Gambel had everything, including the transferred
matrix from Phylaxis–Kedder had let it out that he had downloaded a copy for study. Derec could not shake the feeling that he had been betrayed. He had taken the time to make a few calls to the people in government involved with his charter–mainly Senator Eliton’s committee on machine intelligence–and they had either expressed ignorance of what was going on or confirmed the Special Service authorization. He might have continued badgering higher-ups, but he doubted it would change anything today; the one man in government who could have made the most difference had been killed. Derec doubted Vice Senator Taprin carried the same weight with the necessary people.

  No one in the control room had been at ease with the agents. Joler Hammis had been openly hostile. They did not have the familiarity with these systems that they claimed, but they never hesitated to use the people around them. Poor Kedder ended up redoing most of what he and Derec had already gone over. Kedder kept giving Derec apologetic looks. Hammis stayed for a time, then shook his head and left. Everyone moved cautiously, ever-aware of the agents’ presence, as if a wrong gesture might invite terrible consequences. When Derec’s part was finished, they showed him the door. He felt numb.

  Looking around, it was difficult to imagine that this place had been the stage for the slaughter he had seen. The floor shone now, polished, ready for new traffic, though when normal flow might resume he had no idea. Shuttle traffic had finally, after hours of delay, been rerouted to other ports.

  What was the point...? he wondered hollowly.

  He stopped in the middle of the gallery and turned slowly, gazing across the unoccupied expanse. It was rare to see so much room on Earth unpeopled. Everywhere in the warrens and metal caverns, people crowded each other. Standing here seemed a luxury for the moment, a pleasantly eerie feeling, a prescé vu, different from “outside,” different from standing in a similar place on a Spacer world where crowding was a bad dream and an incomprehensible myth.