The Human Division

by John Scalzi

  Wilson’s BrainPal pinged, internally and unseen by the others in the negotiating parties. It was Lowen. Can you talk? the message said.

  No, but you can, Wilson sent. You’re coming through my BrainPal. No one else will be bothered.

  Hold on, switching to voice, Lowen sent, and then her voice came through. “I think we have a big problem,” she said.

  Define “problem,” Wilson sent.

  “We’ve finished the autopsy,” Lowen sent. “Physically there was nothing wrong with Cong. Everything looked healthy and as close to perfect as a man his age could be. There are no ruptures or aneurysms, no organ damage or scarring. Nothing. There is no reason he should be dead.”

  That indicates foul play to you? Wilson sent.

  “Yes,” Lowen said. “And there’s another thing, which is the reason I’m talking to you. I took some of his blood for testing and I’m seeing a lot of anomalies in it. There’s a concentration of foreign particles in it that I haven’t seen before.”

  Poison compounds? Wilson asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Lowen said.

  Have you shown them to Stone? Wilson asked.

  “Not yet,” Lowen said. “I thought you actually might be more help for this. Can you receive images?”

  Sure, Wilson sent.

  “Okay, sending now,” Lowen said. A notice of a received image flashed in Wilson’s peripheral vision; he pulled it up.

  It’s blood cells, Wilson sent.

  “It’s not just blood cells,” Lowen said.

  Wilson paid closer attention and saw specks amid the cells. He zoomed in. The specks gained in size and detail. Wilson frowned and called up a separate image and compared the two.

  They look like SmartBlood nanobots, Wilson finally sent.

  “That’s what I thought they might be,” Lowen said. “And that’s bad. Because they’re not supposed to be there. Just like Cong isn’t supposed to be dead. If you have someone who isn’t supposed to be dead and no physical reason that he should have died, and you also have a high concentration of foreign material in his blood, it’s not hard deduction that the one has to do with the other.”

  So you think a Colonial did this, Wilson sent.

  “I have no idea who did this,” Lowen said. “I just know what it looks like.”

  Wilson had nothing to say to this.

  “I’m going to go tell Stone what I found and then I’ll have to tell Franz,” Lowen said. “I’m sure Stone will tell Coloma and Abumwe. I think we have about an hour before this all gets bad.”

  Okay, Wilson sent.

  “If you can think of something between now and then that will keep this from going to hell, I wouldn’t mind,” Lowen said.

  I’ll see what I can do, Wilson sent.

  “Sorry, Harry,” Lowen said, and disconnected.

  Wilson sat silently for a moment, watching Abumwe and Doodoodo as the two of them danced their verbal diplomatic dance about what was the correct balance of trade between starships and biomedical scanners. Then he sent a priority message to Abumwe’s PDA.

  Take a ten-minute break, it said. Trust me.

  Abumwe didn’t acknowledge the priority message for a few minutes; she was too busy hammering on Doodoodo. When the Burfinor representative finally managed to get a word in edgewise, she glanced down at her PDA and then glanced over at Wilson with a nearly unnoticeable expression that no one else would register as, You have got to be fucking kidding me. Wilson acknowledged this with an equally subtle expression that he hoped would read, I am so very not fucking kidding you. Abumwe stared at him for a second longer, then interrupted Doodoodo to ask for a quick recess. Doodoodo, flustered because he thought he was on a roll, agreed. Abumwe motioned to Wilson to join her in the hall.

  “You don’t seem to be remembering our discussion from last night,” Abumwe said.

  “Lowen found what looks like SmartBlood nanobots in Liu’s blood,” Wilson said, ignoring Abumwe’s statement. “If Stone hasn’t updated you about it yet, you’ll get the message soon. And so will Meyer and the rest of the observers.”

  “And?” Abumwe said. “Not that I don’t care, but Liu is dead and these negotiations are not, and you didn’t need to interrupt them to give me an update I would be receiving anyway.”

  “I didn’t interrupt you for that,” Wilson said. “I interrupted you because I need you to have them give me that scanner test unit back. Immediately.”

  “Why?” Abumwe said.

  “Because I think there’s something very fishy about SmartBlood nanobots being found in Liu’s bloodstream, and I want to get a much better look at them,” Wilson said. “The equipment in the medical bay came standard issue with the Clarke when it rolled off the line fifty years ago. We need better tools.”

  “And you need it now why?” Abumwe said.

  “Because when today’s negotiations are done, the shit is going to hit the fan,” Wilson said. “Ambassador, a diplomat from Earth is dead and it looks like the Colonial Union did it. When Meyer and the rest of the observers get back to the Clarke, they’re going to send a drone back to Phoenix Station and to the Earth’s mission there. They’re going to be recalled and we’re going to be obliged to take them back immediately. So you’re going to fail this negotiation, there’s going to be a deeper division between Earth and the Colonial Union and all the blame is going to come back to us. Again.”

  “Unless you can figure this out between now and then,” Abumwe said.

  “Yes,” Wilson said. “SmartBlood is tech, Ambassador. Tech is what I do. And I already know how to operate these machines because I worked with them while I was evaluating them. But I need one now. And you need to get it for me.”

  “You think this will work?” Abumwe asked.

  Wilson held his hands out in a maybe? motion. “I know if we don’t try this, then we’re screwed. If this is a shot in the dark, it’s still a shot.”

  Abumwe took out her PDA and opened a line to Hillary Drolet, her assistant. “Tell Doodoodo I need to see him in the hall. Now.” She cut the connection and looked back to Wilson. “Anything else you want? As long as I am taking requests.”

  “I need to borrow the shuttle to go back to the Clarke,” Wilson said. “I want both Lowen and Stone to watch me so there’s no doubt what I find.”

  “Fine,” Abumwe said.

  “I’d also like for you to drag on negotiations today as long as you can,” Wilson said.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Abumwe said.

  Doodoodo appeared in the hallway, eyestalks waggling apologetically.

  “And if at all possible, you might want to get that deal done today,” Wilson said, looking at Doodoodo. “Just in case.”

  “Lieutenant Wilson, I am already far ahead of you on this one,” Abumwe said.

  * * *

  “Someone in this room is a killer!” Wilson said.

  “Please don’t say that when they actually show up,” Lowen said.

  “That’s why I’m saying it now,” Wilson said.

  Wilson, Lowen and Stone were in the medical bay, awaiting Abumwe, Meyer, Bourkou and Coloma. Coloma was on her way from the bridge; the others were coming from the shuttle that had just docked.

  “They’re on their way,” Lowen said, glancing at her PDA. “Franz tells me they wrapped up the negotiations today, too. Abumwe apparently got an excellent deal for the scanners.”

  “Good,” Wilson said, and patted the scanner he had been using. “Maybe that will mean I can keep mine. This thing is sweet.”

  Coloma arrived; Abumwe, Meyer and Bourkou followed a minute after.

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started,” Wilson said. “If you’ll check your PDAs, you’ll see some images I sent to you.” Everyone in the room aside from Wilson, Stone and Lowen reached for their PDAs. “What you’re seeing there is a sample of Liu Cong’s blood. In it you’ll see red and white blood cells, platelets and also something else. That something else looks like Sma
rtBlood nanobots. For those of you from Earth, SmartBlood is the non-organic substance that replaces blood in Colonial Defense Forces soldiers. It has superior oxygen-handling properties and other benefits.”

  “How did that get into his blood?” Meyer asked.

  “That’s an interesting question,” Wilson said. “Almost as interesting as the other question I have, which is when did it get into his blood.”

  “If this is a Colonial Union product, then it would seem that it would have gotten into his system out here,” Bourkou said.

  “I would have thought so, too,” Wilson said. “But then I got a closer look at the nanobots. Go ahead and look at the second image I sent you.”

  They turned to look at the second picture, which showed two similar-looking objects, one next to the other.

  “The first object is a close-up of what we found in Liu’s blood,” Wilson said. “The second is a close-up of an actual SmartBlood nanobot, which was taken from me, a couple of hours ago.” He held up his thumb to show the pinprick there.

  “They look the same to me,” Meyer said.

  “Yes, and I suspect they’re supposed to,” Wilson said. “It’s not until you look inside of them, in substantial detail, that you notice particular differences. If all we had was the Clarke’s equipment, we wouldn’t have been able to see the differences. Even with the Colonial Union’s top-of-the-line equipment, it would have taken some time. Fortunately, we have some new toys. So go ahead and flip to the next image.”

  Everyone forwarded to the third image.

  “I don’t expect any of you to know what you’re looking at here, but those with some technical experience with SmartBlood will note two major differences with the internal structure,” Wilson said. “The first has to do with how the nanobots handle oxygen sequestration. The second has to do with the radio receiver in the ’bot.”

  “What do these differences mean?” Abumwe asked.

  “With regard to oxygen sequestration, it means the ’bots are able to hold on to substantially more oxygen molecules,” Wilson says. “It doesn’t do anything with them, though. SmartBlood is designed to facilitate oxygen transfer to body tissue. What’s in Liu’s blood, however, doesn’t do that. It just holds on to the oxygen. It goes, grabs the oxygen in the lungs, and doesn’t let go. There’s less oxygen for the actual red blood cells to carry, and less for the body tissues to take in.”

  “This stuff suffocated Cong,” Lowen said.

  “Right,” Wilson said. “As for the receiver, well, SmartBlood takes direction from its owner’s BrainPal via an encrypted channel and reverts by default to its primary role, which is oxygen transport.” He pointed to Abumwe’s PDA. “This stuff also communicates by encrypted signal. Its default state is off, however. It’s only on the job when it’s receiving a signal. Its signal doesn’t come from a BrainPal, however.”

  “Where does it come from?” Meyer asked.

  Lowen held up an object. It was Meyer’s white noise generator.

  “It can’t be,” Meyer said.

  “It can be,” Wilson said. “And it is, because we checked it. How do you think we can describe what this stuff does? This is why I said the interesting question is when this stuff got into Liu’s blood. Because this”—Wilson pointed to the white noise generator, which Lowen now set on the table—“strongly suggests that it happened before you folks left Earth.”

  “How did you find it?” Abumwe asked.

  “We walked through Liu’s death,” Stone said. “We knew when he died, and we knew that these ’bots needed a transmitter, and Mr. Bourkou said that he had been running the white noise generator to drown out Liu’s snoring.”

  “You can’t think I did it,” Bourkou said.

  “You set this thing off in the same room,” Wilson said.

  “It’s not even mine,” Bourkou said. “Franz let me borrow it. It’s his.”

  “That’s true,” Wilson said, turning to Meyer.

  Meyer looked shocked. “I didn’t kill Cong! And this doesn’t make logical sense in any event. Cong was supposed to have a berth to himself. This thing wasn’t supposed to have been in the same room.”

  “A very good point,” Wilson said. “Which is why I checked the effective transmitting radius of the generator’s ’bot transmitter. It’s about twenty meters. Your berth is right next door, and the berths are narrow enough that Liu’s bunk is well within the radius, even accounting for signal attenuation through the common bulkhead.”

  “We’d been traveling for more than a week before we arrived here,” Meyer said. “Before this we had individual staterooms, but we were still close enough for this thing to work. I used it every night. Nothing happened to Cong.”

  “Interestingly, there are two transmitters in the white noise generator,” Wilson said. “One of them affects the ’bots. The second affects the first transmitter. It turns it on or off.”

  “So it wouldn’t have done anything until you got here,” Lowen said.

  “This is crazy,” Meyer said. “I don’t have a remote control for this thing! Go to my berth! Check for yourself!”

  Wilson looked over at Captain Coloma. “I’ll have crew go through his berth,” she said.

  “Have you dumped trash recently?” Wilson said.

  “No,” Coloma said. “We usually don’t dump until we return to Phoenix Station, and when we do, we don’t do it in other people’s systems. That’s rude.”

  “Then I would suggest we look through the trash,” Wilson said. “I can give you the transmitting frequency if it helps.” Coloma nodded.

  “Why did you do it?” Bourkou asked Meyer.

  “I didn’t do it!” Meyer yelled. “You are just as likely to have done it as I am, Thierry. You had the generator in your possession. You’re the one who convinced Cong to give up his berth for me. I didn’t ask him.”

  “You complained about claustrophia,” Bourkou said.

  “I joked about claustrophobia, you ass,” Meyer said.

  “And I wasn’t the one who suggested it to him,” Bourkou said. “It was Luiza. So don’t pin it on me.”

  A strange expression crossed Meyer’s face. Wilson caught it. So did Abumwe. “What it is it?” she asked Meyer.

  Meyer looked around at the group, as if debating whether to say something, then sighed. “I’ve been sleeping with Luiza Carvalho for the last three months,” he said. “During the selection process for this mission and then since. It’s not a relationship, it’s more taking advantage of a mutual opportunity. I didn’t think it would matter since neither of us was in a position to select the other for the mission.”

  “All right,” Abumwe said. “So?”

  “So Luiza always complained about me sleeping badly,” Meyer said, and pointed at the white noise generator. “Two weeks ago, after we knew who was on the mission, she bought me that. Said it would help me sleep.”

  “Luiza was the one who suggested to Meyer that he let me borrow the generator,” Bourkou said. “To counteract Cong’s snoring.”

  “Where is Ms. Carvalho?” Stone asked.

  “She said she was going to her berth,” Abumwe said. “Lieutenant Wilson didn’t ask for her to be here, so I didn’t ask her to come.”

  “We should probably have someone get her,” Wilson said, but Coloma was already on her PDA, ordering someone to get her.

  Coloma’s PDA pinged almost immediately thereafter; it was Neva Balla. Coloma put her executive officer on the speaker so everyone in the room could hear. “We have a problem,” Balla said. “There’s someone in the portside maintenance airlock. It looks like one of the Earth people.”

  “Send me the image,” Coloma said. When she got it, she bounced it to the PDAs of everyone else in the room.

  It was Luiza Carvalho.

  “What is she doing?” Lowen asked.

  “Lock out the airlock,” Coloma said.

  “It’s too late,” Balla said. “She’s already started the purge cycle.”

  “She m
ust have been listening in somehow,” Abumwe said.

  “How the hell did she get in there?” Coloma asked, angry.

  “The same way she got Meyer and Bourkou to help her kill Liu,” Wilson said.

  “But why did she do it?” Meyer said. “Who is she working with? Who is she working for?”

  “We’re not going to get an answer to that,” Wilson said.

  “Well, we know one thing, at least,” Lowen said.

  “What’s that?” Wilson asked.

  “Whoever’s been sabotaging you up here, it looks like they’re on the job down there on Earth,” Lowen said.

  “Almost got away with it, too,” Wilson said. “If we didn’t have that scanner, it would have looked like the Colonial Union killed him. By the time it was cleared up, it would have been too late to fix it.”

  No one said anything to that.

  In the video feed, Carvalho looked up to where the camera was, as if looking at the group in the medical bay.

  She waved.

  The air purged out of the airlock. Carvalho exhaled and kept exhaling long enough to stay conscious until the hull lock opened.

  She let herself out.

  “Dani,” Wilson said.

  “Yeah, Harry,” Lowen said.

  “You still have the Laphroaig?” Wilson asked.

  “I do,” Lowen said.

  “Good,” Wilson said. “Because right now, I think we all need a drink.”

  EPISODE TEN

  This Must Be the Place

  Hart Schmidt took the shuttle from the Clarke to Phoenix Station and an interstation tram to the station’s main commuter bay, and then he caught one of the ferries that arrived at and departed from Phoenix Station every fifteen minutes. The ferry headed down to the Phoenix Station Terminal at the Phoenix City Hub, which aggregated most of the civilian mass transportation for the oldest and most populous city of the oldest and most populous human interstellar colony planet.

  Upon exiting the ferry, Hart walked through spaceport terminal C and boarded the interterminal tram for the PCH main terminal. Three minutes later, Hart exited the tram, went from the platform to the immensely long escalator and emerged in the main terminal. It was one of the largest single buildings humans had ever built, a vast domed structure that housed stores, shops, offices, hotels and even apartments for those who worked at the hub, schools for their children, hospitals and even a jail, although Hart had no personal experience with the last two.