EIGHT

_H

e woke up with a stiff neck on top of the bruises. He swallowed another painblock and went to his desk.

            “Good morning, sir,” the Desk said. “Analysis and collation on the provided data completed. Do you wish a summary?”

            “In a moment. I need coffee right now.” He switched his samovar on. The machine hummed gently to life. Dark, steaming liquid filled a cup below the spigot. Coren breathed in the steam. “Any more messages?”

            “None. Do you wish to review those in the queue?”

            “Play Ambassador Burgess’s.”

            Coren heard the flatscreen scroll up from the desktop, but he stood by the samovar, eyes closed, sipping his coffee.

            “Mr. Lanra, I would like to apologize for any abruptness I may have exhibited with you yesterday. It has come to my attention that our interests may intersect. I would appreciate another opportunity to talk about it. I’ll be in my office the rest of the day. “

            Coren opened his eyes. “Hm. I wonder what I disturbed. Connect to Ambassador Burgess.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            A few seconds later a crisp male voice said, “Ambassador Burgess’s office, how may I help you?”

            Coren went to the desk. On the flatscreen he saw the face of Burgess’s aide, Hofton. “Coren Lanra. I’m returning the Ambassador’s call.”

            “Of course. Wait one moment while I put you through.”

            The screen went pale gray, then Ariel Burgess appeared. Her eyes looked slightly puffy; perhaps she had gotten as little sleep as he.

            “Ambassador Burgess.”

            “Mr. Lanra, thank you for returning my call so promptly.”

            “I admit I’m puzzled at this turnaround.”

            “No more than I am. Perhaps between the two of us we can make sense of some of it. Would you care to meet with us again?”

            “When?”

            “As soon as convenient for you.”

            “Right now, frankly, nothing is convenient. How about--” he glanced at the time chop “--ten. That’ll give me a chance to clean up a little. “

            “That would be excellent. Here?”

            “Certainly. I know the way.”

            She almost smiled at that. “Till then, Mr. Lanra.”

            The screen blanked.

            “Desk, give me a summary of the analysis on the data I gave you. “

            “Specify order.”

            “Um...” He rubbed his eyes, remembering. “Update on Yuri Pocivil?”

            “No further progress.”

            “Improvo Shipping. “

            “Improvo Shipping and Storage is a subsidiary owned outright by the Hunter Group. It has been in operation for thirty-eight years with ninety-two facilities within Sol System and fifty-one facilities located on various Settler worlds. The Hunter Group itself is an offworld company, headquarters on Cassus Thole.”

            “Really. How many employees within this system?”

            “Six hundred seventy-two thousand.”

            “How many of those are immigrant?”

            “Two thousand seven hundred.”

            “How many of those are natives of Cassus Thole?”

            “Eleven hundred twenty-two.”

            “Uh-huh. Interesting. No list of board members?”

            “No such list available at this time.”

            “Continue search, see if you can find one. Also, I want a list of all Hunter Group holdings. Next, the data from Wenithal’s case file.”

            “The last case he worked on was a major kidnapping ring. It developed from an investigation into a single instance which led him to uncover a global operation with offworld connections. Infants were being sold through various vendors--primarily orphanages and child hospice centers--to offworld buyers.”

            Coren’s interest spiked. “Go on. That sounds familiar. What’s in the case file?”

            “The record obtained from the public police database contains categorized tables, names cross-referenced in hierarchical tabulations according to assigned probabilities.”

            “Sounds like his interview and suspect lists.”

            “Correct. Three hundred seventy-nine names listed, all time--indexed over an eleven-year period beginning twenty-nine years ago, ending eighteen years ago. Of those with current public record files available, two hundred and ninety are deceased--”

            “Stop. Two hundred and ninety dead?”

            “Correct. “

            “Pattern analysis. Common factors?”

            “One hundred thirty fatalities occurred within an eight month period. Ninety-seven died of age-related factors. Eighty-three died as the result of fatal accident. Sixty-eight died as the result of fatal interaction--”

            “You mean homicide.”

            “That is a legal definition not applicable in all instances. “

            “They were killed by other people. “

            “With certain qualifications, yes. “

            “Continue.”

            “Thirty-nine died of causes unverifiable due to inaccessibility of data.”

            “Explain.”

            “Deceased were offworld at the time of death. There were irregularities in subsequent reporting.”

            “Hard copy, names, places, dates, and cause of death.” Coren watched while the Desk produced a disk for him. “Give me current disposition of surviving members of the list.”

            “Of the eighty-nine remaining names, forty-three are serving sentences in rehabilitation clinics, eighteen have emigrated to Settler colonies, and five are residents in hospice centers. Displaying list of remaining twenty-three.”

            Coren read down the rows until he came to a name he recognized. He whistled.

            “Alda Mikels...interesting.” He read on. “A few of these people are prominent public figures. I--” He stopped, startled. “Rega Looms.”

            Coren stared at the name for a long time. He retrieved his hemisphere then and set it into its niche on the desktop.

            “Desk, download contents of last recorded exchange.”

            “Done.”

            “Play back.” Coren listened to his conversation with Ree Wenithal again. When he reached the point where he told Wenithal that Nyom Looms was dead, he said, “Stop there. Subject said something below normal range of hearing. Amplify and enhance. “

            From the desk speaker he heard Wenithal, in a raspy whisper, say “Both of them now.”

            “End playback.” Coren looked at Rega’s name on the screen. “‘Both of them now.’ What does that mean?”

            “Unknown,” the Desk said. Rega had said something very similar. Both of whom?

            “Desk, give me a hard copy on these names, then file and return to standby. “

            Coren went into his private room to clean up and change clothes. He wanted to go back to his apartment and stretch out for several hours’ decent sleep, but he lacked the time.

            He slipped the disks into his pocket and drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. Several years ago, Coren remembered, Alda Mikels and a few others invited Rega Looms to join a business consortium which seemed to Looms at the margins of legality--gray market at least, if not black market. Some of those people were on Wenithal’s list. Considering Looms’ attitude toward most of them, Coren wondered why they would have approached him in the first place. Perhaps the association went back further than Rega had told him.

            “Desk, I want a review of the last twenty-three names, those surviving and still on Earth. Initiate a records search and correlate common associations for the past twenty years. “

            “Parameters?”

            “Education, business, investments, public service, children.” He hesitated. “If nothing turns up, expand search to thirty years. “

            “Yes, sir.”

            Coren disliked investigating his own employer. Sometimes, though, protecting Rega Looms required that he know things Looms probably preferred he did not.

            “Also, get me a thorough background on Ree Wenithal. Retired, law enforcement, currently runs his own import-export firm.”

            “Public file previously referenced--”

            “I want a deeper background.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Also...also, display crime scene image from Sipha Palen’s data.”

            The view spread across the screen. He stared at the bodies as the view rotated slowly through three-hundred-sixty degrees. Fifty-two people.

            “Give me a copy of this, too, “ he said. One more disk extruded from the slot.

            He ran down the list of instructions just given and tried to think of anything overlooked. Nothing came to mind but he could never quite shake the feeling that he had missed something. Without Jeta Fromm or the dockworker Pocivil, all he had was Nyom’s collapsed robot.

            There’s never enough time to do this right....

The Spacer Embassy occupied a huge area on the eastern edge of D.C., in the heart of the government districts. Embassies, really, as the structure contained the missions for all the Spacer Worlds. Most had one set of offices, usually unoccupied. Of the Fifty Worlds, only a dozen maintained full-time staffs on Earth, Aurora and Solaria being the largest.

            Just living on Earth marked these people as unique. Most Spacers disdained other worlds, especially the one that spawned them so long ago. But no group is completely homogeneous, and Spacers proved no exception. The total Spacer population on Earth never exceeded a few tens of thousands--a handful compared to populations in the many millions--but their presence made a powerful impression on Terrans.

            Of them all, Coren reflected as he entered the main gallery of the Embassy, he preferred the Aurorans--they were the most approachable, the least defensive, compared to the xenophobic Solarians. To be sure, those Solarians living here did not share the degree of paranoia exhibited by most of their people in dealing with outsiders, but they still came across as standoffish and mistrustful.

            Coren signed in at the reception desk and patiently received directions to the Auroran arm of the embassy building. He then retraced his path from the previous day.

            Hofton met him in the reception lounge of Ambassador Burgess’s offices. “The Ambassador is expecting you, Mr. Lanra. Mr. Avery is here as well. I trust this is acceptable.”

            “Completely.”

            Hofton escorted him into Burgess’s office and closed the doors.

            Ariel Burgess looked tired, with the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes. Derec Avery seemed much the same as he had yesterday.

            “Mr. Lanra,” Burgess said, rising from her seat and coming around the desk to clasp his hand. “Thank you for giving us a second opportunity to discuss your problem with us.”

            “Thank you, Ambassador. I have to tell you, I’m a little dismayed. “

            “I’m a little surprised myself. It seems we have a parallel interest in your situation.”

            “Parallel interest...quid pro quo, then.”

            “If that’s satisfactory.”

            “I don’t have the luxury of time, Ambassador. What I need is a roboticist to see if anything can be salvaged from a collapsed positronic brain--the robot I told you about yesterday.”

            “It allegedly witnessed a mass murder,” Derec Avery said. “Which would probably have precipitated the collapse.”

            “Possibly. “

            “Let me guess,” Burgess said. “You think the robot itself committed the crime. “

            “A robot, certainly.”

            “Why?”

            “We have no other viable suspect,” he said. “Everyone who boarded the cargo bin used to shuttle the victims to Kopernik is accounted for--all dead. There was no way for a human to get out of it without breaking the internal seals in place inside the bin. So we’re left with a suicide-murderer, or...” He pursed his lips. “I saw another robot board the bin with the victims. It was...unusual.”

            “A second robot,” Ariel said. “You didn’t mention this yesterday. “

            “I didn’t know if you’d be helping me or not.”

            “That might have changed our minds sooner.” Coren held up his hands apologetically.

            “You said it was unusual,” Derec said. “How so?”

            “It didn’t register through my surveillance equipment. I could see it, as I see you, but through an optam it was invisible. Masked--what they used to call ‘stealthed.’ “

            “We don’t make robots like that,” Ariel said. “That function is useless except for military or criminal purposes, and we don’t--can’t--use robots for either of those things.”

            “Nevertheless, I witnessed just such a robot.”

            “And when the bin was opened?” Derec asked. “Was it there?”

            “No. Only Nyom Looms’ robot was present. Here.” He handed the disk containing Sipha’s reports. “Go to the crime scene.”

            In a moment they huddled around Ariel’s desk, gazing at a full holographic image of the interior of the cargo bin.

            “This is what the security people on Kopernik found when they opened it up,” Coren explained.

            “What is that the robot is working on?” Derec asked.

            “A rebreather unit. It contained a poison that caused neurological damage and paralysis.”

            “Who is this?” Ariel asked, pointing to the body hanging from the bin ceiling.

            “Nyom Looms. She wasn’t poisoned. She had her own rebreather. Her neck was broken, instead.”

            “Fifty-one others,” Hofton said. “How did she get attached up there?”

            “The bin was cracked. The air leaked out fairly quickly--not all at once, but in a vacuum it must’ve created a current. We think it drew her to it. Her clothing was pulled through. “

            “Cracked,” Ariel mused. “Big enough for your robot to slip through?”

            “Hardly. You can see the dimensions for yourself.”

            Ariel frowned and gave Derec a look Coren could not read. “It would be unlikely, I think,” she said. She sighed. “You still haven’t given us a convincing argument to indict a robot.” She pointed to the image of Coffee. “What do you think, Derec? A modified DW-12?”

            “Looks like it. But it’s not possible, Mr. Lanra. There is no way to modify a positronic brain to subvert its Three Law constraints. Tampering at that level would destroy the brain. The fact that it’s collapsed proves that its programming was consistent with its original protocols. It witnessed the deaths of humans ostensibly in its charge. It failed to protect them. It collapsed.”

            “As I recall,” Coren noted, “a positronic brain was modified at Union Station to cause the deaths of a good number of people.”

            Derec stiffened. “That’s...inaccurate. It was modified to ignore a lethal situation. It caused nothing. And it collapsed shortly after it realized what had happened.” He frowned thoughtfully. “What was this robot doing at the rebreather controls?”

            “As far as we can tell, trying to shut it off.”

            “You’ve said ‘we’ a few times now. Who else is involved in this investigation?” Ariel asked.

            “Kopernik Station’s chief of security is working with me on this,” Coren replied.

            “How are you keeping it out of the newsnets, then?”

            “The bin was delivered to a Settler dock. She has an arrangement with the Settler security people. It’s isolated, outside the usual legal channels. For the time being, it doesn’t exist. That won’t last long.”

            “And the robot?” Derec asked.

            “Stored.”

            “Still in the Settler section?”

            “In Chief Palen’s morgue.”

            “We need to have it.”

            “There’s no way I can bring it down here. Not in time, anyway. I need someone to go to it.”

            Ariel looked at Derec. “What do you think?”

            Derec shook his head. “A risk. I’m still not sure what my status is.”

            Ariel looked at Coren. “Our...range of free movement may be somewhat curtailed. Especially Mr. Avery’s.”

            “Mine isn’t,” Hofton said. “I could accompany Mr. Avery up to our embassy branch on Kopernik.” He glanced at Derec. “You’d be in the diplomatic pouch, so to speak.”

            Derec grunted, smiling thinly.

            “Excuse me,” Coren said. “There’s no question here, is there? You’re going to help me.”

            “You wouldn’t be talking to us otherwise, Mr. Lanra,” Ariel said.

            “Why.”

            Ariel looked thoughtful. “Before I answer that, let me ask you something. Where was Nyom Looms taking this group of baleys?”

            “Nova Levis.”

            “Why there? I can think of at least a dozen other Settler colonies that would accept baleys that aren’t under blockade.”

            “I don’t know. Nova Levis is...romantic.”

            “That’s hardly a reason. But even so, the next question is, why kill them?”

            “Her father is running for office,” Coren said. “Something like this”

            “Just letting it out that she ran baleys would accomplish as much, “ Ariel said, shaking her head. “What was there about this run that warranted murder?”

            Coren said nothing.

            “That’s the question, then,” Ariel said. “Answer the why, you discover the who. Theoretically, anyway. And it won’t be a robot.”

            Coren leaned across her desk and touched an icon on her flatscreen. “I’d like your opinion on these, then.”

            The image from Ariel’s desk projector vanished, replaced a moment later by the autopsy images Sipha had sent him of the Brethe dealer who had died in her holding cell. The sight brought a sharp hiss from Derec Avery; Burgess paled.

            “At first we thought this was unrelated, “ Coren explained. “Maybe it is, but I’m guessing not. Frame sixteen--” he gestured for Ariel to find that image “--is an enhanced display of a handprint left subdurally. Tell me what you think. “

            Ariel touched her projector control and the autopsy images shifted. The false color view of the oversized handprint bloomed.

            “Too big for a human hand...” Derec mused.

            Coren watched Ambassador Burgess. Finally, she nodded. She glanced at him, frowning briefly, and looked away.

            “I’d have to agree with Derec,” she said. “A human hand didn’t make that. But that still leaves the field open to a number of explanations. Prosthetics, for one.”

            “I ran a catalogue check for any prosthetics commercially available that match that pattern. Nothing turned up. That doesn’t rule out a custom manufacture, of course, but...”

            “But you still think it’s a robot.”

            “Something managed to slip past all the security in a police cell block to do this. I already told you the robot I saw was blind to my optam. It may be the same technique in this case: a masked robot, invisible to surveillance monitors.”

            “So now it’s a conspiracy of robots,” Derec said. “Less and less likely.”

            “Can you give me a better explanation to account for the damage?” Coren asked sharply.

            “Isn’t that what we need to find out?” Ariel Burgess said. “You asked why we’re helping. What you’ve proposed here is a good enough reason for me. Earthers think the worst of robots on a good day. This--” she waved at the projection “--validates all your fears, if true. A chance to head this off and perhaps prevent a very ugly purge would be a good enough reason, don’t you think?”

            “For your part, that seems plausible. But that’s not the only reason.”

            Ariel bowed her head in mock acceptance. “Of course not. Illegal emigration is a point in common between us and Terra. There’s a quid pro quo in that, too.”

            “You’re working with ITE?”

            “No. We’re working with you. “

            Coren looked from one face to the other, returning to Ariel. He expected them to keep things from him, most of it details of their involvement that really did not concern him. But he also expected them to be subtle about it. Instead, they were very obviously not telling him something. If he did not need their expertise...

            “What specifically are you getting from this arrangement?” he asked.

            Ambassador Burgess gave a faint smile and a slight shake of the head. She gestured at the image of the dead woman on her screen. “Who was this? Why was she killed?”

            “According to Chief Palen, she was a small-time narcotics dealer,” Coren lied. “Could be any number of people she may have crossed in the course of business.”

            “This seems excessive for a bad debt, “ Ariel said. She drew a deep breath, slowly released it. “Aurora has been asked by Terran authorities to look into the Nova Levis situation. That involves a lot of baleys. I was asked by my immediate superior to lend you aid. Partly, we may have a problem with Spacer businesses shipping illegally from Earth. It’s being suggested that Spacers are colluding in bypassing immigration and trade laws. I presume they believe we’ll find things that will be mutually helpful. Is that sufficient answer for you, Mr. Lanra?”

            Coren folded his arms across his chest. “It will do... for now.”

            “In that case,” Ariel said, smiling uneasily, “how do you want to proceed, Mr. Lanra?”

NINE

_W

e have work, Thales. “ Derec started feeding disks into the reader on Thales’ console. “Load these.”

            “Has Phylaxis been revived, Derec?” the RI asked.

            “No. This is an embassy assignment. Sort of.” Derec slid the last disk into the reader, then pulled a chair over. “To be honest, I’m not sure about this. There’s a possibility that our situation could get worse.”

            “Then, is it advisable to accept?”

            “We don’t have a lot of choices, Thales. Ariel has been handed this by Ambassador Setaris. I get the impression that Setaris is just passing on instructions from Aurora.” He leaned back and laced his fingers under his chin. “We’re to assist the chief of security for DyNan Manual Industries, a man named Coren Lanra, in an investigation concerning the death of Rega Looms’ daughter, baley running, and a possible robot involvement.”

            A few moments passed before Thales responded. “Based on the data I have just reviewed, am I correct that Mr. Lanra suspects a robot in the deaths?”

            “He does.”

            “That is not possible.”

            “I explained that to him. But he’s an Earther--he believes positronics are inherently evil. Still, I don’t have a better explanation for the body found in the holding cell.”

            “The damage is singular.”

            Derec grunted. “That’s one way to look at it. For now, though, I want you to give me a program for a remote presence. I have to go up to Kopernik Station to try to salvage the DW-12 they have. It may be the only witness to what happened in the cargo bin. I’ll need you to help me sift through what’s left of its brain. I don’t think I can take all of you, and even if I could I’m not sure I want to risk you outside Auroran territory.”

            “According to my memory, the positronics laboratory on Kopernik is more than ample for our purposes. Do we have a free comm channel to the Auroran branch on Kopernik? I will need to establish that they have the facilities.”

            “Ariel’s setting that up now. I’ll be on a shuttle in less than five hours, so we have to set this up quickly.”

            “I have analyzed the data provided.”

            “Good. I’d like to hear your assessment.”

            “There are a number of inconsistencies, primary among them is the connection between the death of the Brethe dealer and the deaths of the baleys. Except for the suggestion that a robot is involved, there is no basis I can see for the link between them. If a robot is not involved in one or the other or, as is more likely, both, then the Brethe dealer is an entirely separate issue and a complication in the investigation of the murdered baleys.”

            “And if a robot is involved?”

            “The likelihood of finding a robot capable of such crimes being as remote as it is, then there would be grounds to link the two, as it would be logical that only one such robot exists. But that prompts a number of questions, all of which require factors of chance and coincidence that recomplicate the central question. Such a robot would need to be transported to and from Kopernik on a regular basis, in a short period of time. “

            “Increasing the chance of discovery, “ Derec noted.

            “Precisely, even given the capabilities described by Mr. Lanra of a robot able to hide from surveillance tools. It should be pointed out that it is not accurate to suggest that only a robot could use masking capabilities. For a robot, however, the risk of discovery in this instance would be unnecessarily higher. There is nothing in the data provided concerning the baleys that implicate a robot. This crime could just as well have been committed by humans.”

            “How would the assassin escape? Everyone in the cargo bin was dead and the seals showed no indication of having been opened between the time the baleys boarded and Chief Palen’s people opened it up on Kopernik.”

            “Human history is overfull with examples of suicide assassins. However, barring that, I lack sufficient information to rule out all possible methods of escape.”

            “What about the crack in the bin?”

            “There is insufficient information for me to speculate productively about that. It could be a structural flaw in the material.”

            “All right, set that aside for the moment. Can you still access Terran data sources?”

            “Of course.”

            Despite the fact that it was incapable of emotion, Derec nevertheless heard a note of smug pride in Thales’ statement.

            “Of course,” he echoed. “I want you to run a search for any recent murders or accidental deaths that bear similarities to the Brethe dealer. “

            “That will require me to access certain law enforcement datums.”

            “Is that a problem?”

            “No, but it will take more time. I may not have that information for some hours. Unless you do not care about detection.”

            “Do it right, Thales. I don’t want the TBI on our backs about this. You said there were a number of inconsistencies. Continue.”

            “All the passengers but one succumbed to a neurotoxin. Why not all of them? Nyom Looms carried her own rebreather. The question is why? Did she anticipate trouble? Was she sharing the primary rebreather before donning her own? And if there was time for one to remove the rebreather mask, why not more? The DW-12 unit appears to be trying to shut the rebreather off. This suggests that the bin was pressurized and contained sufficient atmosphere that shutting down the rebreather would not constitute further threat to human life. “

            “The crack. “

            “Why would they use a damaged bin? It is reasonable to assume that an inspection would have revealed the crack prior to its transfer to an orbital lifter--unless, as I already suggested, it was a structural flaw which manifested only after lift-off. But it also seems reasonable to assume the crack was made specifically to force the passengers to continue using the rebreather, as the air would leak out, thus guaranteeing that they would be poisoned. “

            “So the crack was made after the bin had been transferred,” Derec said.

            “If it was intentional, that is reasonable. But by whom?”

            “Or what. That brings us back to the robot hypothesis.”

            “Which remains unlikely. The opening is too small for a robot to pass through, and since the DW-12 is the only one present--and is still present--in the bin, then we can rule it out.”

            “The masked robot?”

            “Being undetectable by surveillance equipment would not render it invisible to plain sight. It would still have been in the container. There are other possibilities for creating such a crack. “

            “Coren Lanra says he saw it board.”

            “But it was not there when the bin was opened. Either it left before arrival on Kopernik, even before it left Earth, or Mr. Lanra is mistaken.”

            “Agreed,” Derec said, nodding. “But there are no tools in the bin. It appears that whoever made the opening also left.”

            “Unlikely.”

            “Again, I agree. Continue.”

            “There is evidence of an absence. Not all the cradles in the bin are occupied. Two appear to have been empty when the bin was opened. One can be accounted for by the victim found suspended from the ceiling. The other was simply empty. Both were provided with rebreather masks. From the appearance of both empty cradles, one was occupied.”

            Have to ask Lanra about that, Derec thought. “So? They miscounted. “

            “One assumes these bins are prepared in advance. That they would contain the exact number of cradles necessary for a single shipment seems unlikely. However, if they did outfit this one to specific requirements, why would there be an extra?”

            “Possibly someone elected not to go at the last moment?”

            “Not an unreasonable hypothesis, Derec.”

            Maybe one of the late Nyom Looms’ charges still lived, then. One not involved in the murder, at least, since that empty cradle remained unaccounted for.

            “I have a question, Derec,” Thales said.

            “Yes?”

            “Should I suspend my work on Bogard’s positronic matrix for the duration of this assignment?”

            “Why would--? Oh.”

            Memory, Derec realized. Normally Thales possessed far more memory than either of these chores required, but already Bogard’s problem took up more than Thales possessed. The hasty move from their former housing at the defunct Phylaxis Group building meant a good portion of Thales’ auxiliary memory buffers waited, unused, in storage. Having access to Kopernik’s buffers, however, represented an opportunity for Thales to once more utilize its full potential.

            “We’ll wait,” he decided. “Find out what facilities you can use on Kopernik. Maybe you can divide functions. “

            “I would appreciate the opportunity to test several hypotheses concerning Bogard. Kopernik’s facilities would offer that chance.”

            “We’ll find out. Is there anything else?”

            “Yes. Will identification of the deceased be provided?”

            “I don’t know. Is it important?”

            “Finding commonalities among them may bear upon discovering who would want them all dead.”

            Derec blinked. Sometimes he felt like an idiot. “Of course. I’ll ask.” He scratched his chin idly. “Speaking of Bogard, do you have an update?”

            “No change since last report. I do not possess sufficient memory to operate at a more effective level.”

            “Okay. I didn’t expect anything, but...”

            “There is a possible solution to the total problem.”

            Derec hesitated. “You mentioned hypotheses...”

            “Part of Bogard’s unusual make-up was based on unorthodox hardware configurations. I have attempted to simulate these, but like the human brain, the physical matrix itself represents a necessary and unpredictable condition of awareness. Given the limitations within which we are forced to work, I have compiled a protocol whereby it may be practical to encode a new positronic brain with a composite persona: Bogard’s, and myself.”

            Derec considered for a few seconds. “What good would that do? Bogard’s matrix is completely collapsed. Trying to load it into a new brain would either be rejected by the load protocols or result in a duplicate encoding, collapsed condition and all.”

            “Normally, yes. The encoding protocols require a stable framework for reception to work. I am suggesting that I can provide that framework while allowing those elements of Bogard that match a viable positronic template to load within it.”

            “A combination?”

            “I could not predict to what extent the result would be a combination--how much of each source matrix would encode in the new brain--but in essence, parts of both Bogard and myself would transfer together.”

            Derec shifted in his chair, intrigued. “The result could be only a slightly less coherent matrix. Collapse would occur at the first challenge.”

            “Possibly. I am running simulations to account for as many variables as possible based on my own composition.”

            “What, uh, would be the point?”

            “You would have a functioning persona capable of self-analysis. It might be possible to simply ask it why it failed.”

            Derec felt eager to try. He wanted to say yes. He distrusted the impulse, but the idea excited him.

            “Continue running the simulations until I can find out more about Kopernik’s lab.”

            “Yes, Derec.”

            The light on the comm winked on. Derec leaned closer: Ariel was calling. “We may have that answer now,” he said, and reached for the ACCEPT button. His hand trembled slightly; he clenched it into a fist for a moment, then pressed the contact.

Hofton brought the link to Derec’s apartment. Derec opened the small metal case and ran a diagnostic on the device.

            “Our shuttle lifts in an hour, twenty minutes,” Hofton said. “Are you packed?”

            Derec pointed to a single large case by the door. “This’ll take about half an hour, “ he said, patting the side of the link. “Thales, we have a Mark-Six Collaborative Transcriptor.”

            “You requested a Mark-Four.”

            “Is this a problem?”

            “No, this is a considerable improvement. Refresh periods can be at greater intervals and more thorough.”

            Derec looked at Hofton.

            “I took a few liberties,” the aide said. “No one was using this one.”

            Derec smiled. “I didn’t realize you were such a good scrounger.”

            “The position of ‘aide’ is descriptively vague for a reason,” Hofton said.

            The diagnostic winked green. “The unit checks one hundred percent, Thales. Are you ready?”

            “I have modified the download pathways to accommodate the superior unit. Start with nodes eight through fourteen. “

            Derec opened a panel on Thales’ console and began attaching thick connectors. “Did you happen to find out who’s running the lab on Kopernik?”

            “Yes’,” Hofton said. “Rotij Polifos.”

            “I don’t know him. Is he good?”

            “He’s been director for the past seven years.”

            “Hm. Anybody else?”

            “There are two specialists and six interns. From what I saw, I think you’ll be pleased. I also did some background on Mr. Lanra and his friend on Kopernik.”

            Derec rechecked the connections, then pressed a contact labeled OPEN CHANNEL. He watched the indicators for a few seconds.

            “Coren Lanra used to be Special Service,” Derec said.

            “Yes, he did. So was Sipha Palen. In fact, they partnered together in Service.”

            “Why’d they quit?”

            “Ideology, apparently. In Mr. Lanra’s case, he disapproved of the changes in Terran policy toward positronics. He resigned roughly at the time we were beginning work on the Union Station RI. Ms. Palen requested reassignment after being attached to Senator Kolbren’s office.”

            “Kolbren...isn’t he the one that sponsored the legislation attempting to bar all Spacers from public areas? For health reasons, if I recall.”

            “In essence. It was a quarantine measure. It didn’t even get out of committee, but Kolbren keeps winning reelection. Ms. Palen asked for a new position and was refused. She resigned. Shortly afterward, she accepted her current position as chief of security for Kopernik. “

            Derec grunted. “Odd. She resented working for a rabid anti-Spacer, and her former partner resented growing cooperation with Spacers. How did they get along as partners?”

            “I’m not psychic. Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose they found other things upon which to base their relationship. “

            Derec looked at Hofton. He could never tell when the man was being sincere or sardonic. It annoyed him that Ariel seemed to like Hofton so much--Derec’s own dry wit irritated her.

            “Both, however,” Hofton continued, “had exemplary records while in Special Service.”

            “And now he works for a man who wants to see us all thrown off Earth.” Derec shrugged. “So we cooperate with him.”

            “A quandary. It is odd.”

            “Any ideas?”

            “None I’d be willing to share at the moment.”

            Hofton’s expression remained politely attentive, betraying nothing more. He had worked for Ariel for nearly three years. Before Hofton, she had gone through four other aides in something over two years. Derec had never asked about them or asked why Hofton was different. He wanted to ask now.

            Instead, he said, “Hofton, you’re perfect.”

            “One tries, sir.”

            Derec laughed, and was rewarded by a faint smile from Hofton.

            “Anything else I need to know about these people?” Derec asked.

            “I’m not sure. One curious fact about Mr. Lanra came up. He’s an orphan.”

            “Really.”

            “Yes, sir. He matriculated from the Connover-Trinidal Youth Asylum, a life-long resident. I find this remarkable because many people from the same background don’t enjoy much success.”

            “He never knew his parents?”

            “No. And, of course, the records are sealed. But as far as I could tell, he never tried to look into them.”

            “Hm. What about Palen?”

            “Very much the opposite. Large, extended family, prosperous, the best schools, etcetera. “ Hofton waited a beat. “Should I continue looking?”

            “Not on my account. Maybe Ariel would like to know more. Is Lanra accompanying us to Kopernik?”

            “No, sir. He has lines of investigation down here...so he says. “

            Derec gave Hofton a curious look.

            “The shuttle up to Kopernik two days ago,” Hofton said, “was his first trip offworld.”

            For a few seconds, Derec did not understand. Then: “Oh. Well, then, I suppose it’s just as well he has things to do down here. “

            Hofton nodded. “I think it’s for the best. “

            “Probably.”

            “We may find Ms. Palen more cooperative anyway, simply because she doesn’t work for Rega Looms.”

            “That’s certainly a possibility.”

            They fell silent then, and Derec stared at the link until a light winked on requesting the next phase of its setup. Derec worked silently, rearranging the connections, reconfiguring part of the device to match the next part of Thales’ requirements.

            Hofton softly cleared his throat. “May I ask a question, sir?”

            “Sure.”

            “Why are you involving yourself in this?”

            Derec straightened, trying to compose an explanation of the link and why Thales required it due to the distances involved and the complexity of the job, but stopped, comprehending the question a moment later.

            “You mean with this investigation?” he asked.

            “Yes.”

            “I could ask you the same.” Hofton waited and Derec nodded. “I love this,” he said, waving at Thales. “Working with positronics. Working, period. I hate inactivity.”

            “You could do calisthenics in that case.”

            Derec laughed briefly. “I’m doing this because I can, because it might give me a chance to do something I want to do. Because the chance to get my hands on the tools to do some serious work is worth the risk.”

            “You’d like to rebuild your robot, Bogard.”

            “Of course I would, but it’s more than that.”

            “There are several good reasons for you to refuse.”

            “I know. I’m not going to think about them.” Derec looked at Hofton. “You?”

            “You mentioned inactivity. Do you have any idea how dull diplomatic work can be?” He smiled wryly. “Seriously, though, I have been with perhaps a dozen senior diplomats. The work was interesting--more so in the beginning, before the desensitizing produced by overfamiliarity and intimate contempt--but rarely challenging. Even so, had my various superiors been in the least worth the bother, I would never have complained, much less transferred. I never thought I’d find myself working for someone like Ambassador Burgess. It was very difficult when I was forced to leave her service last year. I admit, I’d begun to take her for granted. But I just finished several months with a man named Cotish Valgas, who is a deputy overseer in Furnishing and Accoutrements. Yes, there is such a department--I was shocked myself. Suffice it to say that I’ll never take Ms. Burgess for granted again.”

            “She’s special, isn’t she?”

            Hofton nodded slowly, his eyes bright and sharp. “She is that, sir.”

            “So why is she doing this?”

            “Because she’s been ordered to.”

            Derec shook his head. “No, no. You’ve known her for all this time. Is that the Ariel you know?”

            Hofton frowned. “She’s more disciplined, I think, than you give her credit. “ He blinked and folded his arms. “But, no, not really. She could easily refuse. She’s been expecting a recall to Aurora anyway.”

            “So?”

            “I think she wants a chance to get even. “

            “With who?”

            “All of them, sir. All of them.” He glanced at his watch. “We have an hour before the shuttle leaves. Will you be done?”

            Derec checked the monitors. “Five more minutes.”

            Hofton cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Um...I spoke perhaps too openly, Mr. Avery--”

            “She’ll never hear about it from me.” Hofton looked mildly relieved. “Under one condition.”

            “Sir?”

            “Call me Derec.”

            “I’ll do my best, sir.”

TEN

_T

hree people were waiting in his office when Coren returned. Two of them wore the look of professional security--well-dressed but practical, no clothing that would bind and impede a wide range of movement--while the third looked very administrative. Coren recognized none of them other than by type. He resisted the immediate urge to run; right now he did not have time for further complications.

            “Mr. Lanra,” the administrative type said. “I’m Del Socras. I work for Mr. Myler Towne of Imbitek. Forgive the intrusion, but I was instructed to convey Mr. Towne’s regards and extend his invitation to lunch. “

            Coren glanced at the security, both of whom had risen to their feet upon his entrance. “I really am rather busy, Mr. Socras. “

            “Mr. Towne realizes this. It will be a brief lunch.”

            Coren considered his options: run, call the police, or comply. From the look of the pair of security types, it was even odds that he could get away. Dragging in the police might complicate things to the point that his investigation of Nyom’s death would have to be postponed or abandoned. It always seemed to be the petty things that interrupted one’s plans.

            That was the problem, though. If it were petty; why would Towne be so insistent? Reluctantly, he concluded that his only viable option was to go along and find out.

            “Very well. Shall I meet him somewhere?”

            “We have a car, Mr. Lanra.”

            “Of course you do.” Coren made himself smile. “Shall we, then?”

            “One moment, sir,” one of the security said and pulled out a palm monitor that looked remarkably like Coren’s own. He walked around Coren twice, then reached into Coren’s pocket and removed his hemisphere. He handed it to Towne.

            “I don’t think you’ll need this, Mr. Lanra,” Towne said, setting it on the Desk. “Our security is very good.”

            “I’m sure it is,” Coren said tightly.

            Socras led the way out of the building and across the avenue to the garage.

            The drive lasted fifteen minutes, during which time Socras made a few attempts at polite conversation which Coren ignored. To his credit, Coren thought, he took the hint and lapsed into a polite silence.

            The windows were all darkened. When they stopped, he had no idea where exactly he was.

            He was shocked to see a garden.

            Outside? No--he saw delicate ribbing overhead, supporting a high vaulting ceiling. Relieved, he surveyed the rest of the chamber. A garden, yes, and an expensive one.

            A large dead patch off to the left, an area that looked as if some withering blight had eaten the life out of the very air around it, spoiled the placid beauty around him. Even the pavement and wall nearby were blackened.

            A touch on his elbow prompted him to move forward.

            Myler Towne sat behind a small table covered with dishes. He dwarfed his chair and made the people around him appear small. He looked up as Coren stopped.

            “Mr. Lanra, “ he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation. “

            “Is that what it was?”

            “Of course. It’s illegal to coerce people.”

            “Of course it is. What can I do for you, Mr. Towne?”

            “Come to work for me.”

            Coren held back a laugh.

            Towne looked at him, scooped a mound of mashed potato onto his fork, and smiled.

            “Neither of us,” he said, “has time for banter. I have some questions before you answer me. You saw the damage when you came in?”

            “Yes...”

            “I used to take my lunch there.”

            Coren glanced back at the dead patch. “You mean that was an attack?”

            “Did you engineer it?”

            Coren started. “Excuse me?”

            Towne smiled briefly. “I didn’t think so. Have you ever worked for Imbitek?”

            “I think you’d know.”

            “Possibly. I don’t have all my predecessor’s records.” Towne waited, ate another bite of potato, then pushed the plate away a thumb’s width. “Did you?”

            “No.”

            “You were involved in that imbroglio last year that put Mr. Mikels in prison, weren’t you?”

            “No.”

            Myler Towne glanced around at his people. “I was misinformed? I was under the impression that you met with the Auroran liaison from the Calvin Institute. Was that on some other matter? I ask, you see, for a number of reasons, not all of which may be immediately connected--”

            “My employer was under suspicion for the events that put your employer in prison, Mr. Towne. I was doing my job, seeing to his security. I was not, however, involved in any of it.”

            “Hmm. Indeed. Then why have you been twice to the Auroran embassy in the last two days?”

            “Your first message to call came before either of those meetings, so I assume your reasons had nothing to do with that. Have they changed?”

            “When I hire someone I want to know about them.”

            “You aren’t hiring me.”

            Towne gave a mock frown of disbelief. “You ‘re turning my offer down?”

            “I am.”

            “But you haven’t even heard it.”

            Coren sighed. “Must I?”

            Myler Towne stood. He was an enormous man, easily head and shoulders taller than Coren, and not, as Coren first suspected, run to fat. For his size, he had a trim waistline, which implied that the shoulders filling his smock were solid and powerful.

            “It’s such a good offer,” Towne said.

            He came around the small table and an attendant immediately began clearing off the dishes. Another removed the table, and a third took away the chair.

            Towne took Coren’s upper right arm in a massive hand that nearly encircled his bicep. “Walk with me, Mr. Lanra.”

            Coren moved without thinking. There was no question of refusing.

            Towne guided him deeper into the arboreta. The scents of various flowers mingled, almost too sweet. The colors competed for his eye.

            “Do you like it?” Towne asked.

            “It’s...astonishing.”

            “Not entirely decorative. Beautiful, yes, but this is a working facility. There are several plots of non-Terran plantlife.”

            “Isn’t that...?”

            “Illegal? No, we have permission. Well, for most of them. A few unexpected forms got in with the authorized seeds and have proven useful. We do a substantial business in pharmaceuticals, as well as our industrial divisions. “

            Coren glanced back in the direction of the “accident” and shuddered.

            “No, that wasn’t caused by an alien plant,” Towne said. “Not directly, at least. We manage the biospheres here better than that. What you saw was a deliberate attempt to kill me. A very fast-acting substance--something we call a decompiler--was introduced in a standard defoliant. The plants we grew there possessed a method of self-defense that produced a cloud of protein molecules as they tried to rid themselves of the infection--in this instance a hopeless task, but it kept the poor things spewing vapor. I liked to eat there because the molecules so produced have a very pleasant aroma and a side benefit for the palate. Anyway, the moment this compound, which the plants continuously kept in the air, came into contact with flesh, it reacted with the adiposa and began to work faster. Much faster. One of my gardeners wandered in there just before lunch a few day sago.   The entire plot was reduced to the state you saw in about ten minutes.”

            “Um…” Coren worked to keep the image out of his head and failed.  “So someone is trying to assassinate you?”

            “Absolutely.”

            “What does this have to do with me?”

            “Nothing.  That’s why I called you.  I live within thick layers of security, Mr. Lanra.  For someone to get that close…”

            Coren nodded, understanding perfectly.  “You don’t trust your own staff.”

            “There are a few, of course, but I’m not sure I would secure the results I need if I were to put them to finding the traitor.  I think it would be better done by an outsider, someone not overly familiar with the situation or the personnel involved.”

            “I suppose its pointless to ask if there was surveillance.”

            “Constant.  We have nothing.  We’ve reviewed the record and nothing unusual happened.  I have one gardener for that plot--had, I should say--and he was the only one recorded tending the area.  I doubt he would have been stupid enough to step into his own trap had he laid it.”

            “It would be extreme.  Any idea who ordered it?”

            “Oh, yes, I have a very good idea.  I can’t prove it.  And I’d rather not say just now.”

            At that point, Towne released Coren’s arm and stopped.  Coren turned to face him.

            “I would rather wait till I hear your answer,” Towne said.

            Coren shook his head. “Any other time, Mr. Towne, I might consider it.  But just now…”

            “I’ll pay you half a million credits.  Half now, half when your investigation is successful.”

            Coren’s breath exploded as if he had been punched.

            “Don’t be shocked, Mr. Lanra, I’m very serious. This is worth considerably more to me than a half million.”

            “Forgive me, Mr. Towne...” Coren swallowed. “You must know that I can’t accept. I have other responsibilities right now--”

            “Looms’ election? You can’t think he’ll win. Besides, I know that you’ve essentially delegated his security to your subordinate. “

            “That’s not the only thing, but I do owe some loyalty to Mr. Looms. How would it look if I left his employ now?”

            Towne nodded. “It would look bad. I won’t try to tell you that his election would be an inconvenience to Imbitek. Seeing him fail would hardly be unwelcome. But I think he will, anyway. So do you. Or you ‘re not as smart as I thought. “

            “Still, I’m engaged in a project that I can’t let drop. In a few days I might be able to reconsider--”

            “In a few days I could be dead.”

            “Then let me recommend another--”

            “I want you, Mr. Lanra. I’m not interested in second best.” Towne cocked his head to one side. “More money? Name your price, we can negotiate.”

            “This is a personal matter.”

            “Very much so. “

            “For me. I’m afraid I can’t. Not right now.”

            Towne looked about to say more, then closed his mouth. He shrugged. “I’m sorry, then. I’ll have my people take you back to your office. Don’t fret, Mr. Lanra, I’m not the vindictive sort.” He pursed his lips. “This personal issue. Perhaps I could help. I’m not without resources.”

            Coren hesitated. Towne’s offer took on new possibilities. He could not use his own security people to find Nyom’s killer, but it would have been good to have the help. He ran through a number of ways he might take advantage of Imbitek’s security.

            No, it was too complex. He did not have the time to work it out, build the appropriate firewalls, exercise the desired level of control.

            “That’s very generous,” Coren said carefully. Damn, it’s tempting...

            “I think I can wait one more day,” Towne said. “Let me know.” He looked to his left then, and gestured. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Lanra. “

            The pair of security that had accompanied Socras appeared then. They escorted Coren back through the lush garden. He paused before the dead foliage on the way out, fascinated in spite of his decision.

            Decompilers? he wondered.

He instructed his Desk to run a thorough sweep on the office for eyes and ears. When the Desk reported none, Coren was surprised. He hefted his hemisphere, wondering how else they might set up surveillance.

            I don’t have time for this...

            “What about the searches? Report.”

            “Of the twenty-three names you designated for records searches, partial correlations have been found as far back as twenty-eight years. Eight of them attended the same university together. Sixteen have military service records. Twelve share relatives through marriage.”

            “Give me the highest factor of commonality.”

            “Investment.”

            No surprise there, he thought. Every one of those twenty-three names was moneyed. “Any particular stock?”

            “Nova Levis Corporation. All of them were primary shareholders. “

            “Nova Levis? The colony or the lab?

            “The lab.”

            “You said ‘were: They are no longer investors?”

            “The corporation ran for eight years without showing a profit and was consequently closed.”

            “Sold? To who?”

            “Purchased outright by the Kysler Diversified Group. Debt paid out of available funds plus sale of equipment and patents.”

            Kysler...the same company that owned those shipments diverted to make room for Nyom’s baleys...?

            “What patents?” he asked.

            “Unknown at this time. Do you wish another search?”

            “Yes. Who was on the board of directors?”

            “Unknown.”

            “Did any of those twenty-three sell early?”

            “Three: Kyas Vol, Tenebra Patis, and Rega Looms.”

            “How early?”

            “Joint sale, three years after purchase of shares.”

            “Did any other shareholders who are not on this list of twenty-three sell at that time?”

            “One. Gale Chassik.”

            “The Solarian Ambassador?”

            “Presently. He was not ambassador at the time.”

            Coren considered. “I want a complete dossier on Nova Levis Corporation. For the time being, though, how does this figure into Ree Wenithal’s career?”

            “Ree Wenithal was an operative of EuroSector Bureau of Criminal Investigation. His last case involved research into Nova Levis Corporation as one of several laboratories suspected as collusive entities in a kidnapping ring. Results proved inconclusive, no action taken.”

            So that’s where his reaction came from...

            “Synopsis of his last investigation.”

            “Three-year investigation of kidnapping and infant brokerage, leading to the discovery of a child-selling trade operating between Earth and a Settler colony named Tau Regis. Agent Wenithal received a commendation for excellence in police investigation, three citations for exceptional public service, and a merit commendation for valor after exposing the ring and overseeing its destruction. He retired one year afterward with full pension and lifetime honors awards. He opened his own business two years later, a small private security firm which failed after four years. He remained retired then until starting the present firm of RW Enterprises.”

            “Hard copy the dossier on the investigation.”

            “Only the public record is available. Details are under security seal pending review.”

            “Very well, the public record, then.” Coren tapped a fingertip against his chin, thinking. “Question: If Wenithal’s case only lasted three years, why is there an eleven-year spread concerning the names in his files?”

            “Subjects related in prior investigations from various districts. Collated by Wenithal under his own investigation for related details.”

            “So this was not the first time these matters had been investigated?”

            “No. Ongoing investigations in five separate jurisdictions extending back seven years prior to Wenithal’s case.”

            “Are any of the investigating officers available?”

            “No. Eighteen officers, all deceased.”

            “What about staff? Are any of the people who worked for Nova Levis still alive and available? The principle researchers, what happened to them?”

            “Five researchers. Three are listed as deceased, one emigrated shortly after the lab closed, and the fifth is listed only as Missing.”

            “Missing. Name?”

            “Kyas Vol. “

            “One of the primary shareholders who baled out early.”

            “Correct.”

            “Just missing, no last known address? What about his file? Who was he?”

            “An immigrant, native of Spacer world Theia, resident director of research at two medical centers prior to accepting directorship of neurobiology department of Nova Levis. “

            Spacer...?

            “Did he return to Theia?”

            “The record does not so indicate.”

            “Missing.” That could mean anything.

            “The one who emigrated--destination?”

            “Nova Levis.”

            Coren grunted. “Why am I not surprised. “

            “Unknown.”

            Coren felt himself smile at the Desk’s literalness. “Very well. Continue search. In the meantime, link me to Sipha Palen, encrypt protocols.”

            The screen emerged from the desktop and winked on. Coren waited patiently while the machines exchanged the proper codes to set up the link. A few minutes later Sipha’s face filled the screen.

            “About time,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

            “No chance. I’ve had an interesting time since last we spoke. Listen, I’m sending you a positronic specialist. “

            “You’re kidding. You really know one?”

            “Two, actually, but you’re only getting Derec Avery.”

            Sipha frowned for a moment, then whistled. “I am impressed, partner mine.”

            “You know about him?”

            “I know someone who knows him. You would think he was the reincarnation of Susan Calvin to listen to this person.”

            “Who? Oh, yes. Never mind. Anyway, he should be on his way up within the next hour or two. He’s coming in company with an officer of the Auroran embassy, a fellow named Hofton. Meet them, keep the heat off them, and get them to their embassy branch as quietly and quickly as possible. Avery’s position with Terran authorities is...what would be a good word?...fluid. I don’t want him busted and deported before he can do us any good. “

            “Consider it done. Nobody arrests anyone on my station unless I say so.”

            “Good, good. I’m also sending you a list of names. This is a fishing expedition, frankly, but it might turn up something. See if any of the deceased match in any way.”

            “I’ll do what I can. Have you found your informant?”

            “No. Someone else is looking for her, too. It might be a race.” He thought about that. “Keep your people alert to her coming through Kopernik. If she’s on the run she might try leaving Earth.”

            “Got a description?”

            “I’ll forward you an image. What about on your end? Anything new?”

            “We found some fibers on the bin that match fibers taken from Nyom Looms’ fingernails. She fought. Our target may be banged up a bit.”

            Somehow I doubt that, Coren thought. “What kind of fibers?”

            “Synthetic of some kind. We’re still analyzing it. I’ll let you know when we identify it.” She paused. “You’re sending Derec Avery up. Does that mean you’re staying down?”

            “Afraid so. I’ve got some things to follow up.”

            “And you really don’t want to get back on a shuttle, do you?”

            Coren smiled wryly. “No, not really. Sorry.”

            “You’re going to have to get over that some day. Especially if you ever expect me to continue our friendship.”

            “We’ll see.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            Coren shrugged. “Hey, can I help it if I’m just an ordinary Terran?”

            “You aren’t, though. That’s why your aversion annoys me.”

            “Yes, well...” He felt awkward, caught wordless. “Did you tell Looms?” she asked.

            “Um...yes. He took it better than I expected. Or maybe not. It’s hard to read him, sometimes.”

            “Does he want you to keep looking?”

            “Yes.”

            “You would, anyway.”

            “Yes.”

            Sipha nodded as if understanding something else about him. “Let me get back to work. I’ll see to it Mr. Avery gets to the Auroran embassy.”

            “Right.” Coren started to reach for the disconnect, then hesitated. “Sipha, have you ever caught anyone smuggling stolen children through Kopernik?”

            She stared at him, momentarily stunned. “No. Why?”

            “Something...just a peripheral bit of information I stumbled on. An old case, nothing current. Just thought I’d ask. Thanks. “

            “Talk to you later.”

            The screen went blank.

            Coren cleared his throat and shrugged, as if trying to physically reset his thinking. “Desk, do you have that public file on Wenithal’s last case?”

            “Yes.”

            “Display it, please. “

            The screen filled with text. Coren leaned forward and began to read.

ELEVEN

_U

nion Station D.C. looked much the same as always, but Derec never felt at ease with it--not after the assassinations and the subsequent ruin of his company and his hopes. The floor had long since been cleansed of blood and now shone with the high polish of smokey mirrors. People hurried about their business beneath its cavernous arch, announcements echoed over the P.A., and no one seemed to notice how much it had changed.

            As Derec walked toward the customs desk, Hofton behind him carrying a large bag and a columnar container, he kept looking around, searching, until he realized what it was he sought.

            Robots. There were no robots.

            Union Station had once, for a short time, been a kind of free zone where robots worked openly. The Terran Senate had passed special legislation to allow positronics here, as a testing ground to see how Earthers would react, and to show Earthers the nature of robots. Spacers came through Union Station D.C. and no other port on Earth, so it was convenient to provide them with a reception area that offered familiar accommodations. A Resident Intelligence had been installed to supervise the complex operations of the facility and manage all the robots. Derec’s company, the Phylaxis Group, had overseen its installation and had been contracted to do the maintenance and troubleshooting for it, but subsequent events took all that away. And more.

            He was nervous here: partly because it had been months since he had visited Union Station and his last memory of it held death, and partly because this was the first time since the trials at which the conspirators in the assassinations were found guilty and sentenced he had left the embassy. Though treated primarily as witnesses, Derec’s staff had been detained and questioned for several weeks, and at least one person had been arrested on a minor charge tangentially related to Phylaxis and its activities. In the aftermath, it had been made clear to Derec that his presence on Earth may be required indefinitely. He was to make himself available to the court.

            His passport had been confiscated.

            Later, Ariel had let him know that she had interceded in his arrest. His Auroran citizenship was reinstated and he received a new passport, but his position became tenuous in the course of action taken by ITE to challenge the new document, and an injunction resulted barring him from leaving Earth.

            “Legally,” Ariel had explained, “this is absurd. It’s a gesture. They can’t keep you from leaving unless they arrest you. They can’t arrest you on Auroran soil. If you do leave, your Auroran passport won’t be questioned anywhere else and without criminal charges being filed, there are no grounds for extradition. They’re trying to keep you here because they don’t know what they want to do with you. You frighten them. We all do.”

            I have news for you, Ariel, he now thought as he placed his one small bag on the customs desk, they frighten me...

            Hofton set his burdens on the desk beside Derec’s and extracted a disk from his jacket. He handed it to the attendant.

            “I didn’t even have a chance to find out anything about the director of the lab,” Derec said. “Rotij Polifos. Never heard of him. “

            “I had a chance,” Hofton said. “And?”

            “I think later...?”

            Derec looked at the customs attendant, who seemed totally absorbed by their documents. “Sure,” he said.

            In retrospect, Derec realized that he saw the attendant push the button. She closed out one screen, turned smoothly, and her hand brushed across a depression on the desk to the right of her keypad. A second later, she handed Hofton a disk.

            “Derec Avery?”

            Derec turned to the voice and found himself confronted by three men in uniform and a fourth in a dark suit. One of the uniforms stood closest.

            “Yes?” Derec replied, his pulse picking up.

            “Port Authority,” the uniform said. “Would you come with us, please?”

            “Um…I…”

            “Excuse me, officer,” Hofton said, stepping forward. “Is there a problem?”

            “We have some questions for Mr. Avery.”

            “You may ask them here. We have a shuttle to catch.”

            The uniform frowned. “Who are you?”

            Hofton extended his ill. The officer slipped the disk into a palm reader, then showed it to the man in the suit.

            “We are on Auroran embassy business, “ Hofton said. “Unless you have specific issues that you are willing to state publicly, you have no legal grounds to detain us. Our passage is to Kopernik Station and we will be staying at the embassy annex there. I can cite you the relevant part of the diplomatic accommodations code if you like, but I believe you already know it. “

            “There’s no need to--” the man in the suit said.

            “Identify yourself, sir,” Hofton said. “Are you also Port Authority? If not, please produce a valid warrant.”

            “Warrant...?”

            “If you wish to detain Mr. Avery, I believe a warrant is required--you may not do so on spec. If there is such a warrant, we are permitted to return to the Auroran embassy here for consultation with our law department. Mr. Avery is currently working under a brief from Ambassador Burgess. You may check that. The brief extends her diplomatic immunity to her agents. You may check that in the code as well. But you may not detain us while you do so unless you have a valid warrant.”

            “What is the nature of your visit to Kopernik?” the man in the suit asked.

            “You have not yet identified yourself,” Hofton said. “Mr. Avery is not obligated to answer that.”

            “Are you a lawyer?”

            “No, sir. If I were I would have settled this matter by now. I’m giving you the benefit of a less predatory disposition. “

            The man in the suit stepped forward, his face reddening. “That man,” he said, jabbing a finger at Derec, “does not leave this planet. “

            “I repeat,” Hofton said calmly, “do you have a valid warrant?”

            Derec watched, stunned, as if time had stopped. Hofton did not flinch, did not smile, did not do anything that might have looked like an actionable gesture. The man in the suit reddened further.

            “You have no authority to prevent him, “ Hofton said finally. “If you attempt to do so, the Auroran embassy will file a formal complaint. If you do not have that warrant, I can also promise that you will no longer hold the position you currently do. Now, there’s an easy solution. Kopernik is technically Earth. A satellite, true, and not on the ground, but if you check you will see that it qualifies as Earth. Mr. Avery is not leaving Earth.”

            “That’s facile,” the man in the suit said.

            “Yes. But legal.”

            One of the uniforms was smiling. The man in the suit stepped back.

            “I’ll be contacting my people on Kopernik,” he said. “We’ll have this conversation sooner or later.”

            “You’ll have plenty of time then to enjoin Mr. Avery from further travel outsystem,” Hofton said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a shuttle to catch. “ Hofton turned to the custom attendant. “Please return my original disk now.”

            The attendant paled visibly and handed over another disk.

            “Thank you,” Hofton said and grabbed the container and the bag. “Mr. Avery?”

            Shaken, Derec managed to walk toward the debarkation concourse.

            Halfway to the shuttle, he glanced at Hofton. “How true was all that?”

            “Mostly,” Hofton said. “I was guessing that they had no warrant, which is the only reason I could think that might prevent them from detaining us. As for what the Auroran embassy would do if he had insisted--which he could have... well, I rather doubt they’d risk an incident over you. “

            “You bluffed,” Derec said in amazement.

            Hofton nodded. “Successfully, I think.”

Derec took his briefcase from the Kopernik customs inspector, nodded curtly, and walked forward, into the debarkation lounge. From space, Kopernik Station resembled a child’s construction from struts and blocks and spheres, additions over time added to the original dumbbell configuration giving the impression of an abstract modelbuilder’s idea of a tree. Symmetry could be sensed but not directly observed.

            The interior looked no different from any brightly-lit warren on Earth. The debarkation lounge resembled the foyer of a hostel. Derec had dozed during the last half-hour of the flight and felt slightly muddled. He searched for signs directing him to the Spacer section, which should be nearby. He noticed a pair of women off to his right who seemed to be waiting for someone.

            Then he saw a station security officer to the left, also watching for someone. Anxious, he increased his pace.

            “Mr. Avery?” a man called from behind him.

            A sickly warm sensation erupted within him, spreading out from his stomach.

            “Sir,” Hofton called.

            “Mr. Avery--” the man repeated.

            “Derec, wait,” a woman said.

            Derec hesitated at the familiar voice, almost turned to look, and stumbled a few steps. A passerby caught his arm, steadying him. Derec jerked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Thank you. “

            “Derec, “ Hofton said, coming around to block his path.

            “Derec,” came the familiar-sounding voice again. Female. Where?

            One of the two women he had noticed grinned at him. Thick mahogany hair haloed her rounded face. She wore a loose-fitting shift and pants, Auroran-style. Derec stared at her, sure he should know her and unable to name her.

            Standing beside her was the second woman--taller, dark-skinned, athletic, dressed in a suit that suggested a uniform. She radiated authority and he wondered what trick or bluff Hofton could do now to get them to the Spacer embassy. He swallowed hard and made himself stay put.

            “Sir,” Hofton said. “I believe our contact is here.”

            “Hi, boss, “ the familiar woman said.

            Derec stared, recognizing her now. “Rana...? Rana Duvan....?”

            Her grin widened.

            “Mr. Avery?” the dark woman asked quietly, stopping within arm’s length.

            “Y-yes?”

            “I’m Sipha Palen,” she said, extending a hand. “Coren told me to expect you. I apologize for being late.”

            Tentatively, Derec clasped her hand. The grip was dry and strong. Abruptly, he felt very foolish.

            “Ms. Palen, yes. I--” He looked past her at Rana. “Would you excuse me?”

            He set his briefcase down at Hofton’s feet and embraced Rana. Her arms came around his back and squeezed him.

            “I don’t--” he began.

            “It’s good to see--”

            “--what are you--?”

            “--too long--” she commented.

            “--can’t believe it, you look--”

            Derec’s breath escaped in a heavy sigh, simultaneously with Rana ‘s sharp laugh. He stepped back. Her eyes glistened and she wiped at them impatiently.

            “What are you doing here?” Derec asked.

            Rana smiled. “I’m your embassy contact.”

            “Embassy...?”

            “Long story,” she said. “Later.” She nodded in Sipha Palen’s direction. “Business.”

            Palen watched with a bemused gleam in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back.

            “Sorry,” Derec said. “Rana and I used to work together. It’s been a while since we saw each other.”

            “Of course,” Palen said.

            “Um...yes, Mr. Lanra said you’d meet us. You’re chief of security?”

            “Every bit of it, “ she said, smiling. “Welcome to Kopernik. “

            “Thank you. I believe I’m supposed to oversee an excavation on a positronic brain?” He looked at Rana, who shrugged.

            “We haven’t let it out of our lockup yet, “ Palen said. “Now that you’re here, we can get started.”

            “Rana is more than qualified--”

            “Coren and I have agreed to a certain protocol in this case. You are part of it.”

            “I see. Well, then, let’s get started. I understand there’s a time limit?”

            “There is. I’ll take you to the robot directly and we’ll all escort it to the Auroran embassy, if that’s acceptable to you, Ms. Duvan. “

            “I’m not in charge of the embassy,” Rana said. She glanced at Hofton. “If it’s been cleared with Yart, then...”

            “I’ve already secured the appropriate clearances,” Hofton said. “Ambassador Leri is aware that certain unusual circumstances prevail. We have his cooperation.”

            “Good,” Sipha Palen said. “Then...?” She made a gesture for them all to proceed.

            Derec retrieved his briefcase and they fell into a group, he and Palen in the lead, Hofton and Rana following. As they passed beneath the arch leading to the main concourse, Derec glanced to the left and saw a tall man in a knee-length ivory coat. His face was almost as pale as his coat, but mottled, as if from scarring. The faintest trails of hair traced across his scalp above a high forehead, and sharp, golden-green eyes shifted slowly, intently. He stood facing the customs aisles, as if waiting for someone, but as they walked by, he turned to watch Derec and his companions. It seemed to Derec, just for a moment, that the man smiled. Too brief to get a firm sense about it, but Derec thought he recognized a sign of familiarity and satisfaction in that expression.

            Then Derec was through the archway and out of sight. He had never seen the man before. He knew he did not want to meet him. The reaction was irrational and after several steps he dismissed the entire episode as a leftover of his anxiety.

            Must be Palen’s man, he thought. It made sense. By the time they reached the embassy branch, Derec had forgotten all about him.

Palen’s section looked cramped. The doors were narrow and the passageways claustrophobic. The main desk nearly filled the front office, the bulkheads behind it filled with communications equipment that appeared constantly active. As they’ entered, two uniformed officers looked up from where they sat behind the long, heavy counter.

            “Chief--” one started.

            “Not now,” Palen said. “Where’s Oler?”

            “Back in the lockup,” the other officer said.

            “Chief,” the first one said again, “you’ve got a message here from an Agent Harwol, TBI. He says it’s urgent, would you--”

            “Later, “ Palen cut him off.

            Without another word, Palen led the way around the end of the desk and into a corridor. At the other end, they emerged into a wide, low-ceilinged chamber lined with cells. Derec counted three people behind the transparent doors, none of whom bothered to look up as Palen’s group filed through. One, though, caught Derec’s eye--a Spacer, judging by the clothes.

            Adjacent to the cell block was another chamber about the same size, but without the cells; instead, tables, chairs, and a few couches littered the floor. Against one wall stood an autochef and a samovar.

            A short woman with no hair sat at one table, bent over a reader, one hand wrapped around a tall cup. She looked up.

            “We’re here to get the tinhead, Oler,” Palen said. “Get us a gurney, will you?”

            The woman nodded, paused to finish reading something, then walked out. Palen went to a plain door opposite the auto chef. With a passkey, she opened it and stepped inside.

            Derec followed Palen into the storage locker. Shelves stacked against the left wall to the ceiling, boxes and canisters piled on the floor to the right. At the far end lay a robot, legs bent up in the small space.

            “You stored it here?” Derec asked.

            “It hasn’t moved since we found it,” Palen said. “What would you have me do, put it in a cell where it could be seen? Most of our guests don’t stay very long. I thought it best to keep rumor to a minimum.”

            “I understand, but I thought you’d have it in your forensic pathology lab or something.”

            “I repeat: I wanted to keep rumor down. I already have the people who were there when we found it assigned exclusively to the crime scene and a communications block around that bay.” Palen frowned. “Besides, my people were a little nervous about it.”

            “I thought you were used to dealing with robots,” Derec said. “That’s what Lanra implied anyway.”

            “More used to it than the average Terran, but considering the possibility that this one committed murder, that was more faith than I was willing to ask of my people.”

            “You don’t believe that, do you?”

            “No. But it wasn’t me I was concerned with. Now, do you want to look at this thing or criticize my methods some more?”

            Chastised, Derec stepped past her and knelt down. As he expected, it was a DW-12--a very versatile laborer, basically. In the inadequate light of the closet, it seemed physically in reasonably good condition, but it was hard to tell. He lifted one heavy arm and pulled it straight. Relieved, he set it down--at least it had not locked up.

            “It should be easy to move.” He stood. “What have you done to it?”

            “I had my chief pathologist go over it for physical evidence, but honestly not much beyond that. It was in his lab for about an hour, then we put it in here. I thought it best to just wait for you. “

            “Fine. Let’s get it to the Spacer embassy, then.”

            “Mr. Avery.” Palen stepped closer to him. In the tight space she seemed to tower over him. It was an effort not to back away. “What are the chances of recovering anything from it?”

            “There’s no way I can give you an estimate yet. I have to see how badly collapsed it is first.”

            “But statistically--”

            “Any numbers I give you would be meaningless. You’ll just have to wait till we can start the excavation.” He waited, but she continued to stare at him. He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

            “Fine. Then let’s get you situated.”

Yart Leri looked very much an Auroran: slim, face smoothly ageless, large, clear eyes, and a politely attentive demeanor that nonetheless discouraged intimacy.

            “Welcome, Mr. Avery,” he said, meeting them in the embassy reception area. A robot occupied the desk. “We’ve arranged quarters for you and Mr. Hofton. I’ve been instructed to lend every assistance. The resources of the embassy are, within certain limits, at your disposal.”

            “Thank you. I’d like first off to see your positronics lab.”

            “Certainly. I’ll have Rotij show you around. That’s Rotij Polifos. He’s our chief roboticist. He’ll be assisting you, should you require it.”

            “With all due respect, “ Derec said, “might I be allowed to choose my own lab assistant?”

            Leri blinked. “Of course.”

            “I’d like Rana.”

            The ambassador almost frowned. “She is not, I believe, fully credited--”

            “Nor is she Auroran. I understand that. But we worked together before. I found her most adequate. “

            “I see no objection,” Leri said.

            “In that case, I’d like to see the lab as soon as possible.”

            “I understood this would be a priority situation. I’ve had Rotij prep an area just for your use.”

            “Shall I wait for you?” Palen asked.

            “Yes, if you could,” Derec said. “This won’t take that long. Then I’d like to get the robot here as quickly as possible.”

            “May I ask,” Leri said, “what robot?”

            “You haven’t been briefed?”

            “Not in all the particulars...”

            Derec did not know what orders Leri might have had from Sen Setaris. Best to say nothing, he decided, and sort out the protocols later.

            “I’ll leave it to higher authority, then,” he said. “I’m sure Ambassador Setaris will update you as needed. “

            “But--”

            The lab, sir?” Derec prompted.

            Leri frowned. “This way. “

            Derec caught a look from Rana. She rolled her eyes as if to say now there’s going to be trouble, then nodded for Derec to follow Leri.

            The small reception area gave no indication of the volume the embassy occupied. Leri led Derec, Hofton, and Rana down a hallway to an elevator. Four levels down, it opened onto a lab area Derec guessed at about five hundred square meters.

            Derec took a few tentative steps forward, surveying the equipment neatly arrayed across the room. He recognized most of it, but a few pieces looked unfamiliar.

            “We finished a complete overhaul six months ago,” Rana offered.

            Derec whistled appreciatively, Terran fashion, then saw Leri’s puzzled look. “I’m very impressed, sir. It doesn’t look like you want for anything. “

            “This is a working lab, Mr. Avery,” Leri said with a mixture of pride and contempt. “Kopernik hosts a large population of robots in the Spacer sections. We service the positronics of all the incoming and outgoing Spacer ships.”

            “Including the Solarian?”

            “The Solarians do not possess such a lab. They contract us to do their service and repair work.”

            A small cluster of people huddled together in a far corner, talking among themselves. Derec counted five and wondered which among them was head of the lab.

            “Rotij,” Leri called.

            One of the group looked toward them, raised a hand, then excused himself from the discussion. He approached with long strides; he was typically tall, with a Spacer’s indeterminate age.

            “Yes?” he said, stopping before them.

            “Rotij Polifos,” Leri intoned, “this is Derec Avery and his aide, Hofton...” Leri blinked at Hofton uncertainly.

            “That’s correct,” Hofton said. “Hofton, from the groundside mission. The people I spoke to you about, from Ambassador Burgess’s office...?”

            “Yes, of course,” Rotij said. He seemed distracted and mildly put out. “Honored, Mr. Avery. I know your work.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Rotij,” Leri continued, “is chief roboticist and director of this positronics lab.” He looked between them for a few moments, then nodded, satisfied. “According to my instructions, you ‘re to be accorded every service of the facility. Should you require anything else, please feel free to see me.”

            “Thank you, Ambassador,” Derec said. “You’re very kind.”

            “If I may, I’ll leave you to Director Polifos--”

            “I need a minute, Yart,” Polifos said.

            Leri blinked. “I’m sure we can get together later and--”

            “Now. If you please.”

            “Mr. Avery requires immediate attention. Afterward, of course.” With that, Leri spun around and returned to the elevator.

            Polifos glared after Leri for several seconds, then laughed caustically. “Busy man.” He turned toward Derec with a sigh. “Well. How can I help you? Ambassador Burgess’s instructions were vague except on the point that you’re to have the run of the place. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask that you leave us some area to do our regular work--”

            “I need a single station,” Derec said. “For one robot, full range diagnostic ensemble, and a large memory cache for an RI direct link. “

            The Director’s face lost expression. “Well...I don’t see a problem...did you say an RI direct link?”

            “Yes,” Hofton said. “And it’s quite heavy.”

Polifos wanted very much to watch while Derec set up the link to Thales, but his attention was divided by the work he had been supervising when Derec and Hofton first arrived. He was both relieved and disappointed when Derec made it clear that he wanted to work with Rana.

            The instant Polifos returned to the huddle on the other side of the lab, Rana began reconfiguring a commlink station for Thales’ requirements.

            “I assume nothing’s changed,” she said, fingers moving deftly over the board.

            “Thales’ configurations? No, only location and peripheral memory cache. Here are the numbers.” He scribbled out the address and the current parameters.

            Rana frowned. “How did you get all of it into that small of a buffer? Thales must feel absolutely claustrophobic.”

            “Daily complaints. I didn’t have much choice. The move into the embassy was rather hasty. I’m lucky it wasn’t confiscated.”

            “I was going to say, I’m surprised you still have him.”

            “‘Him’? That’s very Spacer of you.”

            “I’m working on it. “ She flashed him a smile. “I never expected to see you again. “

            “Ever?”

            “Well, not this soon, anyway. “ She glanced over her shoulder, across the lab. “I’ll see about having this area shielded. Then you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

            Derec followed her gaze. Hofton had left with Palen to fetch the robot. For the moment it was only Rana and himself and a couple of technicians on the far side of the room, intent on their own work.

            “Is there a problem?” Derec asked quietly.

            “Nothing overt. Rotij can be a pain sometimes.” She shook her head.

            “What are you doing here?” he asked.

            “Qualifying for Auroran citizenship.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Perfectly. This is what I salvaged. Frankly, it’s more than I ever expected. The TBI was really upset with us, you know. I have a chance to go to Aurora and maybe study at the Calvin Institute. It would have helped if...” Rana shrugged.

            “If Ariel had retained some cachet?”

            “To put it mildly.”

            “We’re working on recovering some. That’s part of what this is all about. “

            Rana finished configuring the board. She pulled a cable from the case containing Derec’s link and connected it to the console. She pressed a contact and waited. After a few seconds, she entered more commands.

            “You’re very good,” Derec said.

            “I should be. You trained me.”

            “I think you were a better student than I was a teacher.”

            Rana initiated a long encryption sequence, then turned to another, smaller board. She watched it briefly, touched one button, and sighed.

            “All right,” she announced, clapping her hands dramatically. “Unless someone is trying very, very hard, we’re secure from eavesdropping. “

            “Do you think anyone would?”

            Rana gave him a wry look. “Our Ambassador Yart Leri is a jealous little god and is not at all happy at being kept ignorant about your mission. He wouldn’t do it out of malice, just vanity.”

            “What about Rotij Polifos? He seemed unhappy about all this.”

            “This? Maybe. But one of our interns was arrested yesterday and he’s naturally upset about it. I don’t consider Rotij the jealous type. Not that way.”

            “I saw a Spacer in Palen’s lockup. What was the charge?”

            “Disorderly conduct. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just an excuse for Palen to haul someone in for questioning. What her questions might be, who knows? Just have to wait for Masid to be released and find out.”

            “Polifos. Is he good?”

            “Competent. Secretive. I don’t know a lot about him--he never talks about himself.”

            “Anyone else I should be concerned with?” Derec asked.

            “No one comes immediately to mind, but this is Kopernik. I doubt your presence is even known on the rest of the station, but I don’t like taking chances.” She glanced at her encryption, then sat down. “So. What is this all about?”

            “We’re doing a favor for Rega Looms.”

            He waited while Rana digested this. A smile worked at her face. “You are joking.”

            “No. Not in the least. Of course, that’s not all of it. I don’t know what it’s about on Ariel’s end, but Looms’ problem apparently dovetails with a project Setaris gave to Ariel. Hofton will be returning with what looks like a standard DW-12 that witnessed a murder. It’s collapsed, we need to see if we can recover anything. “

            “I haven’t heard about any murders. Not recently, anyway.”

            “Baleys. Fifty of them, looks like. You haven’t heard anything because Palen is working on the same favor and keeping it silent as long as she can.”

            “How long has it been so far?”

            “Two, two and a half days. I’m guessing.”

            “And how exactly does Rega Looms fit into this?”

            “His daughter was one of the victims. “

            Rana stared at him blankly. Then: “I see.”

            Derec coughed softly. “So, tell me about this Auroran citizenship.”

            Rana shrugged. “A gamble. When the dust settled last year, I applied for emigration. ITE refused, based on essential skills, but I couldn’t get an employment stamp, either. So I went to Ariel and asked if she could help. A few referrals later, it looked possible that I could get Auroran citizenship due to the fact that I’m an undesirable. “

            Derec started. “What?”

            “I’m a positronic specialist.” She grinned wryly. “Absurd, isn’t it? But just the fact that I worked in a field that was for all intents and purposes outlawed on Earth put me in a special category of almost-but-not-quite foreign spy. I have the entire law in my apartment and I occasionally read through it for a laugh. Anyway, we started the data flowing. I’ve gotten this far, a transfer to Kopernik. The longer I work here, in this lab, the less desirable I become to Terran authorities.” She smiled. “When the Aurorans here found out I was a positronics tech, they didn’t know whether to believe me or throw me out. When they learned how I’d become one, they wanted to hand me off to someone else. Anyone else. Ariel got dragged back in. Her suggestion was to hire me as a contract worker and go from there. I’ve had to start the application process over three times now. I can’t blame them for being cautious. But it’s in the works now. My application has been forwarded to Aurora. All I have to do now is to continue proving that I know what I’m doing.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “So that’s where I stand. Waiting. Like I said, six months ago we upgraded the whole lab. I did most of the conceptual work with Rotij--who’s very good, by the way. Rotij has added his name to my list of sponsors. “

            “I’m glad. It would be interesting to watch you at the Calvin. “

            “I might shake them up a little?”

            “Just might. “

            Rana smiled. “What about you?”

            Derec shrugged elaborately. “Like you--waiting. Only difference is, I don’t have any clear path. Ariel got my Auroran citizenship renewed, but there’s some...complication... with the Terran authorities. I’m stuck in the embassy unless I want to be barred from Earth forever.”

            “I thought you were cleared of any charges?”

            “Not quite that simple. This is Earth, after all. I suppose it would make everything easier if I just packed up and left.”

            “Would that be so bad?”

            “I don’t know. Yes...no...maybe. It’s...I like Earth. For all its maddening irrationality, there’s so much here. They have history. Thousands of years of history. There’s something intoxicating about it.” Derec felt clumsy, as if groping to make sense. “It’s the first place I really came to know after I recovered from amnemonic plague. I might as well have been born here.”

            “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

            “Don’t be.” Derec disliked talking about his past--lack of past, really. The one thing he shared with Ariel that would never change: both of them were recovered amnesiacs, victims of Burundi’s Fever. The damage the disease caused left them permanently incapable of recovering memories from before its onset.

            But they had rebuilt their lives. Derec had used Earth as a focus, a home base, a place from which to find...what he needed to find.

            “Ariel doesn’t share your appreciation,” Rana said. “She told you that?”

            “We had a couple of long talks. She needed a sympathetic ear, I think, that would go away later.”

            “Well. I don’t know, though. She’s here. She requested an Earth posting. “

            “Hm. By the way, not to change the subject but...what about Bogard?”

            Derec sighed. “Bogard. Most of Bogard is in a crate stashed in a lockup in the embassy. Thales keeps teasing at his matrix. Of course, without sufficient memory, there’s only so much Thales can do.”

            “We’ve got the memory here.”

            “Believe me, the thought did cross my mind. And Thales’. If possible...”

            Rana smiled conspiratorially. “I don’t see a problem. We’ll do what we can.”

            He gestured at the encryption sequence. “How big is this?”

            “I’m using a five-digit key.”

            “Five. Isn’t that a little excessive?”

            “All these years on Earth and you’re still not paranoid enough. Actually, I’m encrypting against positronic intrusion. I’m letting Thales choose the key. That way you or I can’t give it away.”

            “And Thales won’t. Impressive.”

            “Thank you.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “And thanks for wanting to work with me again. I hope I can help.”

            “Believe me, it helped just seeing you.”

            Rana looked startled, then laughed nervously. “I missed you.”

            Derec felt a warm rush of blood flow through his scalp and face. Surprised, he looked away.

            A tone sounded, and Rana looked over at the comm console. “Ah. We have security.” She tapped in a command. “Thales?”

            “I am online, Rana. How are you?”

Half an hour later, the robot arrived, encased in a dull gray canister, rolled on a gurney between Palen and Hofton. Its entry attracted attention from the huddle of technicians, who watched it all the way across the lab until it disappeared behind the blind Rana had erected.

            Derec waited for Palen to open the case. The lid peeled back with a soft snik. It was much as he had seen in the storage closet: An older model DW-12--or perhaps even, now that the light was better, a DW-10 with modifications--stretched out like a corpse in a coffin. Derec pressed two fingers against the place where its ear would be. A small panel on the chest slid away to reveal a screen. Derec touched the screen, setting it aglow. A string of alphanumerics scrolled rapidly over it, stopped, then disappeared, leaving behind a flashing red dot.

            “It didn’t hurt to try, “ he said. “Thales, the self-diagnostic is junk. We’ll have to do this from first principles.”

            “I am prepared, Derec,” Thales replied.

            Palen frowned at the link perched on the console.

            “Resident Intelligence, “ Derec explained as he began connecting cables to various jacks in the robot’s head and torso. He had to wipe accrued grime off a couple of them. “A disembodied positronic brain configured to act as a primary systems processor.”

            “Uh-huh,” Palen said. “Like the one that went crazy in Union Station last year?”

            Derec hesitated. “Basically. Only this one is mine and no one has tampered with it but me. So you needn’t worry about it hallucinating. “ He finished the connections. “Run synchronous pattern test, Thales. Test link. “

            “Working, Derec.” A moment later: “The link is fine. We can proceed.”

            “Is there anything left in there?”

            It took nearly two minutes for Thales to answer.

            “Damage is considerable, Derec, but I detect a few orderly sectors. Memory nodes have not been corrupted.”

            Derec exchanged grins with Rana.

            “What does that mean?” Palen asked.

            “It means,” Derec said, “that we have a good chance of salvaging something for you. “