TWELVE

_A

riel felt a momentary surge, like the rush from falling, as the limo left the embassy. She could not pin down in memory the last time she had been out side the Spacer mission. She swallowed dryly, waiting. The further the transport carried from the garage, the calmer she became; after a time, she laughed at herself.

            She opened her datum and accessed current files. A list of reports scrolled down the screen--detail work she had neglected for months. The complaints sorted themselves automatically in a separate column, apart from the regular stock and shipping reports all Aurorans were required to file. Three firms came up more often than any other, one of them filing eighteen complaints over the last six months, all of them having to do with delayed or lost exports.

            Carsanli Intercomp built domicile environmental control units, adaptable to a wide range of habitats. Their principle customers were Settler colonies. Ariel was impressed with their logic--they built the units on Earth, using part Spacer technologies and part Terran, and shipped through Terran distributors, which minimized their Spacer presence. A lot of Spacer firms conducted business in a similar fashion, but often had a difficult time in the manufacturing end due to restrictions on factory space and local regulations concerning employment and vending requirements. In an unusual arrangement, Carsanli leased a factory already owned and operated by a Terran firm--Imbitek--from whom they also bought the Terran components.

            The company kept its offices in the Convention District of D.C. Ariel recognized the area as she entered it. She used to come here twice a week, before so many Spacer businesses had abandoned Earth. There was still a large Spacer presence, though, and she had no sound reason for having neglected her duties.

            The limo stopped at the main entrance to the offices. She stepped out and looked around. This was a warehouse area. People in worktogs or officewear filled the passages as First Shift opened. She caught a few frowns and curious looks from passersby, but ignored them. Steeling herself, she entered the building.

            “Ambassador Burgess,” said a tall Auroran who greeted her. Behind him stood a broad reception desk and the company seal on the wall: an oblate disk filled with a moil of multihued shapes that reminded Ariel of feathers. “Welcome to Carsanli Intercomp. I’m Farin Holiye, general manager. This is most unexpected.”

            She grasped his hand briefly. “Things have been unusually complicated recently. I apologize for taking so long to come down.”

            Holiye smiled brightly. “Not at all, not at all. Please, this way. We can talk in my office.”

            Ariel followed him through a door and up a short flight of stairs. He waved her into a wide, dark-paneled office.

            “May I offer refreshment?” he asked, heading for a sidebar.

            “No, thank you. I have a rather full schedule today. But I wanted to see you first. “

            “Ah. Yes, well...” He gestured to a pair of plush chairs on opposite ends of a low table. “I don’t wish to begin with a complaint--”

            “I’m aware of the number of reports you’ve sent,” Ariel said, sitting. “I’m here now.”

            “Yes...well, the basic problem is that several consignments of product have gone missing; I think it’s accurate to say stolen. Insurance has compensated for them, of course, but we’ve lost three major customers over it.”

            “You sent them replacements?”

            “Of course, but those went missing, too. It was very aggravating.”

            “Shipments to the same clients...that’s very interesting. May I see the manifests?”

            “Certainly.” He went to his desk and returned with a slate. “I had them prepared for you.”

            Ariel scanned the columns. Four very large orders purchased by a construction firm on Epsilon Coriae never arrived. As Holiye had claimed, insurance covered the loss, but the Settler company canceled the contract. ITE attributed the loss to piracy and pled lack of jurisdiction once the shipments left the solar system. She scrolled further and noted several other shipments lost. All of them had been slated for Settler companies.

            “You also complained about delays?”

            “Several times,” Holiye said expansively. “We thought it was a problem with our exit port so we tried to get it changed, but the request was tangled up and has still not been acted upon.” He pursed his lips. “This is one of the things I understood your office dealt with...”

            “Of course. Again, I apologize. I’ll look into it immediately. What port are you using?”

            “Petrabor.”

            Ariel looked up. “Was any reason given for the delays?”

            “A number of times they claimed a routing glitch in their logistics programs. Once they simply said that the shipment had been overlooked by the dock crew. I found that intolerable.”

            “How long has this been going on?”

            “We’ve always had a few problems,” Holiye said, “but we expect some loss and delay. Space is vast and people are people. But I’d say in the last two years it’s become chronic.”

            “I see...” She handed back the manifest. “How long have you been working with Imbitek?”

            “Years. “

            “Any problems?”

            “No. In fact, since the previous chairman was replaced, things have gotten even better. The new CEO seems very dedicated to providing service.”

            “Mmm. How is it you drew Petrabor Spaceport?”

            “The main factory is in Kiv Sector, just south. Petrabor is the closest port capable of handling the quantities in a timely fashion.”

            “Of course if they keep losing or misplacing shipments...”

            “Exactly--the benefit of faster service from larger capacity is offset by the nuisance factor.”

            “Well, if I recall,” Ariel mused, “the Arkanleg port or even Kyro should be able to handle the traffic. I’ll look into getting you rerouted.” She stood. “Um...the stolen shipments...is there any pattern? Anything about them that strikes you as consistent?”

            “Well, no. We usually always use the same shipping line, as we always have. The destinations are always different, too.”

            “I see. Well, thank you. I’ll look into that, too, but I can’t promise anything. “

            Holiye stood. “I appreciate you taking an interest, Ambassador.”

            Finally, Ariel heard in his voice. She nodded, shook his hand, and let him see her out.

Several hours later, Ariel let herself reluctantly into Derec’s apartment. Her head buzzed with too much information. She had visited four more firms, following up the complaints. Between the sense of guilt over neglecting her duties and the amount of abuse these companies had suffered from lost shipments, unexplained delays, and shabby treatment by warehouse managers and shippers, Ariel felt humiliated and angry.

            All of them shipped out of Petrabor.

            Terran authorities had paid no attention because they were Spacers.

            And the pattern included her.

            Negligence is a disease, she thought bitterly, and I caught it.

            Holiye’s assessment that the problem had become chronic in the last year appeared accurate. Someone was taking advantage of her truncated authority. The abuse was clear and unmistakable, but since her office was the clearinghouse for the complaints, no one had bothered to put it all together. Why should they? It was her job and she had stopped doing it.

            Time to straighten it all out...

            She would have preferred transferring Thales to her own rooms or even into a standard lab facility, but either option would have taken too long. She considered running a realtime link from here to her apartment, but the more remote access existed, the greater the chance of eavesdropping. The Terrans, especially--as backward as their tech seemed in some areas, they were disconcertingly advanced in others.

            She stood in the living room for a few minutes, quietly letting herself grow used to the idea of being here. It surprised her sometimes how difficult it was to continue knowing Derec. They got along well enough, but there were limits, and she did not know them all.

            She looked around. Too little furniture, she judged. Austere. One sofa, one chair, a low table, and a subetheric. No carpet, just a plain tile. The table was still cluttered with glasses and dishes. A flatscreen reader stood like a piece of sculpture amid the mess. She placed a hand on the back of the sofa: the pillows showed the wrinkles and depressions of long use. She imagined him here, studying, till sleep pulled him out lengthwise, still clothed.

            She snatched her hand away.

            The bedroom was neat and orderly. A modest collection of clothes in the small closet, stark gray sheets, a clock and lamp on the lone nightstand.

            More clutter in the kitchen sink, but virtually no food in the pantry. She scrolled through the menu on his autochef: coffee, various potato and pasta recipes, eggs, three meat dishes, juice. It was as abbreviated as his wardrobe.

            The workroom, dominated by Thales’ console, exhibited the most debris of occupation: papers, disks, three chairs, four or five readers...No dishes, though.

            “Hello, Ambassador Burgess, “ Thales said.

            Ariel felt a wave of guilt. She swallowed. “Hello, Thales. Status?”

            “I am linked to a positronic analysis station on Kopernik,” the RI said. “We have ninety-nine percent capable dataflow, time delay negligible through subetheric router. Subject has been connected to diagnostics and I am running an excavation now. We have uncorrupted memory nodes isolated by collapsed positronic synaptic framework. Estimated retrieval time for first verifiable memories: two hours, twenty-nine minutes.”

            Fast work, Derec, she thought, impressed despite herself. Having Hofton no doubt had sped things along. Hofton’s absence disturbed her, which came as a surprise. She felt vulnerable. “How much available memory do you and I have at our disposal, Thales?”

            “I am using the buffers on Kopernik for the excavation, the commline buffer to maintain the link. For all practical purposes, you have all my available on-site memory.”

            “I see. Don’t tell me anything precise, like a number.”

            “Would you prefer a specific? I have available 3 x 1023 kjC in three primary and six secondary nodes--”

            “That’s fine, Thales.”

            It amused Ariel at times, the way positronic entities tried to accommodate human wants, matching expectations with limitations. Flexible as they were, they sometimes provided either too little information or too much, their ability to accurately judge what constituted the necessary and the sufficient inadequate to the challenge of serving people. All in all, they were remarkable creations, among the best things humans had ever devised. But they were not flawless. Not flawless at all.

            Ariel sighed. “All right, then. I want you to begin a records search, new file. Priority protect protocols in effect. Alert me to any attempt at eavesdropping. I want all available data on the history of Nova Levis. I also want to be kept updated on the excavation you’re doing on Kopernik.”

            “Yes, Ariel. May I ask, what level of records search?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Do you wish me to confine myself to those records without confidentiality protects or shall I acquire any and all documents pertinent to your request?”

            Ariel considered. Thales wanted permission to violate protected files. She had no doubt it could do so. Privacy issues represented a gray area for robots--they required specific instructions in such cases, lacking any sense of how harm might attach to simple data.

            “Do a survey of available documents of both kinds, “ she said finally. “Give me a list, detailing their security status and source. We’ll decide then.”

            “Yes, Ariel.” A moment later: “Will you be staying here?”

            She hesitated. “I’m not sure, Thales. What would you prefer?”

            “It would simplify the security standards you have requested if I did not have to contact you via external comm for updates.”

            “Hm. True. Do you think Derec would mind?”

            “I see no reason why he should. “

            No, I don’t suppose you would...

            “In that case, yes. I’ll leave for a short while to get some personal items.” She thought a few moments. “In fact, from time to time I may have to leave anyway, depending on what you find out for me. “

            “I understand, Ariel.”

            She went back to the kitchen. Perhaps she could bring R. Jennie down here. On the other hand, vacating her apartment completely might be a mistake. In either case, she needed to give Jennie instructions...

            Details. She needed food in the kitchen, changes of clothes, her personal datum. She wondered if Derec ever had visitors, then dismissed the thought. She would have known; if nothing else, there would be signs here, in his living space, and she saw little enough even of Derec.

            What has he been doing this past year?

            Oddly, the idea that Derec had spent all this time alone--except for those few instances when they had shared a meal or attended a meeting together--saddened her. But then, she knew little enough of what he had been doing prior to last year. Perhaps this was his norm, the way he was used to living.

            He had been bitterly angry over losing his company. That he had nearly ended up in prison had seemed relatively unimportant to him. Had she not moved to reinstate his Auroran citizenship, he might very well be living today in a private call in a Terran penal facility, the charges ranging from violation of Earther trade laws and the Positronic Prohibition Acts to murder. That he would have been no more guilty than any other Auroran on Earth made no difference--he would have been the perfect example. Even without a jail term, the Phylaxis Group, his firm, had been used as a club to beat the pro-positronic movement into submission and undermine all the work that had been done over the last several years to bridge the gaps dividing Earth and the Spacer worlds. Not the only club, to be sure, but a most effective one: Phylaxis had been held responsible for the failure of the entire Union Station positronics showcase and the subsequent events involving what the media had characterized as a “Killer Robot”: Bogard.

            Bogard. Derec’s attempt at building a bodyguard. Ariel still shuddered when she thought of it. She had condemned the idea--unfairly, she realized. Bogard had worked. It had been subverted, tricked, and attacked--no other robot of which she was aware could have possibly continued functioning under such stress. And that had been Ariel’s objection. She did not want robots to function after failure. If they did not adhere rigorously to the Three Laws, she wanted them incapacitated. Bogard had doggedly persisted in functioning, all the way up until the end, when it had taken a human life. Inadvertently, in the course of protecting Derec, but even for its remarkably flexible criteria an intolerable violation.

            The thought had occurred to her that Derec might take the blame personally. She believed him more resilient than that, but you never knew how or which events might overwhelm a psyche. She was ashamed of herself that she had not checked, had left him alone while she embraced her own self-pity.

            Maybe we can turn it all around with this, she thought. Baseless optimism irritated her as much as pointless cynicism, but sometimes the situation demanded an investment of faith.

            She looked back at Thales. I could ask it what Derec’s been doing...

            But there were those privacy issues again.

            “Ariel,” Thales said, startling her. “I have a question. Which Nova Levis did you wish me to research?”

“I have found two references under the heading ‘Nova Levis; “ Thales explained. “The first concerns a Settler colony, established thirty-two years ago in the Tau Secordis system. The second concerns a research laboratory here on Earth established twenty-eight years ago.”

            “What sort of research?” Ariel asked.

            “Biomedical and prosthetics.”

            “Really. What sort of prosthetics?”

            “The shareholder précis published upon issuance of initial shares refers to neurocortical extensions. Inferring from other references, I believe this pertains to artificial appendages linked directly to the nervous system.”

            Ariel frowned. “That’s nothing new. What were they researching?”

            “That data is under seal. The company closed after eight years of operation in the wake of a criminal investigation. “

            “Explain.”

            “A global investigation initiated by the Eurosector Civil Enforcement Agency into kidnapping and infant brokerage produced charges of conspiracy to illegally traffic in orphaned and stolen children involving several orphanage institutions and several medical labs. Nova Levis was part of the overall investigation, but no charges were filed against it. It closed down several months after the case was declared closed.”

            “Any direct links to Nova Levis colony?”

            “One of the chief researchers emigrated there a year after the laboratory was closed. “

            “Anyone else? I mean, what about the other people who worked for the lab?”

            “There were five department heads, all of them founding associates of the company. Three are now dead. The fifth is listed officially as missing. He was a Theian native living on Earth named Kyas Vol.”

            “Missing. That could mean anything. Did anyone look into his disappearance?”

            “Not that I have been able to ascertain.”

            Ariel wrestled with her curiosity. Earthers maintained profound prejudices regarding anything that suggested humaniform robotics, even prosthetic limbs. Prosthetics were available, certainly, but people never talked about them. Like any prejudice, it manifested in bizarre fashions and displayed many blind spots and innate hypocrisies. Artificial intelligences proliferated on Earth, in many areas, and nonsentient robotics were employed liberally, so long as none of it came close to resembling a human. Prosthetics occupied a tolerated space within the complex hierarchies of Terran bigotry. She had no idea how advanced the technology was, or if any new research was currently underway.

            “Stay with the colony, Thales. If you come across any more direct connections, explore them.”

            “Very well, Ariel.”

            “I’m going to my apartment now, Thales. I need some things. I’ll be back.”

            “I should have a preliminary report for you when you return. “

            She thanked the RI and left.

R. Jennie met her at the door. “Welcome home, Ariel. You have a message from Ambassador Setaris.”

            “Thanks, Jennie. Pack an overnight bag for me, would you? I’ll be sleeping elsewhere tonight.”

            “I had intended preparing crayfish almandine tonight, Ariel. “

            Ariel gave the robot a look, startled at the note of disappointment she thought she heard. It was so easy to personalize robots, so easy to “inform “ them with emotion and human expression, but it still caught her by surprise to detect it.

            “Change of schedule, Jennie. Place the menu on hold for the time being. “

            “Yes, Ariel.”

            R. Jennie walked off to pack. They had devised a standard kit a long time ago when Ariel had spent more time away from the embassy, in the company of others--particularly Jonis Taprin, now Senator Taprin. It had been over a year since their last tryst and Ariel had spent most of her time confined to her suite of office.

            Ariel sat down at her comm and keyed the ACCEPT but ton. Setaris’s face appeared on the screen.

            “Ariel, I’m giving a dinner party tonight, I thought you would like to come. I’m appending a guest list. I’d appreciate it if you’d put in an appearance. We don’t see enough of you.”

            “My my,” Ariel mused. “I must be coming up in the world.” She resisted the urge to call Setaris back and ask why. Instead, she scrolled through the list of invitees: The usual collection of ambassadors and close aides--Gale Chassik of Solaria, Trinik Hapellon of Capella, Frish Ioseco of Osiris, others--and a sprinkling of Spacer émigrés and industrialists.

            And Jonis Taprin.

            “What the...” Ariel stabbed the CONNECT on her comm and tapped in Setaris’s code. A few moments later she worked through Setaris’s secretary to Sen Setaris herself.

            “Ariel, how are you?” the ambassador asked.

            “Puzzled. You’re serious about this invitation?”

            “Of course I am.”

            “You’ve invited Jonis Taprin.”

            “Yes...” Setaris frowned briefly, then her eyes widened knowingly. “Ah, yes. I forgot. My apologies, Ariel. The event is partly for him. He put out some feelers a few weeks ago to see if we might arrange some talks.”

            “Concerning?”

            “Concerning precisely the subject we spoke about earlier. I thought it might be worthwhile to have you there. If, however, you feel uncomfortable--”

            Ariel shook her head. “No. I merely wanted clarification.”

            “And you have it now?”

            “Yes.”

            Setaris smiled condescendingly. “I envy you. Will we see you?”

            “Absolutely.”

            “At twenty, then. Formal.”

            “Very good, Ambassador. I’m honored.”

            Setaris smiled thinly. “Till this evening, Ariel.”

            The screen faded.

            Ariel leaned back in her chair and stretched. “ Just how much ass-covering am I going to need?” she wondered aloud.

            “I packed the standard bag, Ariel. Will it be too much?”

            Ariel looked around to see R. Jennie standing there, holding the overnight bag.

“I have a preliminary file on the requested material, Ariel,” Thales said when she returned to Derec’s apartment.

            Ariel set the bag down at the door to the bedroom. “Go on.”

            “Nova Levis was established as a Settler’s colony thirty-two years ago by special agreement between the Vas Domini Trading Company, a Settler cooperative sponsored by private endowment through the Church of Organic Sapiens, and Solaria--”

            “Solaria? How do they figure in it?”

            “The Tau Secordis system was originally developed as a mining franchise by three Solarian corporations which eventually became insolvent and were subsumed by the Solarian Department of Resource Development. The second planet, originally called Cassus Thole, after a modest amount of biosome intervention, is suitable for agriculture. Under the terms of a trade agreement with a limited corporation formed by six Settler worlds, Cassus Thole was renamed Nova Levis and subcontracted for settlement and development.”

            “Why hasn’t Solaria protested the blockade?”

            “Except for being the principal lien holder, Solaria has no representation on Nova Levis and has remained aloof from its operations since the first colony was established. There is still a small mining station with its own port used exclusively by Solaria. Nova Levis has for all intents and purposes represented itself as a sovereign world with rights and titles to its own territories. The colonists themselves have not even admitted to Solarian ownership and have engaged the current crisis as a duly constituted independent state.”

            “So it’s not even common knowledge that Solaria owned the system?”

            “The conditions of ownership have been allowed to grow vague. Solaria ‘s holding is listed in public flies as Cassus Thole. Except for the mining concession, Solaria officially conducts no business with the Settler government. Nova Levis has, since been regarded as a separate colony.”

            Ariel laced her fingers together and tapped them lightly against her chin. She felt foolish now at having paid so little attention to the events of the past year. The Nova Levis blockade was the first and largest aftershock from the failed trade conference last year.

            “Give me a brief on the blockade,” she said.

            “Two years ago, Terran investigators traced a number of stolen shipments to ships making regular calls at Nova Levis. This was discovered in the wake of the Tiberius incident, which proved to be related to illegal traffic into and out of Nova Levis. Further investigation on the ground resulted in the deaths of three agents and partial evidence that Nova Levis is host to an unregistered spaceport. At this point, warrants were solicited through the Intersettlement Judicial Committee for a task force to visit and inspect all ports on Nova Levis. The governor-advocate of the colony refused and offered to conduct the investigation himself and report the findings. This was rejected. A further proposal was made that a joint task force of Spacer, Settler, and Terran inspectors be deployed, and this, too, was rejected. Fifteen months ago, motions were placed before the Committee to establish a permanent inspection base at the edge of the system with a mandate to forcibly inspect all ships entering and leaving the system. This motion, of course, was rejected in due course when the Spacer legation insisted that robotic inspections be instituted for all traffic to and from any Spacer world. The station was never authorized, but Terran military ships began arbitrarily and at random stopping and searching ships entering and leaving the Nova Levis system. A series of protests were filed. The Committee became tangled with delaying motions by the Terran legation until a Terran ship was fired upon by an unregistered freighter caught leaving Nova Levis. Upon inspection, it was discovered that the ship was carrying contraband. The crew was arrested, the ship impounded, and the 43rd Squadron of the Terran fleet moved in to blockade the planet. That was eleven months ago. Subsequent negotiations have validated the blockade, although only one Spacer world has added ships to the Terran contingent, and no Settler ships have joined it.”

            “That’s how it stands today.”

            “Yes, Ariel.”

            “Stolen shipments...any kind of manifest on what those shipments contained, or who they were stolen from?”

            “That is a protected file. It will take some time to open it. “

            “Do it. What about Solaria? What did they say when all this happened?”

            “They have made no official statement to date, content, apparently, to follow Aurora’s lead.”

            “Are those Auroran ships with the Terran squadron?”

            “No, they are Theian ships. Aurora is remaining militarily aloof. “

            As usual, Ariel thought wryly. “And no one has brought up Solaria’s past ownership?”

            “No, Ariel,” Thales replied.

            “Not even Aurora...but Solarian ships are still entering and leaving the system. How is that possible? As I understand it, a blockade like this is enforced at the port of origin as well. Solarian ships heading for Nova Levis would be stopped or at least noted and identified as blockade runners. “

            “That is how the law reads. I will look into it. “

            Something else teased at Ariel. “You said there were three Solarian firms that initially had title to the system. Who?”

            “Strychos, Incorporated, M39-Viavel Corporation, and the Kysler Solar Industries.”

            “Kysler...that sounds familiar. “

            “Kysler Diversified Industries, Ariel. They are a Terran firm based on Titan, though no longer Terran-owned. The three Solarian firms I mentioned have all been subsequently purchased by the Hunter Group. Only Strychos remains as a semi-independent corporation, dealing in agricultural products.”

            “Hunter owns Kysler?”

            “They own a controlling interest.”

            “What did they do? The Terran firm, I mean. “

            “Primarily a holding company. Pharmaceuticals, raw material development, shipping, finance--”

            “Stop. Any other correlations through their dependent companies?”

            “No. However, Kysler purchased the physical plant in which Nova Levis was housed.”

            “Really. What became of the rest?”

            “After it closed down it was split up and sold. The REtD division went to Imbitek, which folded it into a subsidiary: Captras Biomed. Various pieces of hardware went to a number of small firms.”

            “Imbitek owns the research and Kysler owns the shell... what did they do with it?” Ariel asked.

            “Unknown. Current data suggests that the structure is sealed and unused. A retrofitting company was hired to convert it into a raw materials distribution plant a few years ago. After that I find no records.”

            “Thales, I want a list of shareholders for each of those three companies: Kysler Diversified, Hunter Group, and Nova Levis. Prepare a hard copy for me. Let’s return to the colony. You said that a Settler cooperative took it over?”

            “That is correct. Through private endowment.”

            “Through a church, though. What was its name?”

            “The Church of Organic Sapiens. “

            She thought for a moment. “That’s Rega Looms’ church.”

            “It is currently the church with which Rega Looms is affiliated. However, he has stepped down from its directorship for the duration of his senate campaign. He was not its director at the time the colony was established. “

            “Did he belong to it?”

            “I do not have access to those records. Would you like me to try to obtain them?”

            “Maybe. Hold off for now.” Ariel drummed her fingers on the edge of the console. She could not shake the feeling that she was missing something. “Rega Looms despises the whole idea of offworld colonization. So does the COS--now. I suppose it didn’t then. “

            “The Church of Organic Sapiens has undergone a number of fundamental changes in purpose in the sixty-eight years of its existence. The current one has been in place since Rega Looms became its director. “

            “How long ago was that?”

            “Eighteen years ago. “

            “Display the exact dates. “

            Numbers scrolled across one of Thales’ screens. The settler colony of Nova Levis was established eleven years before Rega Looms took directorship of the Church of Organic Sapiens. Ariel could see nothing significant about that, but she felt certain she should.

            “When was Nova Levis--the lab--incorporated?”

            The date appeared between the first two displayed. Nova Levis Incorporated opened forty-two months after the colony.

            “Closing date.”

            Fourteen months before Looms took charge of his church.

            “There is a correlation,” Thales said. “Rega Looms was one of the initial shareholders in Nova Levis Incorporated. Not in Kysler Diversified.”

            “All right...he couldn’t possibly have maintained it and represented a church that condemns prostheses. When did he divest?”

            “Four years after its incorporation.”

            “Did he start a panic?”

            “Apparently not. Only three other shareholders divested in his wake: Kyas Vol, Tenebra Patis, and Gale Chassik. “

            Ariel started. “Ambassador Chassik?”

            “Yes, Ariel.”

            “Was he ambassador then?”

            “No, Ariel, he was Chief Attaché to Ambassador Masmo Pedesor.”

            Ariel frowned. “Do you have those lists of shareholders?”

            “Yes, Ariel. “

            Another screen filled with names in three columns. The one for Nova Levis, Inc. was the shortest, the one for Kysler Diversified the longest. Names were highlighted in bright blue.

            Ariel raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Some people just turn up everywhere, don’t they?”

            Glowing brightly in all three columns were the names of Alda Mikels, Gale Chassik, and former senator Clar Eliton.

            “Thales, get Coren Lanra for me, would you? I think we need to talk before this goes much further.”

THIRTEEN

_C

oren knocked on the office door labeled KELVY TORANS, ACCOUNTS EXECUTIVE. When the woman behind the large desk looked up, he smiled and waggled his fingers at her.

            “Coren!” Her grin dazzled. “Come in! You actually caught me with time on my hands. “

            “I couldn’t be that lucky, could I?” He sat down across from her.

            She touched a button, closing her door. “Yes, you could.” She gazed with mock seductiveness at him until they both laughed. “What can I do for you, Coren?”

            “A little inside information.”

            “Nothing that will get me in trouble.”

            “I don’t think so. What do you know about Myler Towne?”

            She raised an eyebrow. “Chairman protem of Imbitek?”

            “The very same. “

            She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her face, still and framed by a close-cut helmet of black hair, seemed almost childlike. When she opened her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “ Joined Imbitek eleven years ago, New Accounts, and worked his way into Mergers and Acquisitions. Three years ago, he was on the Logistics and Projections board. The assassinations last year opened a position on the board of directors. He was nominated and elected within two weeks. After Alda Mikels received his sentence, Towne campaigned for the position of chairman, but it was given by the board reluctantly, and with the proviso that it was temporary, ending upon Mikels’ release.”

            “How good is he?”

            “Not bad, considering that he’s spent most of the past year fending off lawsuits and dealing with TBI investigations into the company. He’s actually turned Imbitek around in the last few months, so I’m beginning to recommend it again as a primary investment. They’re not as robust as they once were, but given this I can’t wait to see what they do when Mikels is back at the helm.”

            “I knew Imbitek had taken a tumble--”

            Kelvy grunted eloquently. “They very nearly dropped out of the Primary Three Hundred. Within three weeks after Mikels was sentenced to prison, Imbitek stock fell eighty points. Towne has it back up forty-eight points.”

            “How?”

            She shrugged. “Wish I knew. They’ve gone through a big restructuring, a lot of positions terminated, and he’s trimmed off some of the fat Mikels kept on as pet projects. But a big part is that Imbitek is buying back its own stock.”

            “It had the revenue for that?”

            “Apparently from the sale of offworld holdings.”

            “Why ‘apparently’? Wouldn’t it be in their shareholders’ report?”

            “Of course. But the convenient fact about offworld holdings is that local laws are flexible and there are a thousand ways to funnel money that can’t be traced. I say ‘apparently’ because you can never be sure if a holding on, say, Revis Logandi is real or just a fiction to hide funds.”

            “So they sold holdings...no other way they might get the money?” Coren asked.

            “Sure. The easiest way would be to borrow it. But they’ve made no loans for it and according to their reports over the last few years, their credit has been limited. Banks aren’t quick to count those offworld holdings I mentioned as reliable collateral, so credit is based mainly on available Terran assets and so on. According to that, Imbitek was overextended. Not dangerously so, but enough to limit them. If they were hiding collateral, well...I’m sure it would have angered shareholders to know the company had that available credit hidden from them, but under the circumstances no one complained. The policy kept those shareholders who had remained faithful from losing everything and even gaining a little. “

            “So he’s a bright boy. What happens when Mikels gets out?”

            “That’s what we’re all waiting for,” Kelvy said. “Already there’s been nervous trading. Towne might have to pull another magic trick to keep the company from devouring itself in a proxy war if he decides to fight Mikels. He has managed to replace two of the board members with his own supporters. The others...well, you just never know how these people will jump. Towne has proven himself. Mikels is bringing a lot of baggage to the table and may be unable to reclaim the chair.”

            “Do you think there will be a war?”

            “Towne is ambitious, Mikels is the old bull. You tell me. The psychology is certainly volatile. “

            Coren considered. “So how far has Imbitek stock fallen since Mikels’ release was announced?”

            Kelvy grinned at him appreciatively. “Eighteen points. Not a disaster. Yet.”

            “Still. Is Towne buying?”

            She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Imbitek has started slowing down some its outside investment, too. Odd. As of a month ago, their regular cash allocations for new stocks virtually dried up. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re having serious cash flow problems.”

            “Why do you know better?”

            “Two months ago, Imbitek sold off one of its subsidiaries for an enormous profit. They haven’t paid a dividend on it yet because it was the beginning of the quarter, so all that money is just sitting somewhere. Towne gave himself and everyone on the board merit increases--modest ones, not the sort you see when a company is in trouble and the management is salting away the spoils before the end.”

            “In other words, their expenses haven’t risen substantially.”

            “Right. So I doubt they actually have a problem with cash. They even paid back a couple of longterm loans. “

            “War chest.”

            Kelvy frowned.

            “Myler Towne wants to keep his new position, “ Coren said. “He’s preparing for a war. What are Alda Mikels’ people doing while all this is going on?”

            “A lot of them left the firm. A lot of them were asked to leave. Those who left have been drumming up support among the shareholders, advocating Mikels as the better choice as Chairman.”

            Coren tapped his fingers on the armrest. “What subsidiary did they sell off?”

            “Captras Biomed.”

            “Who bought it?”

            “A consortium of private investors. I’d have to do some prying to find out who. They bid anonymously. “

            “Could you, please? I’m very interested.”

            Kelvy nodded, frowning.

            “One more thing. Do you remember a bio research company called Nova Levis?”

            “Sounds familiar. Old, gone now?”

            “Yes. It shut down several years ago. I wondered if it might be possible to get a list of its investors.”

            “That would be a matter of public record.”

            “Not the real names,” Coren said. “A lot of investors go on record through a front. The fronts are public. I want to know who really owned shares.”

            “All right. How soon do you need it?”

            “Same time I need to know who bought Captras.”

            Kelvy smiled. “Ah-hah. Yesterday. Do we have time, then, for dinner?”

            “I’d like that...”

            “...but not tonight.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m just your broker, not anyone special. Your future lies in my hands every day, but you shouldn’t be over-felicitous on that account. “

            “Have I ever pointed out that you use a very questionable technique?”

            “Several techniques, under the proper circumstances. I hope to show you more of them sometime.” She smiled. “It’ll be worth the wait. I’ll get you this information by tomorrow morning. Soon enough?”

            “That will do nicely. Thank you.”

            Kelvy pointed a finger at him. “We have plans?”

            Coren grinned. “We have plans.”

            “Shoo, then. I have work to do.”

            Coren left her office. The plaza fronting the brokerage was filling up with second-shift on its way to work. Coren crossed to the walkways and stepped smoothly to the third lane.

            He commed his office.

            “Has Jeta Fromm contacted me yet?”

            “No,” replied the Desk.

            Damn! “Any other messages?”

            “Ambassador Ariel Burgess wishes you to call her as soon as possible. Mr. Doppler from Data Recovery Systems wishes you to contact him at your convenience.”

            Doppler...? Data Recovery Systems was the clearing house that had originally supplied him with Jeta Fromm. Coren closed the link to his Desk and tapped in Doppler’s code.

            “This is Lanra. “

            “Mr. Lanra, forgive the intrusion,” replied a smooth, androgynous voice. “There has been a...complication with our recent service. We’ve been trying to repair any possible harm that has resulted.” Doppler’s hesitancy made it clear that he felt embarrassed. “I wish to confirm that our service to you was acceptable. The operative your office has been attempting to locate--”

            “Jeta Fromm.”

            “Yes, sir. Um...this is quite awkward...”

            “You haven’t been able to find her,” Coren guessed.

            “In fact, we haven’t even tried. She has become no longer available, having ended her association with us three months ago. We are trying to determine a chronology so that service to our clients is not compromised. “

            “Three months. That was before I retained her.”

            “Yes, sir,” Doppler confirmed.

            “You ‘re telling me that she wasn’t even working for your company when she initially responded to my commission. And no one thought to inform me?”

            Doppler seemed to clear his throat. “Regrettably so. I realize that excuses fail to compensate in this circumstance, but our system suffered an...intrusion...which kept us from monitoring certain files adequately. It wasn’t until recently that we were able to restore the data and determine the nature of all the errors. I hope you understand.”

            Coren briefly felt cold. “I do, indeed. Am I the only person she contacted after she broke her ties with you?”

            “No, sir, there were several others. I am not, of course, at liberty to discuss their files. “

            “Of course not. Discretion is your reputation.”

            “Something like that. I also wanted to warn you that, under these unusual circumstances, whatever data you received from Ms. Fromm would be highly questionable. Our usual reimbursement policy is in effect, of course, but we will not guarantee the quality of the product.”

            “That’s...problematic. Thank you for the call, Mr. Doppler.”

            “I hope this will not put you off using us in future.”

            “Of course not.”

            The link broke. Coren pocketed the comm. Jeta Fromm was dead. The question was when. Had he even met with her to begin with?

            He watched the warrens pass by--shops, offices, home kitchens, girders, plazas, balconies. Block upon cube upon struts, mounding up to a hazy murk high above. The lights shone brilliant blue-white through the mists that formed near the upper elevations, delimiting the volume by showing everyone the ceiling of the cave. Inside. Tunnels, corridors, a maze of interconnected structure, involuted and self-cannibalizing over time, filling and refilling, home to billions, contained, giving the illusion of safety and accessibility. So easy to get from one place to another, it was all In Here, and the ways all clearly marked. No part of the world was cut off from any other. You could in principle reach anyone, anytime, by any of ten or a hundred pathways.

            But not if they were dead.

            If he had not lost his optam, he would have at least had something visual to run through--especially the humans that had accompanied the stealth robot. Odd, he was beginning to think of the robot as having been in charge.

            Going through Damik had been the only way he could think of to find the people Nyom might have gone through, but that had led him into areas that seemed unrelated to Nyom’s death.

            So why pursue them? he wondered.

            Because it felt connected. Because he saw Rega Looms’ name on a list of investors of a company that he would today condemn as a morally questionable enterprise, a company with the same name as the colony his daughter had been murdered while trying to emigrate to. Because Looms had made the same remark as a man Coren had never even heard of till today. Because all these unrelated details felt related. He just could not see how. Yet.

            The rule by which he had always worked was, when stuck for the next move, ask more questions.

            Why did Damik go see Wenithal?

            Coren certainly had names from the Wenithal connection, but not the ones he had expected and none he could do anything with, at least not immediately.

            Unless I just can’t see it...

            He glanced at his watch, then pulled out his comm again.

            A few connections later, Ariel Burgess answered.

            “Coren Lanra, Ambassador.”

            “Mr. Lanra, thank you for returning my call. I think we need to talk.”

            “I couldn’t agree more. In person?”

            “That would be best.” She paused. “Are you busy this evening?”

            “I have no way of knowing yet. What did you have in mind?”

            “I’ve been invited to an embassy dinner this evening. I have the option of bringing a guest of my choosing. Would you be interested?”

            “At your embassy?”

            “The Auroran embassy, yes. “

            Coren hesitated. This sounded like a complete waste of time, but he had no other ideas past talking to Damik. “Um...”

            “There will be other Terrans present, Mr. Lanra, it isn’t that sort of dinner. I believe it could be very interesting. Even informative. It would be a favor to me if you’d agree.”

            “Will Ambassador Chassik be there?”

            “Yes. Why do you ask?”

            “Something I stumbled on today. I suppose this will be formal?”

            “Of course.”

            “I have an errand to run up in the Baltimor District. I’m not sure how long that will take and I’ll have to change before I meet you.”

            “We have an excellent tailor on the premises, Mr. Lanra.”

            “Two, three hours then?”

            A pause. “I can make that work. There will be an escort in the main lobby to bring you to my apartment.”

            “Then I’ll see you later this evening. “

            “Thank you. “

            The link broke. Dinner with the enemy? he mused. He laughed softly to himself as he headed for a commuter station.

Brun Damik’s apartment was on the fourth level of an expensive block in what had once been an exclusive warren. Though other parts of the urban complex now superseded it as the place to live, it still bespoke class and elegance, and far more credit than Damik ought to possess.

            Police lounged in the corridor. Coren felt a sudden hollowness. One of the officers approached him, hand on the butt of her department-issue stunner, and Coren automatically held up his ID with the investigator’s license appended.

            “Inspector Capel is in charge, Mr. Lanra,” she said, gesturing through the door.

            The living room contained little furniture, but all of it looked expensive. Coren glimpsed the label on the entertainment array and quickly calculated the significant fraction of his annual income the system would have eaten. Forensic recorders drifted slowly over the stone-tile floor. A huddle of plainclothes police stood with their backs to a wall-length image of black, white, gray, and ivory blocks of various proportions that gradually exchanged places. The detectives stopped talking when Coren approached.

            “Coren Lanra,” he said, showing his ID again. “I’m looking for Inspector Capel?”

            One of the men took his ID and examined it casually. He was slightly shorter than Coren, grayish hair a fine dusting across his broad skull. His eyes were a bright, almost artificial green. “Private security,” he said, handing it back. “Do you have business here?”

            “I’m not sure yet. I’m an acquaintance of Brun Damik.”

            The inspector blinked twice, then nodded. “Come with me,” he said. “I’m Capel.”

            He led Coren to Damik’s bedroom. Coren surveyed it quickly, noting the pair of uniformed police going through the wall-length closet and the bank of drawers. The bed was enormous, cobalt blue sheets rumpled. Coren saw no sign of blood.

            “In here,” Capel said, continuing on to the bathroom.

            Damik sat propped on the toilet, hands dangling. Coren stared, shocked at the condition of the body. Bruises covered most of Damik’s torso and thighs; his eyes were swollen shut, lips black and inflated. The head sat at an odd angle and Coren noticed the thick line of purpling around the neck. The only blood came from the holes where Damik’s ears had been attached.

            “They’re in the sink,” Capel said, guessing Coren’s question. “These apartments are completely soundproofed. Surveillance shows no one entering or leaving. before or after Brun Damik came home last night. Preliminaries indicate that sixty to seventy percent of his bones are broken--the spine is holding him up, if you’re wondering--and several major organs are ruptured.” Capel wheeled on him. “Your card says Special Service, so I’m not even going to try to be clever with you. Let me ask right out: what are you doing here?”

            Coren closed his eyes. He had never grown the callouses other veterans claimed came after seeing enough dead bodies, but the nausea he once experienced no longer reached the point of muddling his thinking. The hollowness he felt upon seeing police here acquired a sour tang, and his conscience suggested that this was his fault for having visited Damik recently. He drew a deep breath.

            “My employer is running for office,” he said. “Rega Looms. I’m following up possible embarrassments.”

            Capel nodded as if Coren had just passed a test. “What could Brun Damik have done to embarrass Rega Looms?”

            “Nothing, directly.”

            “But...?”

            “But...” Coren glanced over his shoulder as to make sure he and Capel were out of earshot. He stepped closer. “Looms’ daughter has been known to play at smuggling from time to time.”

            “Baleys. We know. So you’re covering for him by trying to find his daughter.” Capel pursed his lips. “Could this be the result of your investigation?”

            “I honestly can’t see how.”

            Capel stepped closer to Damik’s body. “He was tortured. Somebody did this over a four- or five-hour period.” He looked up. “How well did you know him?”

            “We worked together in Special Service several years ago. He was competent. His tastes ran a little rich, though. “

            “Rich enough to accept perks?”

            Coren made an inclusive gesture, indicating the opulence of the apartment. Capel grunted, agreeing.

            “Was he supposed to have some information for you?”

            “I don’t know. I spoke to him yesterday. He wasn’t very helpful. I was coming back to try again.”

            “Somebody beat you to it.” Capel sighed. “I don’t expect to get everything you might be able to tell me, Mr. Lanra, and I don’t doubt you have a very good attorney, working for Rega Looms, so I won’t even think about detaining you. I’m going to rely on your integrity as a former cop to tell me what I need to know. I’m not naive enough to believe I’m even going to get that, so we’ll pretend for the moment that we’re actually working on the same side and that you wouldn’t obstruct my investigation.”

            “Believe me, Inspector, I don’t have a clue who did this. Or why. “

            Capel nodded. “It is excessive, especially for baleys. But who knows? This is politics, right? Maybe someone knows something about Looms’ daughter that could hurt him.” He shrugged. “It’s a stretch. But all the other ideas I have don’t explain this any better. Some sadistic shit tortured this man. That transcends jealousy, crime of passion, payback on a bad debt. Nothing explains it. Not even politics, really, unless he knew something.”

            “Torture is not a very reliable way of getting useful information. “

            “That’s true. So we’re left with revenge or someone sending a message. “

            “A message?”

            “The question is, from whom to who? And why? Does Rega Looms know Brun Damik?”

            “I seriously doubt it. “

            “And I doubt Rega Looms knows the particulars of your work right now. He’s busy campaigning.”

            “Correct.”

            “So could this be a message for you?”

            Coren studied Damik’s corpse. If this was a message, it failed. Graphic, certainly, but the intent was buried in the bruises.

            “If it is,” he said, “I can’t interpret it. There is a third possibility.”

            “Yes?”

            “Pleasure. Someone enjoyed doing this.”

            Capel shuddered. “I do not even want to consider that. Not yet; hopefully, not ever.”

            Coren understood. A truly sick mind was one of the most difficult to track down, and when caught, it was difficult to know what to do next. But he agreed with Capel--this was a message.

            “May I look around?” Coren asked.

            Capel stared silently at Damik for a long moment, till Coren thought he had not heard. Then: “Sure. You know better than to touch anything and so forth. “

            “Thank you. “

            He backed out of the bathroom and looked across the bedroom at the police still riffling through the immense closet. Not sure where to begin, Coren walked around the bed and immediately touched something.

            The sheets were expensive. Imports, Coren guessed. Damik would have been in an ideal position to help himself to whatever black market goods came through. Who would challenge him, especially if he was reasonably careful and not too greedy? He was not selling anything, as far as Coren knew. If he had been, he would have been living in a private enclave, with better security. No, Damik was not that corrupt. It had been clear even in Special Service that Damik was interested only in personal comfort, not the extra work illicit business would bring. He was a taker, not a dealer. It did not appear to Coren that he could have affected anybody’s bottom line. Not enough to warrant an assassination.

            Coren tugged the sheets down. Stained. Sweat? The coloration was wrong for anything else. Still, the possibility that someone had been in bed with him was not unreasonable. What had he said about his contacts?

            “A woman named Tresha and a man named Gamelin. I assume he’s just muscle, he’s big enough.”

            Coren thought back to his last visit to Jeta Fromm’s hab, and the fact that a man and woman had come to see her, but she had already left. What was the chronology? A day? Two days? Things had happened so fast. The warren rat had said the man was big, something wrong with him. The same pair?

            He wondered then if the woman who’d acted as his data troll had even been Jeta Fromm. Perhaps he’d been dealing with this “Tresha “ all along...

            The sheets were skewed in the direction of the bathroom, but that did not necessarily mean Damik had been dragged. Coren left the bedroom and almost stepped on a forensic recorder. The compact, turtle-shelled unit continued on, oblivious to Coren’s presence, looking for the minutiae that might provide a clue--hairs, skin, fibers, fluids.

            Coren stopped before the large picture and watched the rectangles drift before and behind each other. It was a very expensive piece, Auroran, Coren thought, and he wondered if it were an import as well. He turned away after a few minutes and did a slow circuit of the living room.

            A low table made from a sheet of thinly-sliced granite stood between facing setees. One glass stood in a drying pool of condensation, ice melted at the bottom.

            One glass.

            No clothes in the living room.

            He entered the kitchen. Four glasses stood on the counter by the sink, all empty.

            The place had been cleaned, he realized. While Damik had been tortured--four or five hours’ worth, according to Capel--someone had gone through the apartment and tidied up.

            Damik’s office showed a little more disorder, but none of it appeared significant. A few papers scattered on the desk, disks stacked sloppily, a jacket draped over a chair back.

            A few plaques decorated one wall. Coren smiled, seeing the Special Service certificate, and, beside it, a merit award for bravery. He did not recall the action, but he could look it up.

            Damik had gone to university--Nestern in the Freno District--and graduated with a degree in art history. Coren grunted, surprised. He would never have guessed.

            The frame rested crookedly on the wall. Coren brought a fingertip against the lower left comer and pushed up to straighten it. The hook on which it hung came loose and the entire plaque clattered to the floor.

            It burst apart--frame, cover sheet, hook, and documents--and sprawled across Coren’s feet. Damik had used the same display to hold several items, one atop the other. Coren knelt quickly. He counted half a dozen certificates, which must have strained the capacity of the frame, stuffed past its meager limits. Coren gathered them up.

            More graduation certificates. Damik had taken courses in a number of unrelated fields: cooking, the history of paleoanthropology, astronomy, microcircuit repair. All them unexpected and, in their diversity, admirable.

            Coren stopped at the last document. Damik’s grammar school certificate, from the Holmer Foster Gymnas Cooperative.

            Brun was an orphan...?

            Something else about the name of the facility seemed familiar. Later, he decided; he could look it up later. He folded the certificate and tucked it into an inside pocket, then reassembled the frame. He found the hook and pressed it back into the wall and carefully set the display on it, which then listed crookedly to the left.

            Capel waited in the living room.

            “Anything?” he asked.

            “Nothing obvious. You realize that the place was sanitized. “

            Capel scowled. “They had time. Where can I reach you if I need to ask further questions?”

            Coren fished out a card and handed it to Capel.

            “So have you found Nyom Looms yet?” Capel asked.

            “I’m still looking,” Coren said smoothly.

            Capel nodded again. “We’ll be in touch.”

            “Even if you don’t need me, let me know, would you? Damik and I did work together once.”

            Capel seemed to soften a little. “Sure.”

            “By the way, did he have any relatives?” It seemed likely that Damik would have been adopted, but Coren never heard him talk about anyone. That omission now acquired significance.

            “I was going to ask you that. None we’ve found. He had a broker. We’ll be talking to him.”

            “Hm. Too bad.”

            Coren left. He checked his watch. He had less than forty minutes to get to the Auroran embassy. Too little time, really, to sort out his thoughts, much less his feelings.

            Brun Damik was an orphan...

            He pulled out his comm. “Desk; connect to the public records of the Holmer Foster Gymnas Cooperative. Alumni.”

            While he waited, Coren teased at the reasons Damik had been killed. Because of Coren’s visit? So soon? That implied a surveillance network of remarkable scope. Had Damik called someone, given himself away, or was this an unrelated matter?

            “Connection complete,” his Desk said.

            “Access records for Damik, Brun.”

            “Located.”

            “List of kin or other relations.”

            “Parents, Evlin Mores and Rolsin Dynik, recorded as deceased. Institutional guardianship until age eleven. “

            Mores and Dynik...sound familiar...Coren could not remember. “Then what?”

            “Elective sponsorship.”.’

            “Name of sponsor?”

            Under security lock.”

            “Hack it. I want that name.”

            “Working.”

            Damik’s parents seemed so familiar, as if he had met them or seen their names

            The list of people in Wenithal’s investigation.

            He needed to check it again and verify, but now that he remembered he was sure.

            “Finished,” his Desk reported. “Sponsor listed as Wenithal, Ree, agent with Eurosector police. “

FOURTEEN

_A

dinner?” Derec shook his head at the image on the comm screen. Ariel returned his cynical look. “I don’t get this,” he continued. “Two days ago we were all but persona non grata and now Setaris is inviting you to embassy soirees.”

            “It gets better,” Ariel said. “ Jonis will be there.”

            “Taprin...it occurs to me that you’re being used here.”

            “Really?” Ariel intoned with mock dismay. “I asked Lanra to be my guest. One good surprise is worth another.”

            “Do you trust him?”

            “Of course not. He hasn’t told us half of what he’s looking into.”

            “Fair is fair. We aren’t telling him everything, either.”

            Ariel shrugged. “Do you want to take odds on whether the two lines of inquiry intersect?”

            “I’m not sure I want them to.”

            “Well...Lanra asked me if Chassik would be there tonight. I asked him why, and he said it was something he stumbled on.”

            “Chassik. What could he possibly want with Chassik?”

            “I have some opinions. Did you know that Solaria owns Nova Levis?”

            “That hasn’t come out in the newsnets.”

            “No, and it may not. They owned it before it was Nova Levis, when it was no more than a Solaria mining franchise called Cassus Thole. The colony--a Settler colony--is a lease agreement that was originally set up between Solaria and the Church of Organic Sapiens.”

            Derec started. “Looms’ church?”

            “The same, only back before they were so rabidly antispace. Now, just to heap coincidence upon coincidence, Gale Chassik was one of the initial investors in a biomed research lab called--are you ready?--Nova Levis, which was closed after having been investigated for infant brokering.”

            Derec whistled. “Convergence is imminent.”

            “So it seems. How’s it coming with the robot?”

            Derec glanced across the small workspace at Rana. She stared, rapt, at the banks of screens, calibrating the myriad details of Thales’ link to facilitate a precise excavation. The robot itself remained where it had been left, on its pallet, now connected to Thales and Rana’s console via several heavy cables.

            “I’d say another half-hour, we’ll have the interface running at an acceptable level,” he said. A small icon in the upper left corner of the comm screen revealed Thales’ presence in the exchange, monitoring security and running an encryption routine. Ariel saw the same icon on her end, otherwise she would never speak so freely on a commline.

            “Speaking of things robotic,” Derec said, “the director here is a man named Rotij Polifos. Do you know anything about him?”

            “No. Should I?”

            “He’s been director for seven years. I was just thinking,, it’s kind of unusual for an Auroran to stay in a Terran posting like this for that long. Don’t they usually rotate out more regularly?”

            “Usually. Maybe he likes it.”

            Derec frowned. “Maybe. “

            “Is there a problem?”

            “No, I just...it seems odd, that’s all.”

            “Have Hofton look into it. Keep your mind on the robot, Derec. “

            “Right, right. You know, Lanra wants us to prove a robot committed the murders. There’s no way, Ariel. Not this one, anyway. It’s just a standard DW-12 with a few added modules--nothing I don’t recognize--and it’s showing a nearly textbook collapse pattern. It couldn’t even have made the crack in the cargo bin, not without some tools.”

            “Oh, I don’t doubt the robot you have is innocent. What I’m wondering is, why didn’t the robot prevent the deaths? If a second robot had been involved, as unlikely as it sounds, this one should have intervened. Has Sipha Palen told you much yet?”

            “No. She wants us to run the excavation without any preconceptions. I can understand that.”

            “Get it done ASAP. I want to move this to the next level.”

            Derec raised an eyebrow. “What next level?”

            “I’m sending you a packet to go over in private,” Ariel replied. “About Nova Levis. Very interesting reading.”

            “The colony, or the lab you mentioned?”

            “Both. The list of shareholders in the lab is intriguing all by itself. Chassik isn’t the only surprise.” She looked away for a few seconds. PACKET RECEIVED appeared along the bottom of Derec’s screen.

            “Got it,” he said. “Be careful tonight, Ariel. We don’t want to be deported for bad taste.”

            Ariel’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Derec, please! I? Bad taste?”

            Derec smiled. “Forgive me. I do know better.”

            She grinned. “Have fun.”

            The screen went blank then, except for Thales’ icon and the notice of the data packet. Derec plugged his personal datum into the board.

            “Download the packet for me, Thales,” he said. “I’ll look at it later.”

            “I would recommend sooner,” Thales said. “I compiled the raw data. It may be more relevant than you might think. “

            “‘Keep your mind on the robot,’ Ariel said. I’ll add it to the list, thanks. “

            Lights winked on the datum’s pad. He scooted his chair over by Rana. She worked with confidence, clearly in control, comfortable in her expertise. Better than Derec remembered, and he remembered her as being very good.

            “I suppose,” Rana said slowly, “that it’s occurred to you that you’re both being used.”

            “You think so?”

            “You’re being set up to take blame.”

            “That would be consistent.”

            “Then why are you going along with it?”

            “It’s a question of being deported now or later. The longer we put it off, the more chance there is to avoid it completely.”

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

            “Shouldn’t I?” She shrugged. “I suppose you’re thinking that you might find something in this mess--” she waved at the screens “--that will make you so valuable to someone that they’ll intercede on your behalf and restore you to former glory.”

            “Something like that.”

            Rana shook her head. “I can’t imagine why. All I want to do is get away from this planet, and all you want to do is stay.” She turned to look at him. “Why?”

            “We’ve been over this before,” Derec said uncomfortably.

            “Yes we have. And you’ve never given me an answer. Excuses, reasons, justifications, but not an answer.” Rana glanced toward the curtain that isolated them from the rest of the lab. “This planet has treated you pretty badly. Hell, it’s treated me badly and I was born here; you weren’t. I grew up on Earth and I have no place here. I’m leaving first chance I get, to go somewhere I might be appreciated.”

            “Aurora is just as bad in different ways.”

            “But it’s not personal the way it is here.”

            “Who told you that?”

            “My co-workers, for one. After they got over the idea of a Terran who understood positronics, they treated me as an equal. “

            Derec shook his head. “No. You just haven’t learned to read the signs.”

            Rana cut the air with her hand. “Stop. It is different because I have skills they value. Maybe it will be only more of the same in a new way, but for now it feels like respect. I already know what I don’t have on Earth. “

            “So what is your question?”

            “Why are you so set on trying to stay here?”

            “You think there’s one answer?”

            “No, but there’s usually one thing that validates all the rest.”

            Derec stared at her, mind suddenly blank. “I never thought about it that way before,” he heard himself say. He no longer looked at Rana, but at a point just past her right shoulder, as if waiting for something to resolve in the air behind her.

            “I don’t need an answer now, boss,” Rana said. He refocussed on her.

            “Um...”

            “And I can manage this,” she said, turning back to the console.

            Conversation abruptly terminated, Derec went over to the gurney, annoyed and impressed by Rana.

            Beyond the fabric curtain he could hear the other lab workers moving and speaking in low tones. He leaned on the edge of the pallet and gazed down the length of the robot.

            “So where did you come from?” he muttered.

            The torso showed age and use. Scratches gave the impression of a complicated urban map etched in bronze. The metal gleamed dully through patches of tarnish and encrusted grime. Plates covered linkages thirty centimeters below its arms that allowed extra limbs to be connected. The arms themselves, three-jointed and thick, ended in finely articulated six-digit hands. The legs depended from a rotating platform beneath the torso shell. Derec noted more removable coverplates on the platform hiding assemblies to which secondary legs or support braces or tractor modules or one of several other modifications could be fitted. The DW-12 was a large robot, two-and-a-half meters tall, designed for a multiplicity of heavy tasks in conjunction with human workers, very adaptable, with an advanced positronic brain that allowed for considerable independence and problem-solving capacity.

            Vaguely humaniform, the head was little more than a protective helmet curving over the intricate sensor array behind the mesh-covered eyes. A complex architecture of connections rose out of the torso and joined the brain that lay within the chest cavity to the communications and sensory apparatus beneath the headcap. The normally thick column had been modified by the addition of accessory modules and cables. Normally, the “neck” would be covered by a smooth carapace, but the extra components jutted out like synthetic goiters, requiring a specially-fitted casement no one had bothered to acquire.

            Derec frowned at the overall dirty appearance. This robot had been worked hard for a long time. Hiding it, as would be necessary on Earth, probably prevented the owner from caring for it as thoroughly as needed, but he would have expected Palen’s forensics people to clean it up in the course of their inspection.

            But no thorough examination had been made.

            Derec started going over it more carefully.

            He felt beneath the headcap for the release and flipped the cover off, revealing the strutwork that caged the components. He took a rag and small bottle of solvent from the workbench and lightly cleaned off grime from the smooth surfaces until he found the serial number. He jotted it down and went to the comm, where he fed it to Thales to be encrypted and sent to Ariel.

            Derec made note of each component he recognized within the head. Optical and aural receptors and translators, UV and Infrared telemetric assemblers, gas traps linked to interferometers, location and attitude modules--nothing unexpected. He wanted to turn it over to get inside the torso shell, but not till Thales finished the excavation.

            On its right side, below the accessory limb coverplate, new metal shone brighter than the surrounding surface. A fifteen-centimeter square area had been replaced, the weld itself invisible but for the age difference in the material. Derec went over the rest of the body for signs of recent damage, but found none.

            He tried to imagine its last minutes. A chamber full of humans died around it. What would its reaction have been? Derec tapped his finger arrhythmic ally on the pallet.

            One human had been assaulted: Nyom Looms had suffered a broken neck. And this robot had failed to protect her from an alleged second robot.

            Which had now disappeared.

            Ridiculous.

            Derec turned over first one robotic hand, then the other.

            A dark substance filled the joints of three fingers, palm-side, of the right hand. Derec tried to flex them open but the segments were too tight. He found a small flathead screwdriver among the tools on the workbench. He slid a sheet of paper beneath the hand, then pried one of the segments open and dug at the matter embedded within the joint. Flakes fell to the paper.

            He looked around their workstation. No magnifier. Derec carefully brushed the recovered material into a small dish, clapped a lid on it, and stepped from behind the blind.

            Three technicians worked at two stations across the chamber. Derec spotted the equipment he needed against the wall to his left, midway between the curtain and the techs. He strode across the lab as if he did so every day and sat down at the console.

            Within seconds, he had the magnifier powered up and the dish in the drawer of the observation platform. He keyed for a relatively low magnification--200X--and let the machine perform.

            The screen showed him three distinct substances: two clearly artificial--one crystalline and the other fibrous. The third was blood.

            He tapped a command to separate out the three materials and deposit them in separate dishes. A few seconds later, a different drawer in the platform slid out bearing three dishes. Derec pocketed the one containing the blood and reinserted the one with the crystalline material.

            “May I help you; sir?”

            Derec looked around at a young female technician standing anxiously behind him.

            “No, I have what I need. Thank you.”

            “Um...”

            “It’s all right, I’ll clear it with your director.”

            “Did you find something?” another tech asked, suddenly leaning past the first and gazing at the image on the screen.

            Derec switched it off. The man frowned.

            “I’m fine,” Derec said. “If I need help, I’ll ask.”

            The man met Derec’s gaze coldly, without the scowl of offended dignity and violated territoriality Derec expected. Derec sensed that it would be a mistake to look away, to yield at all to this one. He would lose his samples and the presumed privileges he had just accorded himself, access to any and all parts of the lab.

            “I am qualified to ask for help,” Derec said. “I’ve had years of practice.”

            The tech smiled thinly. “Of course, sir. Sorry to bother you.”

            The first technician watched her coworker retreat.

            “Where’s the infirmary?” Derec asked. His legs trembled slightly.

            “Next level,” she replied, pointing downward.

            “Thank you.” He removed the sample tray from the magnifier and wiped the machine’s log. “I want one of these in our area when I return.”

            “Yes, sir,” she said uncertainly.

            “It is authorized. “ He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “It wouldn’t do anyone any good for me to take this to Director Polifos. Would it?”

            “No, sir. No.” She glanced in the direction of the other tech.

            “Don’t worry about him,” Derec said. “He’s an amateur.”

            She gave him a surprised smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to procuring you a magnifier.”

            Samples in his pocket, Derec walked out of the lab, feeling the male tech ‘s eyes on him all the way to the door. He wondered what internal politics he had just upset and how, if at all, it applied to him.

An elderly Auroran named Greler attended the infirmary. After a brief exchange of names, Greler amiably ran a complete scan of the blood samples and handed a disk to Derec along with his sample.

            “Apologies for being unable to run the match for you,” Greler said. “This sort of thing must go through Kopernik Medical. You can take it to them and have it done.”

            “Thanks. “

            Derec returned to the positronics lab.

            He walked in to find two more techs sitting with the first pair. All of them fell silent when they saw him and watched as he crossed the floor to the curtained station. Derec felt a prickle up the back of his neck.

            Hofton waited with Rana, along with Rotij Polifos and Yart Leri.

            Polifos wore a pinched expression. Ambassador Leri looked concerned. Hofton and Rana seemed mildly puzzled.

            “Mr. Avery--” Leri began.

            “I would appreciate,” Polifos cut in immediately, “that any and all requests for equipment or special analyses be made through me. This is my lab.”

            Derec did not respond. Polifos looked frustrated. When he finally broke eye contact, Derec looked at Leri.

            “I was under the impression that we had your full cooperation.”

            “Of course,” Leri said, glaring briefly at Polifos. “I apologize for any misunderstandings, but we are answerable to Ambassador Setaris and, through her, Aurora itself. We’re used to a more regular set of procedures. “

            Polifos blinked in amazement at Leri. “I should have been told what this was all about. I am responsible to the Calvin Institute and the Positronics Commission--directly--and any and all matters concerning robots and other positronic entities within and involving this facility are my responsibility. I’m required to report, oversee, and voucher all activities--”

            “You don’t have to quote the code to me,” Leri snapped. “This is, I repeat, an unusual circumstance--”

            “I have this authority precisely for unusual circumstances! All due respect to Mr. Avery, he is not the only roboticist on Earth, and unless I have a very good reason to relinquish my responsibilities, I cannot allow him to simply take over--”

            “No one is taking over,” Leri said.

            “Stop interrupting me.”

            “Stop jumping to conclusions! You didn’t know about this because I didn’t know! I didn’t know because Ambassador Setaris told me I wouldn’t know! She has asked for the utmost discretion, and I will not tolerate petty fits of temper over personal slights!”

            “I can’t cooperate with Mr. Avery unless I know what he’s doing,” Polifos said.

            “I agree, “ Hofton said. “Can’t expect useful cooperation from ignorance. “

            “Perhaps I was remiss,” Leri admitted. “But I was told that your work was highly confidential and that a minimum of interference was in order.”

            “Misunderstandings are easy under these circumstances,” Derec said. “Evidently, I was misinformed about protocol myself. “

            Leri looked sheepish. “I, uh...”

            “Director Polifos and I can work this out, I’m sure,” Derec said.

            “Well.” Leri gave Polifos one last glare.

            Polifos did not look away this time. “I do not want Palen’s goons tramping through here as if it were their office and we were criminals. “

            “Under the circumstances, we don’t have much choice,” Leri snapped. “Now, straighten all this out with Mr. Avery. I’m too busy to do arbitration over bruised egos.” He looked at Derec. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Avery. If you have any more trouble...”

            He stormed off. Huddled techs watched him leave.

            Derec turned to Polifos. “Chief Palen?”

            “One of our staff was arrested,” Polifos said. “Nothing unusual in that--the man in question has a history of running afoul with Palen.”

            “Doesn’t sound like someone you’d want to keep on staff,” Hofton observed.

            “We have personnel shortages,” Polifos said. He seemed distracted. “But even so, I’ve tried to get this one rotated back to Aurora and it simply doesn’t happen.” He shook his head impatiently. “That isn’t the real problem. What is the problem is her people have been in and out of my lab since yesterday, questioning my staff. Then you show up, and the next thing I see is Palen herself with your man Hofton here bringing in a robot of which I had no knowledge! I can’t help but think that it’s all connected. Your presence has changed our relationship with Palen, and not for the better.”

            Derec exchanged a look with Hofton. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about--”

            Polifos cut him off. “No, I don’t imagine you do, nor would you even if you did. One of her police appears in the doorway, points, and expects to be followed. Our arrangement with the Terran authorities here is peculiar to say the least--we were all required to concede that Palen is in charge of all security throughout the station. Makes sense, I suppose, but--”

            “We were informed about none of this,” Hofton said. “When was the arrest made?”

            Rana frowned at Hofton but said nothing.

            “Shortly before you arrived,” Rotij said. “Naturally we’re nervous. “

            “What are the charges?” Hofton asked.

            “Disorderly conduct. But Palen’s been questioning my people about smuggling. “ Polifos snorted in disbelief. “Smuggling! Why would an Auroran engage in smuggling?”

            Derec looked across the lab and recognized the tense look in the eyes of the staff.

            Derec stepped close to Polifos. “I want that equipment, Director. Soon as possible. The quicker we get done here, the sooner we’ll be out of your lab and away from your people. But we want the equipment here. I don’t want any more confusion over who’s responsible for what.”

            “No, we don’t,” Polifos answered sharply. “All right.” He stepped around the blind. “Hovis!”

            Derec looked at Hofton. “What’s this about?”

            “You stepped on toes in your walk across hallowed ground,” Hofton said. “Someone complained. The accusation that we’re plants from Palen materialized. There’s a rather ugly atmosphere here. Also,” he lowered his voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier. I tried to look into Director Polifos’s record. This posting and credentials from the Calvin Institute were all I could find. There’s a security block on records older than Kopernik.”

            “Terran security?”

            “No, sir. Auroran.”

            Derec stared at Hofton, for a moment uncomprehending. Then he shook his head. “We’d better proceed on the assumption that we have even less time than we started with.” He showed the disk to Hofton. “I had the blood sample screened and typed.”

            “Blood sample?” Hofton asked.

            “The robot’s hand. I found material in the finger joints. Some of it is blood. The rest I’ll look at when I get the proper equipment.”

            “Blood. Wonderful. That should help exonerate the robot.”

            Derec slipped the disk into the comm console. “We’re going to need a complete autopsy report on all the victims, I think. And I want to look at that cargo bin. In person, not on a screen.”

            “I’ll see what I can do,” Hofton said.

            “One way or the other, we need to see for ourselves.”

            “I understand. “

            Derec turned to address his RI. “Thales, I’m sending a blood screen. I want you to run a match through all available databases.”

            “Yes, Derec. That may take some time.”

            “I can wait. “ He pressed SEND and turned to Rana. “How’s the link?”

            “Established. Thales is beginning the first level excavation now. I’ve set up buffers to receive intact memory nodes as they’re found and retrieved. We should be able to view them in isolation.”

            “Good, good.” Derec went to the edge of the blind and watched a pair of technicians setting up a magnifier on a cart. “I want a complete scan for eyes and ears on all this equipment. Have Thales do one on the lab itself.”

            “All of it?” Rana asked.

            “Every bit.”

            “Derec,” Thales said, “I have a consanguinity match.”

            “Already?”

            “Given the probable source of the sample, I began with the most obvious. I am continuing through the rest of the databases on the chance of finding an exact match. “

            “All right, what do you have?”

            “There is a 99% match to Nyom Looms. “

            “So...it’s her blood?”

            “No. I can display the details, but the distinction is clear. This sample came from a male.“

            “Her father, perhaps?” Rana suggested.

            “No, Rana. Even given the unlikelihood that Rega Looms would permit a robot close enough to him to touch, I ran the same match against his genome and it remains only a close match, not identical. The markers I used to verify distinctions number two hundred eighteen. There is no significant margin for error. The sample belongs to a male relative of both Rega and Nyom Looms, probably a son and brother.”

            “Son...” Derec mused. “Looms never had a son.”

            “The record would so substantiate. However, there are always possible oversights.”

            “‘Oversights’,” Hofton said. “Interesting way to put it. Have you typed the sample against Looms’ wife?”

            “Yes. The same degree of consanguinity. The logical implication is that Nyom Looms had a brother. However, no record of such a relative is forthcoming.”

            “Can you determine age, Thales?” Derec asked.

            “That is proving difficult, Derec. Normally there are mutations over time in the chemistry and base DNA. Proteins provide a reliable clock. But this sample shows an incongruity of results. Certain proteins suggest an age of twenty-nine, others an age of ten.”

            “Rehab treatments?” Hofton suggested.

            “The requisite chemical signatures of all known rejuvenation or rehabilitation protocols are absent. This does not preclude that one or more have not been employed that are unknown, but I cannot consequently give you an accurate estimate of age. “

            “Send this data to Ariel, Thales,” Derec said. “Continue your search for an exact match. Add the databases of all rejuvenation clinics extending back a period of, oh, thirty-five years, and see if anything turns up. “

            “Yes, Derec.”

            “Nyom had a brother she didn’t know about?” Hofton said. “Amazing. Imagine that, from a man like Looms.”

            “Call Palen,” Derec said. “We need to see those bodies and all the autopsy reports. “ He stared across the lab, watching the personnel, and realized after a moment that he was looking for something that did not fit. “Thales, ask Ariel to run a background on Rotij Polifos. “