Mirage

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  Oddly, Mia could not sleep once Bogard left. She sat propped against the itchy bark of a pine tree, her injured leg stretched straight out atop a bed of fallen needles, and stared through the small breaks in the evergreens surrounding her, listening to the dissociated sounds of the park, unable to tell which belonged and which meant threat.

  It seemed, though, that she had slept enough and now found herself on the other side of a nightmare. The events in Union Station did not feel real, but more like a fiction or the events of history as witnessed by someone else. Not her. She had not lived through an assassination attempt, or seen her employer killed. She had not chased a murderer and in turn nearly been murdered. She had not been carried from a hospital room less than two minutes before it was bombed. She was not cowering under cover of bushes, unable to cross a street and enter her own home for fear of being arrested or killed.

  Not Mia Daventri. This sort of thing happened to others, never to her, and whoever this was happening to would never experience it again. Perhaps they were not experiencing it now but only waiting for sleep to resume or end so the waking world next time she visited it would show her that it all had been a dream, a chimera, a mirage of the mind.

  I could ask Bogard... she thought.

  The robot could do either, though, she realized: comfort her by confirming her hypothesis, or dispel the desperate rationalization just concocted. Safer, perhaps, not to ask it just yet.

  She heard the crisp crackle of twigs snap nearby and her breath caught.

  Dreams can only threaten and illusions only kill when you surrender to them...

  The shrubs around her shifted delicately. She pressed her hands to the ground, muscles tightening. She could not run, and she doubted she could do much more than annoy someone in a fight.

  A branch moved aside, and a blunt helmet -shape with a streak of white light peered in at her.

  “I have the things you requested,” Bogard said in a clear whisper.

  Mia’s breath sounded explosively loud in her own ears.

  “Bogard...” she breathed, relieved.

  “Your domicile has been compromised,” Bogard explained.

  “Listening devices as well as full visual surveillance, including a tap on your com line. I detected only two personnel: the one in the transport, the other waiting in the lobby. I did not procure sufficient data for recognition, per your instructions.”

  “Good, good... you did good, Bogard.”

  Mia tapped at her portable datum and watched the diagnostic examine itself for intrusions. It came up clean. Perhaps later she could get a more complete diagnostic, just in case, but for now she had to trust her own safeguards.

  Time for the next decision. Now that she knew she was under surveillance, she also knew she could not report to One. Someone on the inside could intercept her before she got to him. She was a competent, even talented, agent, but she was relatively new on the job and had no illusions about the limits of her experience. She needed a place to recover completely and think clearly.

  But where?

  She opened her list of names and started scrolling. Most of the people she knew well worked for the Service. Going to one of them was a fifty-fifty chance that they were involved or would become targets themselves. She winced inwardly at the solid recognition that she could trust none of her former colleagues. Who did that leave? Relatives? No. Her parents were dead, most of her brothers and sisters had emigrated to a Settler colony, except Toj, but he lived in Europe now. Besides, it would be unfair to make them targets, especially since they were known to the Service and were probably being watched in case she did contact them. Her best friend from university had broken off their friendship when Mia had signed for Special Service. The rest of her friends... well, none were close enough to ask this kind of favor from. If they were, she could not see that it would help. They did not know what it entailed. She would be putting them in danger.

  This was frustrating. Paranoia occluded every possible action.

  Mia stopped scrolling and stared at the name that now appeared on the screen. Gradually, she felt herself begin to hope.

  “Bogard, help me get dressed. I know where we’re going.”

  _

  SEVEN

  Ariel listened to the quiet music, eyes closed, and wished for sleep. The day had stretched till it felt like two had been compressed into one.

  The delicate sound of ice in liquid clattering against a glass brought her attention back to the present. Jonis Taprin smiled tensely at her as he sat down in the chair opposite her own, his back to her wall-length window. Beyond, D. C. ’s roof sprawled in the night, marked by guide towers and isolated pools of light outlining the expanse of shell beneath which millions of people worked, ate, slept, lived their entire lives without ever seeing the stars except on a screen in a classroom or library. A few enclaves erupted from the surface to boldly challenge the open sky, homes of the unaffected rich and offworld visitors who found constant enclosure beneath tons of metal intolerable.

  Ariel absently rubbed the sole of her left foot with the toes of her right. “Why is it, after hours and hours of sitting in front of a com, my feet hurt?”

  “I’d rub them for you,” Jonis said, “but Jennie might think I’m hurting you.”

  Ariel lifted the glass Jonis had set beside her, ignoring the remark. Jonis no more worried that Ariel’s personal robot would object than she did, but he liked Ariel to invite him to touch her, a game she occasionally appreciated but one that he overdid. “Thanks,” she said, “I think I’ve earned this.” She sipped. “Sorry I haven’t had time to talk. It’s been chaotic.”

  “Same here. More so, maybe. Clar’s death has left a vacuum large enough to swallow the sun. I appreciate you let ting me hide out for a few hours. This may be the last reprieve I get for the foreseeable future.”

  “If your office is half as insane as mine...” She let the remark fade unfinished. Jonis had been on the verge of some sort of breakdown since he had arrived. Oddly, he seemed guilty about something--perhaps survivor’s shame. Besides being his vice senator, Jonis Taprin had been Eliton ‘s friend.

  Jonis glanced over his shoulder at the view. “I’m getting better. Maybe by the time you agree to cohabit, I might even be used to it.”

  Ariel felt herself tense at the remark, but covered her reaction by rubbing her eyes.

  “Want to talk about it?” When she gave him a sharp look, he raised a hand defensively. “Your day, I mean.”

  “Oh, it’s...” Ariel sighed. “Have you ever tried to calm down someone who is terrified for no good reason?”

  “Just today, as a matter of fact. I think I’m about to be doing a lot of that.”

  “I’ve been in contact with, oh, thirty-five or forty people since the incident, all Aurorans, all important people, all ready to book passage on the next ship back to Aurora. All I had to do was convince them to stay.”

  “Did you?”

  “Most of them. A few can’t be consoled or mollified or threatened. They’re leaving.”

  “What about Guviya Tralen? Isn’t she the key to the rest?”

  “You might say that,” Ariel agreed. “The rest follow her example. If she buys on the Terran Exchange, Aurorans the world over buy. If she sells, they sell.”

  “If she runs home...?”

  “Exactly. I’d rather negotiate with a Managin sometimes. She said, ‘My good Ariel, this planet is a sick place. There’s no fixing it. Too much time, too much history, too much ingrowth. We’re wasting resources on trying to come to terms with them. Our ancestors were right to leave and the Settlers are right, much as it pains me to admit that anything born on this world can be right. ‘ “

  Jonis raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Well, her analysis is sound. I’m not sure I’d agree that we’re sick.”

  Ariel waved a hand. “Talk. She wanted me to offer her something.”

  “And did you?”

  “I offered her a blot on her reputation if she ran. Some
times that’s more important to a Spacer--at least to an Auroran--than comfort, security, and happiness.”

  “So she’s staying?”

  “At least until the investigation is done. If arrests are made, then I think I can pressure her to stay on.”

  “You’re wonderful, Ariel. If your fellow Aurorans leave now everything Clar and Humadros worked for would fall apart. The treaty is still there, even if the architects are not, and there’s no reason to think we can’t still get it ratified.”

  “Has there been any progress?”

  “In the investigation?” Jonis shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Of course, it’s a little soon.”

  “I thought you had prisoners?”

  “I haven’t heard anything from any interrogation.” He sighed tiredly. “I’m not looking forward to the next few days, either. I have to contact the families of Clar’s security team and tell them all their children are dead.”

  Ariel saw the anguish on his face. Jonis was very much the politician in public-controlled, reserved, emotional when necessary. In many ways he was the perfect successor to Clar Eliton. She wondered sometimes that he had never run against Eliton in a general election, contenting himself to be Vice Senator Taprin, but he worked very effectively behind the scenes while Eliton presented the more visible public face. In the months she had known him, Ariel had found him to be as much an idealist as Eliton, but coupled with a practicality Eliton had seemed to lack. Now he would step into the senatorial position and she looked forward to seeing what he would make of it.

  “A waste,” she said. “Did you know them?”

  “Not well, but then Special Service doesn’t encourage intimacy on the part of their operatives.”

  For a moment Ariel considered inviting him to spend the night. But she had a lot on her mind and wanted to sleep and knew if he stayed that neither of them would.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

  Jonis started. “Hmm? Oh, sorry, I drifted... um, I have a meeting with the Euro Sector Bilateral Commission on Manufactures and Distribution.” He gave her a sour grin. “Thrilling stuff. I can’t wait to write my memoirs and take up the challenge of making this all sound romantic.” He shrugged. “But absolutely necessary. They need to be reassured that the talks are going ahead. Oh, I should warn you--Senator Covidry is going to propose a delay of five days.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not entirely in disagreement with him--it would give us time to reorganize where necessary and give the police a chance to find the perpetrators. This has been a hell of a shock, to put it mildly. But Clar wouldn’t delay, he’d push right ahead. So I’m honorbound to fight a delay. Expect it to pass, though.”

  “You really admired him, didn’t you?”

  “Clar? yes. He wasn’t a fake. His convictions meant something. He couldn’t always say what they were, but you could tell they were there, supporting him. A rare man.” Jonis glanced at his wrist. “Damn, it’s after midnight. I better get out of here and let you get some sleep.”

  Ariel relaxed. A consummate politician, Jonis, always correctly gauging his public, and knowing exactly when to make an exit. She got to her feet wearily and let him embrace her. His lips brushed her ear briefly.

  “I’ll call,” he said.

  “You get some sleep, too.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She walked him to the door. R. Jennie waited with his jacket. Jonis cocked an eyebrow at the robot. “Goodnight, Jennie.”

  “Good evening, sir. I trust you had a pleasant visit?”

  “Too brief, but very pleasant.” He winked at Ariel.

  “Later.”

  When the door closed after him, Ariel sighed heavily. “I’m going to have to make a decision about him some day, Jennie.”

  “May I be of assistance?”

  “No, I don’t think you can help with this one.” She took another drink.

  Jonis was the first person she had become intimate with since she and Derec had parted. At first it had been convenient--their schedules and duties guaranteed that they saw each other only for short times at odd intervals--but Jonis had become more and more insistent on a formal arrangement. She was uncertain that she wanted--had ever wanted--quite that much companionship.

  “It is late, Ariel,” R. Jennie said. “You have an early appointment in the morning.”

  “Are you telling me I’m up past my bedtime, Jennie?”

  “You do usually retire before eleven in the evening if you do not have guests staying over.”

  Ariel looked at the robot. R. Jennie wore her humaniform mask tonight, a pleasant, beige-colored face with bluish eyes and the suggestion of a smile. The features did not move, giving it an antique flavor, but it was better than the medieval machine mask Ariel had it wear when Earthers came to visit. The revulsion of Earthers to humaniform robots struck her as their most perverse trait, but she accepted it as part of life here and did her best not to aggravate the problem.

  Which made it all the more irritating when Spacer vendors circumvented the rules and sold humaniforms anyway, like that fool Udal. Imports were controlled, so how had he even gotten them? And then to have the gall to come to her and demand action against the vandals... she needed to inspect his warehouses, squeeze him a little to see if she could find the leak. Just now the last thing any of them needed was a black market import scandal.

  Ariel shook her head. “Can’t sleep, Jennie. Too much on my mind.”

  “Would you like a soporific?”

  “No. Why don’t you shut down for the night, Jennie? I’ll go to bed soon.”

  “Very well, Ariel. Good night.”

  She barely heard R. Jennie pad away to her niche.

  Ariel yawned and stretched. She went to the window, glass in hand. Somewhere out there was the ocean, the Atlantic. Aurora had nothing like it, just a series of big lakes and artesian springs, underground rivers. Of all the features of Earth only the oceans disturbed her, the only natural force that seemed to match the lemming irrationality of Earth’s people.

  She did not tell Jonis the rest of her conversation with Guviya, grand matron of Auroran business. She wondered if she ever would, even though it bore directly on her decision to be alone tonight. It had been a brief exchange. After Guviya’s pronouncement on Earth’s sickness, Ariel had said, “Perhaps. But when your brother or sister falls ill, you help them. You don’t turn your back on them or throw them away.”

  “Of course not,” Guviya had replied, “but we don’t allow them to become ill in the first place.”

  Ariel had wanted to reach through the link and slap her for hypocrisy. No, heaven forbid a Spacer become ill, what might that say about the culture? Perhaps Ariel expected too much to hope that Guviya would understand her point. Guviya did not know that turned backs and disposal had been precisely the treatment Ariel had received from her fellow Aurorans, many years ago and a lifetime away. Or did she?

  Her com chimed and she moaned.

  “I said no more calls.”

  Another chime. She took her drink and crossed the room to the panel.

  “Accept, voice only.”

  “My apologies, Ariel,” came Hofton’s voice over the com. “I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, but I wish you had. That would mean I’d gotten some sleep tonight.”

  “I thought this couldn’t wait. The surviving members of the Auroran legation are demanding immediate transport back up to Kopernik Station.”

  “Survivors... how many are there?”

  “Four. I’ll forward their bios.”

  “Wait, Hofton, I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do? Shouldn’t Lys handle--oh.” Ariel felt foolish. Lys was dead. Who else had gone down from the embassy? They had been fortunate that Setaris had refrained from attending, but the rest of her key staff had gone. “Sony, that’s a silly question. But this isn’t really my job.”

  “It seems to be now--they were all forwarded to this office. I’m sure it’
s only temporary, Ariel. Besides, I thought perhaps you might regard their departure as something of a problem in light of all the damage control we did today. The legation itself leaving...?”

  “Of course, but hasn’t Setaris talked to them?”

  “I would assume so, but...”

  “I can’t blame them for wanting out. No one we talked to today had been shot at.” Ariel turned her glass, letting the ice rattle. “Maybe one of them could stay... All right, I’ll make one more call. Who’s in authority now?”

  “I’m not exactly clear on that,” Hofton replied. “Either Benen Yarick or Tro Aspil, but I gather there’s an internal dispute of some kind.”

  “Fine, I’ll talk to--” Ariel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Tro Aspil?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Slightly. I didn’t realize he’d risen to this level. He was just an intern at the Institute last time we spoke. I’ll call him first. Thank you, Hofton.”

  “I’ll try not to disturb you for the rest of the evening.”

  “Thanks,” Ariel said wryly. Her buffer indicated receipt of Hofton’s profiles. The connection ended and she accessed the files, then placed her first call.