Mirage

by Mark W. Tiedemann

“Hob Larkin.”

  Derec scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Any other ‘adjustment errors’ that you can think on”

  “A couple of times requested data got routed to the wrong place. It lost one of my reports once--I had to redraft the whole thing. Little stuff like that. But that was all early on. In the last, oh, year it’s been behaving perfectly.”

  “Until the other day.”

  “Yes.”

  Derec sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Kedder. If you think of anything else, let me know, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  “How are things going?”

  “Well, we’ve had Imbitek people in here all morning.”

  Derec raised an eyebrow. “Imbitek.”

  “Yes. The decision was made to convert over to nonpositronic systems. We already had some of Imbitek’s imbedded systems in place, so... sorry.”

  “Hm. That was fast.”

  “Not fast enough for management.” Kedder smiled wryly. “A lot of pilots won’t use us till the changeover is made--they just don’t trust positronics anymore. Not the Spacers, of course--they’re complaining for just the opposite reason, threatening not to come through here if we do switch to a nonpositronic system. It’s turned into as big a problem as it would be if we didn’t have a system at all. Do you have any idea how much traffic goes through here in a day?”

  “Of course,” Derec replied. “I just meant the selection of a new vendor. Bureaucracy doesn’t usually move that quickly.”

  “Fortunately, this time was an exception.”

  “Well, I’m glad something’s going right for you.”

  “How about you? How’s your investigation coming?”

  “Did you forget? Phylaxis was taken off that.”

  Kedder looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Yes, I--”

  “This was purely personal. Thanks, Mr. Kedder. Oh, by the way, could I speak with your associate, Mr. Hammis?”

  “He hasn’t come in yet. Normally we aren’t on shift together, just yesterday was...”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “I can tell him you called.”

  “Would you? Just some routine stuff.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you.” Derec closed the connection.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” Rana said. “Imbitek has something like sixty percent of Earth’s robotics market.”

  “Only don’t ever call it that to their face. It’s ‘imbedded service technologies’.” Derec steepled his fingers below his chin, staring unseeing at the blank com screen. “Who at the Calvin Institute would issue instructions for them to bypass the contract service…?”

  The company that had installed the RI had been Solarian, not Auroran, but there had had to be a Calvin representative to oversee it. Who had that been? Derec tapped the request in the datum.

  Bys Randic. He remembered her, but she had rotated back to Aurora several months ago. The company itself had been a midsized firm, not a bad choice, but certainly not the first that would have recommended itself to Derec. The byzantine complications of the Terran bidding process still baffled him--certainly there had been better firms, but the traditions of Earther government procurement could not be circumvented by straightforward Spacer logic. But he had been there during the entire operation as well and audited the process. Eliton had seen to that, since it came under his committee’s oversight. Other companies--mostly Terran--had installed the satellite systems, but the Calvin Institute rep had vetted the interfaces and pronounced them acceptable. Who, along that striated line of involved parties, could have overridden such a vital part of the process?

  He punched another code into the terminal. “Imbitek Corporation, how may I direct your call?” said a synthetic voice, ungendered and inoffensive.

  “I’d like to speak to the manager in charge of the refit at Union Station.”

  Derec waited while the AI system rolled the request around for a few seconds and decided what to do with it. Finally, it said, “One moment, please, while I connect you.”

  The moment became nearly a minute before a human voice, male, answered.

  “This Iva Kusk. How can I help you?”

  “This is Derec Avery of the Phylaxis Group, Mr. Kusk. I understand that Imbitek is installing new systems into Union Station.”

  “Phylaxis... ah, the robot people. Yes, we are. It’s my understanding that you’ve been removed from the project.”

  “That remains to be seen, sir. We have a contract to service the RI--”

  “Which is no longer functioning, am I correct?” Kusk interjected.

  “Well--”

  “Imbitek received an exclusive contract pursuant to the failure of the current system. It’s my understanding that the RI suffered total collapse. Under those circumstances, you have nothing to service.”

  “The positronics still need to be removed. I ought to oversee that, at least,” Derec countered.

  “We’re not removing it, the Solarians are. Take it up with them. As far as Imbitek is concerned, you have nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “Nevertheless--”

  “Nevertheless, Mr. Avery,” Kusk said sharply, “I think you know that we shouldn’t even be discussing this matter. Sorry I can’t be of more help, but when Special Service lays down the law, we’re not inclined to go around them. So, if there’s nothing else...”

  “Should you find yourself running into difficulties with some of those systems, Mr. Kusk, consider giving us a call before you destroy something you can’t replace.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Avery,” Kusk said smugly. “We’ll take that under advisement.”

  The connection died.

  “High marks for sincerity,” Rana said. “Demerits for tact.”

  Derec ignored her and called Imbitek back. He got the directory and asked to speak to Hob Larkin.

  “Hob Larkin no longer works for our firm,” the AI informed him. “Due to privacy restrictions we may not provide any other information.”

  Derec broke the connection and tapped yet another code. The emblem of the Terran Senate appeared on the screen. A moment later, a secretary took its place.

  “Senator Clar Eliton’s office. May I help you?”

  Derec noticed that her voice was strained, as if under firm control. “I’d like to speak to Jonis Taprin, please. This is Derec Avery of the Phylaxis Group.”

  “I’ll see if Vice Senator--Senator Taprin is available. Please hold.”

  Derec watched the time chop above the screen. The secretary reappeared after nearly a full minute.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Avery, but Senator Taprin is in a meeting. May I direct you to one of his aides?”

  “No, thank you. Please have him call me at his earliest convenience. It’s important. It concerns Union Station.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  The screen blanked.

  “He’s going to be tied up in meetings from now till the election,” Rana said.

  Derec nodded. “He’s got a big vacuum to fill.”

  “Why don’t you just call the Calvin Institute?”

  “Not yet.” He returned to her console.

  “Do I detect a hint of personal aversion?”

  “Not a bit. What are you doing?”

  Rana gave him a skeptical look, then pointed at her screen. “An excavation. I’m matching layers to see if anything turns up.”

  Derec shuddered at the idea. The RI was scrambled from the collapse. Whole segments of it no longer “lined up” to form a functional matrix. What Rana was attempting to do made random chance seem predictable by comparison.

  “That could take days. “

  “Thales is doing the gross sorting for me. “

  “Still...”

  “Uh-huh. Do you have a better idea?”

  Derec slid his chair to his own console and began entering commands. “As a matter of fact, no. But maybe one just as good. We can narrow it down by isolating out all other possible intrusive presences. A lot of com tr
affic goes through this thing”

  “But most of it is buffered to avoid direct contamination of the positronic matrix,” Rana concluded.

  “Of course it is. So anything that got past that--”

  “Would be worth a look. Of course. What about the RI performance record?”

  “Save it. I’ll look it over later.”

  Derec set up parameters for each type of communications link that the RI dealt with: regular com, systems interfaces with incoming shuttles, dialogues with maintenance drones, hotels, requisitions vendors, banks, security protocols with the various police services, subetheric links, interstellar traffic, interfaces with nonpositronic systems, and its own relays with its various service components. After establishing a firewall between the subject RI and Thales, he let the Group RI do the actual sorting, which took much less time than any other method. While the lists compiled, he wrote an instruction to search for mirror sites once everything was in a manageable state, looking for match points with the unexplained pathways Rana had found.

  They worked in silence for nearly three hours. The amount of data to go through remained immense and intimidating, but Derec sensed progress.

  The com chimed behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Vice Senator--now Senator--Taprin was returning his call.

  He punched ACCEPT.

  “Mr. Avery, how are you? How can I help?”

  “I’m fine, sir, if a little confused. There are a couple of matters I hope you can help me clear up. Phylaxis was taken off the investigation. I don’t know if you were aware of that.”

  Taprin frowned. “No, but I don’t keep that close tabs on what you do. Frankly, Clar tended to be very proprietary about the entire positronic issue.”

  Issue...? Derec thought. “Special Service assumed jurisdiction over the entire investigation, which is certainly their prerogative. But it ‘is unorthodox. I’m not aware that they have any positronic specialists on staff.”

  “I didn’t think they did, which was one reason to use you,” Taprin said. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you, sir. The other matter has to do with protocol regarding the Union Station RI. I’ve learned that someone gave directions shortly after it was installed that certain problems with the RI were to be referred directly to the Calvin Institute rather than us. I wondered if you could find out who issued that directive.”

  “I can look into it, but my authority stops at the Auroran Embassy door. You could ask them yourself.”

  “I’d rather it came from a more official source.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, the staff at Union Station wouldn’t be under Auroran authority. Whoever issued that directive had to have Terran authority.”

  “True. Now that I think about it, it is odd. I’ll see what I can find out for you. It might take some time. I’m swamped.”

  “Whatever you can give me, sir, I’d appreciate it.”

  “If, as you say, Special Service has removed you from the investigation--why are you interested?”

  The question surprised Derec. He hesitated uncertainly. “Well... I think we’d all like to know what went wrong, Senator. I thought you’d appreciate the input. Besides, I think this pertains directly to the future of Phylaxis. But beyond that, it seems pertinent to Senator Eliton’s work.”

  Tarpin nodded slowly. “Mmm. Very true. I’ll see. “

  “Thank you.”

  The screen went blank, leaving Derec with an odd, displaced feeling.

  Why am I interested?

  “We have something matching up,” Rana said.

  Derec hurried back to the console. On the main screen, columns lined up. As he watched, lines from each became highlighted, then isolated to another window.

  “Maintenance...” Derec read aloud. “Maintenance... maintenance... maintenance... all the exit pathways are mirroring to maintenance communications?”

  “That’s what it’s looking like. But the signals are not transmitted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they are strings of code going through the RI and routed back to the relevant site,” Rana explained. “They’re one-to-one. Something at the pathway site is injecting code directly.”

  Derec stared at the configurations on her screens. “There’s no routing... no buffer...? It’s as if something is directly attached to the physical node. ”.

  “Doesn’t make sense, I know, but that’s what it’s showing.”

  “We have to get in there and look at these components.”

  Rana laughed sharply. “Before Imbitek rips them out? Good luck.”

  Derec drummed his fingers. “They can’t. The Calvin Institute has to supervise removal of the positronic components--satellite systems and all.”

  Rana pursed her lips, but said nothing.

  Derec rapped his knuckles impatiently on the console and headed back to the comlink. “And so should we.” He punched in a code.

  “Calvin Institute. How may I direct your call?”

  “I want to speak to...” He hesitated, licked his lips, and sighed heavily. “I wish to speak to Ariel Burgess, please. Tell her it’s Derec Avery from the Phylaxis Group.”

  _

  ELEVEN

  Ariel got out of bed with the feeling that something was not right. Perhaps it was only that she had gotten five hours of sleep.

  She found Mia in the living room, occupying one of the oversized sofas. Her portable datum propped on her lap, a cup of coffee on the end table, and various disks scattered on the pillow beside her, she looked more like a business traveller than a government agent. Ariel was larger than Mia, and the borrowed robe seemed to swallow the smaller woman.

  The picture window was milky-white, allowing in morning light but not the view.

  “Good morning, Ariel,” R. Jennie said, trundling in with a tray of breakfast.

  “‘Morning” Jennie.”

  Mia looked up and smiled briefly. “Hi.”

  “You look better,” Ariel said. “How do you feel?” She glanced around the room until she found Bogard, halfway between Mia and the door, standing against the wall. It seemed somehow shrunken now, not nearly as imposing as the previous night.

  “Rested,” Mia said. She winced slightly. “Sore. My treatments weren’t finished.”

  R. Jennie set the tray on the breakfast table by the window. Ariel thought about moving it to the coffee table before Mia, but it was not too far away. And Bogard still made her a little nervous.

  Ariel sat down and lifted the cover from her eggs and hamsteak. “I’ll make the call to take care of that after I eat. What are you going to do afterward?”

  “After what?”

  “After you’re healed.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to decide. I can’t very well hide out here for the rest of my life. And I doubt you could get me an open passport to Aurora.”

  “You might be surprised what I can get you.”

  Mia raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She tapped the keypad on her datum for a few minutes while Ariel carved her ham and drank down half her cup of coffee. Ariel wondered if she should have Jennie prepare a large carafe for the day.

  Mia sighed heavily, then set the datum aside. She rubbed her face, then folded her arms. “I can’t run. If I do, we’ll never find out who did this.”

  “The media are all blaming the Managins.”

  “That might be partly true,” Mia said. “I think it was Managins that actually did the killing. I’ve started a search protocol on a couple of names that might be relevant and one of them came up within seconds: Lemus Milmor. He’s a known affiliate of OSMA, the Order for the Supremacy of Man Again. He’s in our database under a ‘To Be Watched’ flag because he was rejected by a Settler’s group for assaulting two people.”

  Mia shook her head. “Still. The Managins are a large faction, true. Lot of members, broad base. But to subvert the security systems in a place like Union Station? And get all those people and all thos
e weapons in without being detected at some point? And then to put me under surveillance and try to kill me? No. They have the motive but not the resources. Not on their own.”

  “There are other factions.”

  “I’ve been going through the list,” Mia said, gesturing at the datum. She grabbed her cup and cradled it. “TerraFirst, Primists, the HLA, the Fraternity of Organic Supremacy--if you take bits and pieces of several of them, you might get an effective team together that could attempt something like this. But they hate each other almost as much as they hate Spacers and robots.” Mia frowned. ”Sorry.”

  “For what? Are you a member of any of these organizations?”

  “No... well, maybe. The largest faction would have to be the Terran government.”

  “But you don’t go around killing Spacers to prove your point. Forget it.” Ariel shrugged. “Any other candidates on your list?”

  “There’s been corporate resistance to these talks all along.”

  “Positronics is a threat to homegrown industry. At least, they see it that way. We’re not so optimistic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s Spacer belief--an article of faith--that Earth will never allow positronics again. Some of us don’t believe that’s an absolute--after all, we got a Resident Intelligence installed at one of your largest spaceports--but we doubt Earth will ever embrace our robots to any great degree. Positronics will always be a small presence here.”

  “So what was this conference supposed to be about?” Mia asked.

  “Spacer technology is highly advanced, some of it very far advanced over what’s available on Earth. Earth would love to have some of it-like our medical tech--but Earth is afraid that opening the gates just a little will let all of it, including positronics, in. For our part, Spacers are worried about competition from some of your technologies that we find impressive. “

  “Like what?”

  Ariel ticked the list off with her fingers. “Transportation systems, automated databases, imbedded technologies, quasi-organic biomechanisms. But mainly mass manufacturing systems. Earth has a long history of production engineering that even with all we’ve done we can’t quite match. Frankly, I find the Terran aversion to positronics puzzling considering some of the things your people play with daily. Anyway, there’s fear of open trade both ways. Underlying commercial concerns, there’s fear of cultural contamination. But the main deal is the black market. Ever since the Tiberius incident, Earth has been treading very carefully. We almost went to war over that.”