by Isaac Asimov
“Who? Oh, yes. Never mind. Anyway, he should be on his way up within the next hour or two. He’s coming in company with an officer of the Auroran embassy, a fellow named Hofton. Meet them, keep the heat off them, and get them to their embassy branch as quietly and quickly as possible. Avery’s position with Terran authorities is... what would be a good word?... fluid. I don’t want him busted and deported before he can do us any good.”
“Consider it done. Nobody arrests anyone on my station unless I say so.”
“Good, good. I’m also sending you a list of names. This is a fishing expedition, frankly, but it might turn up something. See if any of the deceased match in any way.”
“I’ll do what I can. Have you found your informant?”
“No. Someone else is looking for her, too. It might be a race.” He thought about that. “Keep your people alert to her coming through Kopernik. If she’s on the run she might try leaving Earth.”
“Got a description?”
“I’ll forward you an image. What about on your end? Anything new?”
“We found some fibers on the bin that match fibers taken from Nyom Looms’ fingernails. She fought. Our target may be banged up a bit.”
Somehow I doubt that, Coren thought. “What kind of fibers?”
“Synthetic of some kind. We’re still analyzing it. I’ll let you know when we identify it.” She paused. “You’re sending Derec Avery up. Does that mean you’re staying down?”
“Afraid so. I’ve got some things to follow up.”
“And you really don’t want to get back on a shuttle, do you?”
Coren smiled wryly. “No, not really. Sorry.”
“You’re going to have to get over that some day. Especially if you ever expect me to continue our friendship.”
“We’ll see.”
“Uh-huh.”
Coren shrugged. “Hey, can I help it if I’m just an ordinary Terran?”
“You aren’t, though. That’s why your aversion annoys me.”
“Yes, well...” He felt awkward, caught wordless. “Did you tell Looms?” she asked.
“Um... yes. He took it better than I expected. Or maybe not. It’s hard to read him, sometimes.”
“Does he want you to keep looking?”
“Yes.”
“You would, anyway.”
“Yes.”
Sipha nodded as if understanding something else about him. “Let me get back to work. I’ll see to it Mr. Avery gets to the Auroran embassy.”
“Right.” Coren started to reach for the disconnect, then hesitated. “Sipha, have you ever caught anyone smuggling stolen children through Kopernik?”
She stared at him, momentarily stunned. “No. Why?”
“Something... just a peripheral bit of information I stumbled on. An old case, nothing current. Just thought I’d ask. Thanks.”
“Talk to you later.”
The screen went blank.
Coren cleared his throat and shrugged, as if trying to physically reset his thinking. “Desk, do you have that public file on Wenithal’s last case?”
“Yes.”
“Display it, please.”
The screen filled with text. Coren leaned forward and began to read.
Eleven
UNION STATION D. C. looked much the same as always, but Derec never felt at ease with it–not after the assassinations and the subsequent ruin of his company and his hopes. The floor had long since been cleansed of blood and now shone with the high polish of smokey mirrors. People hurried about their business beneath its cavernous arch, announcements echoed over the P. A., and no one seemed to notice how much it had changed.
As Derec walked toward the customs desk, Hofton behind him carrying a large bag and a columnar container, he kept looking around, searching, until he realized what it was he sought.
Robots. There were no robots.
Union Station had once, for a short time, been a kind of free zone where robots worked openly. The Terran Senate had passed special legislation to allow positronics here, as a testing ground to see how Earthers would react, and to show Earthers the nature of robots. Spacers came through Union Station D. C. and no other port on Earth, so it was convenient to provide them with a reception area that offered familiar accommodations. A Resident Intelligence had been installed to supervise the complex operations of the facility and manage all the robots. Derec’s company, the Phylaxis Group, had overseen its installation and had been contracted to do the maintenance and troubleshooting for it, but subsequent events took all that away. And more.
He was nervous here: partly because it had been months since he had visited Union Station and his last memory of it held death, and partly because this was the first time since the trials at which the conspirators in the assassinations were found guilty and sentenced he had left the embassy. Though treated primarily as witnesses, Derec’s staff had been detained and questioned for several weeks, and at least one person had been arrested on a minor charge tangentially related to Phylaxis and its activities. In the aftermath, it had been made clear to Derec that his presence on Earth may be required indefinitely. He was to make himself available to the court.
His passport had been confiscated.
Later, Ariel had let him know that she had interceded in his arrest. His Auroran citizenship was reinstated and he received a new passport, but his position became tenuous in the course of action taken by ITE to challenge the new document, and an injunction resulted barring him from leaving Earth.
“Legally,” Ariel had explained, “this is absurd. It’s a gesture. They can’t keep you from leaving unless they arrest you. They can’t arrest you on Auroran soil. If you do leave, your Auroran passport won’t be questioned anywhere else and without criminal charges being filed, there are no grounds for extradition. They’re trying to keep you here because they don’t know what they want to do with you. You frighten them. We all do.”
I have news for you, Ariel, he now thought as he placed his one small bag on the customs desk, they frighten me...
Hofton set his burdens on the desk beside Derec’s and extracted a disk from his jacket. He handed it to the attendant.
“I didn’t even have a chance to find out anything about the director of the lab,” Derec said. “Rotij Polifos. Never heard of him.”
“I had a chance,” Hofton said. “And?”
“I think later...?”
Derec looked at the customs attendant, who seemed totally absorbed by their documents. “Sure,” he said.
In retrospect, Derec realized that he saw the attendant push the button. She closed out one screen, turned smoothly, and her hand brushed across a depression on the desk to the right of her keypad. A second later, she handed Hofton a disk.
“Derec Avery?”
Derec turned to the voice and found himself confronted by three men in uniform and a fourth in a dark suit. One of the uniforms stood closest.
“Yes?” Derec replied, his pulse picking up.
“Port Authority,” the uniform said. “Would you come with us, please?”
“Um … I …”
“Excuse me, officer,” Hofton said, stepping forward. “Is there a problem?”
“We have some questions for Mr. Avery.”
“You may ask them here. We have a shuttle to catch.”
The uniform frowned. “Who are you?”
Hofton extended his ill. The officer slipped the disk into a palm reader, then showed it to the man in the suit.
“We are on Auroran embassy business, “Hofton said. “Unless you have specific issues that you are willing to state publicly, you have no legal grounds to detain us. Our passage is to Kopernik Station and we will be staying at the embassy annex there. I can cite you the relevant part of the diplomatic accommodations code if you like, but I believe you already know it.”
“There’s no need to–” the man in the suit said.
“Identify yourself, sir,” Hofton said. “Are you also Port Authority? If not, ple
ase produce a valid warrant.”
“Warrant...?”
“If you wish to detain Mr. Avery, I believe a warrant is required–you may not do so on spec. If there is such a warrant, we are permitted to return to the Auroran embassy here for consultation with our law department. Mr. Avery is currently working under a brief from Ambassador Burgess. You may check that. The brief extends her diplomatic immunity to her agents. You may check that in the code as well. But you may not detain us while you do so unless you have a valid warrant.”
“What is the nature of your visit to Kopernik?” the man in the suit asked.
“You have not yet identified yourself,” Hofton said. “Mr. Avery is not obligated to answer that.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“No, sir. If I were I would have settled this matter by now. I’m giving you the benefit of a less predatory disposition.”
The man in the suit stepped forward, his face reddening. “That man,” he said, jabbing a finger at Derec, “does not leave this planet.”
“I repeat,” Hofton said calmly, “do you have a valid warrant?”
Derec watched, stunned, as if time had stopped. Hofton did not flinch, did not smile, did not do anything that might have looked like an actionable gesture. The man in the suit reddened further.
“You have no authority to prevent him, “Hofton said finally. “If you attempt to do so, the Auroran embassy will file a formal complaint. If you do not have that warrant, I can also promise that you will no longer hold the position you currently do. Now, there’s an easy solution. Kopernik is technically Earth. A satellite, true, and not on the ground, but if you check you will see that it qualifies as Earth. Mr. Avery is not leaving Earth.”
“That’s facile,” the man in the suit said.
“Yes. But legal.”
One of the uniforms was smiling. The man in the suit stepped back.
“I’ll be contacting my people on Kopernik,” he said. “We’ll have this conversation sooner or later.”
“You’ll have plenty of time then to enjoin Mr. Avery from further travel outsystem,” Hofton said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a shuttle to catch. “Hofton turned to the custom attendant. “Please return my original disk now.”
The attendant paled visibly and handed over another disk.
“Thank you,” Hofton said and grabbed the container and the bag. “Mr. Avery?”
Shaken, Derec managed to walk toward the debarkation concourse.
Halfway to the shuttle, he glanced at Hofton. “How true was all that?”
“Mostly,” Hofton said. “I was guessing that they had no warrant, which is the only reason I could think that might prevent them from detaining us. As for what the Auroran embassy would do if he had insisted–which he could have... well, I rather doubt they’d risk an incident over you.”
“You bluffed,” Derec said in amazement.
Hofton nodded. “Successfully, I think.”
Derec took his briefcase from the Kopernik customs inspector, nodded curtly, and walked forward, into the debarkation lounge. From space, Kopernik Station resembled a child’s construction from struts and blocks and spheres, additions over time added to the original dumbbell configuration giving the impression of an abstract model builder’s idea of a tree. Symmetry could be sensed but not directly observed.
The interior looked no different from any brightly-lit warren on Earth. The debarkation lounge resembled the foyer of a hostel. Derec had dozed during the last half-hour of the flight and felt slightly muddled. He searched for signs directing him to the Spacer section, which should be nearby. He noticed a pair of women off to his right who seemed to be waiting for someone.
Then he saw a station security officer to the left, also watching for someone. Anxious, he increased his pace.
“Mr. Avery?” a man called from behind him.
A sickly warm sensation erupted within him, spreading out from his stomach.
“Sir,” Hofton called.
“Mr. Avery–” the man repeated.
“Derec, wait,” a woman said.
Derec hesitated at the familiar voice, almost turned to look, and stumbled a few steps. A passerby caught his arm, steadying him. Derec jerked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Thank you.”
“Derec, “Hofton said, coming around to block his path.
“Derec,” came the familiar-sounding voice again. Female. Where?
One of the two women he had noticed grinned at him. Thick mahogany hair haloed her rounded face. She wore a loose-fitting shift and pants, Auroran-style. Derec stared at her, sure he should know her and unable to name her.
Standing beside her was the second woman–taller, dark-skinned, athletic, dressed in a suit that suggested a uniform. She radiated authority and he wondered what trick or bluff Hofton could do now to get them to the Spacer embassy. He swallowed hard and made himself stay put.
“Sir,” Hofton said. “I believe our contact is here.”
“Hi, boss, “the familiar woman said.
Derec stared, recognizing her now. “Rana...? Rana Duvan....?”
Her grin widened.
“Mr. Avery?” the dark woman asked quietly, stopping within arm’s length.
“Y-yes?”
“I’m Sipha Palen,” she said, extending a hand. “Coren told me to expect you. I apologize for being late.”
Tentatively, Derec clasped her hand. The grip was dry and strong. Abruptly, he felt very foolish.
“Ms. Palen, yes. I–” He looked past her at Rana. “Would you excuse me?”
He set his briefcase down at Hofton’s feet and embraced Rana. Her arms came around his back and squeezed him.
“I don’t–” he began.
“It’s good to see–”
“–what are you–?”
“–too long–” she commented.
“–can’t believe it, you look–”
Derec’s breath escaped in a heavy sigh, simultaneously with Rana ‘s sharp laugh. He stepped back. Her eyes glistened and she wiped at them impatiently.
“What are you doing here?” Derec asked.
Rana smiled. “I’m your embassy contact.”
“Embassy...?”
“Long story,” she said. “Later.” She nodded in Sipha Palen’s direction. “Business.”
Palen watched with a bemused gleam in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back.
“Sorry,” Derec said. “Rana and I used to work together. It’s been a while since we saw each other.”
“Of course,” Palen said.
“Um... yes, Mr. Lanra said you’d meet us. You’re chief of security?”
“Every bit of it, “she said, smiling. “Welcome to Kopernik.”
“Thank you. I believe I’m supposed to oversee an excavation on a positronic brain?” He looked at Rana, who shrugged.
“We haven’t let it out of our lockup yet, “Palen said. “Now that you’re here, we can get started.”
“Rana is more than qualified–”
“Coren and I have agreed to a certain protocol in this case. You are part of it.”
“I see. Well, then, let’s get started. I understand there’s a time limit?”
“There is. I’ll take you to the robot directly and we’ll all escort it to the Auroran embassy, if that’s acceptable to you, Ms. Duvan.”
“I’m not in charge of the embassy,” Rana said. She glanced at Hofton. “If it’s been cleared with Yart, then...”
“I’ve already secured the appropriate clearances,” Hofton said. “Ambassador Leri is aware that certain unusual circumstances prevail. We have his cooperation.”
“Good,” Sipha Palen said. “Then...?” She made a gesture for them all to proceed.
Derec retrieved his briefcase and they fell into a group, he and Palen in the lead, Hofton and Rana following. As they passed beneath the arch leading to the main concourse, Derec glanced to the left and saw a tall man in a knee-length ivory coat. His face was almost as pale as his coat
, but mottled, as if from scarring. The faintest trails of hair traced across his scalp above a high forehead, and sharp, golden-green eyes shifted slowly, intently. He stood facing the customs aisles, as if waiting for someone, but as they walked by, he turned to watch Derec and his companions. It seemed to Derec, just for a moment, that the man smiled. Too brief to get a firm sense about it, but Derec thought he recognized a sign of familiarity and satisfaction in that expression.
Then Derec was through the archway and out of sight. He had never seen the man before. He knew he did not want to meet him. The reaction was irrational and after several steps he dismissed the entire episode as a leftover of his anxiety.
Must be Palen’s man, he thought. It made sense. By the time they reached the embassy branch, Derec had forgotten all about him.
Palen’s section looked cramped. The doors were narrow and the passageways claustrophobic. The main desk nearly filled the front office, the bulkheads behind it filled with communications equipment that appeared constantly active. As they’ entered, two uniformed officers looked up from where they sat behind the long, heavy counter.
“Chief–” one started.
“Not now,” Palen said. “Where’s Oler?”
“Back in the lockup,” the other officer said.
“Chief,” the first one said again, “you’ve got a message here from an Agent Harwol, TBI. He says it’s urgent, would you–”
“Later, “Palen cut him off.
Without another word, Palen led the way around the end of the desk and into a corridor. At the other end, they emerged into a wide, low-ceilinged chamber lined with cells. Derec counted three people behind the transparent doors, none of whom bothered to look up as Palen’s group filed through. One, though, caught Derec’s eye–a Spacer, judging by the clothes.
Adjacent to the cell block was another chamber about the same size, but without the cells; instead, tables, chairs, and a few couches littered the floor. Against one wall stood an autochef and a samovar.
A short woman with no hair sat at one table, bent over a reader, one hand wrapped around a tall cup. She looked up.
“We’re here to get the tinhead, Oler,” Palen said. “Get us a gurney, will you?”