Asimov’s Future History Volume 9

by Isaac Asimov

  “But it frightened you,” Ariel said. “The research.”

  “Yes, Ms. Burgess, it did. To preserve the few, we were threatening the very definition of ‘human.’”

  “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

  “Is it? Where’s the line? Do you know where it is? Would you call your positronic creations ‘living; Ms. Burgess? I wouldn’t. And I saw no good in blurring the distinctions further, no matter how many suffering infants it saved.”

  “So you bailed out,” Coren said. “Did you know there was a sister lab on a Settler colony?”

  “No. But that wouldn’t have changed my decision.”

  Coren sighed wearily. “It’s too late to stop this, Rega. I have to finish.”

  “Why? I left it alone for almost thirty years, why can’t you drop it now?”

  “I...” Coren coughed. “I loved Nyom. This is personal for me.”

  “You work for me.”

  “I quit.”

  Looms’ face reddened.

  “This is out of your hands anyway, Mr. Looms,” Ariel said. “Aurora has a joint interest in this with Terran authorities. Nova Levis is the source of a problem to which your naivety may well have given birth.”

  “You can’t make me responsible for any of this.”

  “No? Try this: If you hadn’t turned your back on what you did and pretended since that it never happened, maybe what’s happened now would never have gotten this far. You surrendered any chance of control over it when you surrendered your responsibility.”

  “I did not act alone!”

  “None of us ever do. Some of us forget that, though. Then there’s a mess to clean up.” She stepped up to Coren. “Mr. Lanra, Aurora offers you a job working on our behalf in this matter. Along with that comes our sanction and protection.”

  Coren could not look away from Looms, even when he said, “I accept, Ambassador Burgess.”

  A day earlier, the expression of betrayal he saw on Looms’ face would have broken his heart. Now it only annoyed him.

  “Very well,” Looms said finally. “If you insist on going ahead. Use whatever facilities DyNan has. Both of you. Any assistance my company may offer, feel free to use, Ms. Burgess.”

  He walked past Coren, to the door. For a moment, Coren thought he might look back. But Looms passed through, out of the suite.

  “You didn’t tell him that his son is still alive,” Ariel said.

  “I see no purpose in cruelty now.” Coren looked around the office as if trying to memorize its details. “Besides, “he said at length, “is it really his son anymore?”

  Twenty-Seven

  “THE CONFIGURATIONS IN the memory buffers are nonstandard, Derec.”

  Derec glanced at the console. “That’s what I expected, Thales. Can you access them?”

  “Yes, but I cannot guarantee any degree of coherence.”

  Everyone had gathered around the platform on which lay the slightly viscous mass of cyborg brain tissue and nearly fifty centimeters of what resembled spinal column. Instead of distinct vertebrae separated by disks, the spine was composed of overlapping sheathes that attached on clusters of bearing-like spheres.

  Derec had found positronic nodes within the brain mass, though their links to the actual neurons of the brain were difficult to determine. Fine cables now entered the tissue, feeding back into the interface, connecting it to Thales.

  Derec looked around at the others. Rana sat at the main board, monitoring the link. Palen, Harwol, Masid, and Polifos stood on the opposite side of the platform. Baxin sat nearby, with two of Harwol’s agents.

  Thales/Bogard stood behind them.

  “Whatever you can give us, Thales,” Derec said.

  “Very well. I am translating through my own language processors. Stand by.”

  Silence stretched.

  A loud hiss emerged from the speakers. Three screens flickered to life. The far left-hand screen displayed alphanumerics. Derec recognized the symbology–inferential calculus and asymptotic series, standard approaches to positronic interactions–but the groupings did not appear logical. As the symbols flowed by, he spotted an equation that startled him:

  Then:

  He recognized it out of combinatorial topology, but its use here baffled him. “You’re copying this to Ariel, Thales?”

  “Yes, Derec.” Thales paused. “I am seeing invariant topologies expressed in Poincaré Sets. I surmise these are serving as anchor points between the organic neuronal structural and the positronic matrix.”

  “I’m glad you have some idea what it means.”

  The second screen showed abstract shapes broken at intervals by recognizable objects–faces, buildings, rooms. A catalogue of visual memory, delivered in a form Derec comprehended from ordinary positronic excavations.

  The third screen seemed to be nothing more than lists. Places, names, things.

  The speakers popped loudly. Then: “My owaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  The hiss seemed to modulate, then fade.

  In a faint voice, sexless and tired: “Make it stop.”

  Derec took a step toward Rana.

  “It moves! That’s what I like, more juice, give me some of that and that and turn it around again, stop it!”

  “Thales?” Derec prompted.

  “The memory is stored nonhierarchically,” Thales said. “More like a human brain, although storage is discreet rather than undifferentiated. I am trying other nodes.”

  The speaker crackled. “Kill it! What business does it have doing like that? I came here expecting nothing! Pull that or put it away I can do better than–”

  “Derec,” Thales said, “I have identified a structure that seems to be a positronic external interface.”

  “We can talk to it?” Rana asked, surprised.

  “You can’t have that, it’s too complex and I’m too one thing or another! Get out of my borrowed–”

  “Perhaps,” Thales said. “It depends on how reliable the connections are to the rest of the brain. It is presently generating conceptual axioms similar to an organic condition known as Korsakov’s Syndrome. Imposing order may not be possible.”

  “Let’s try it,” Derec said. “It is now active.”

  “Can you hear me?” Derec called out. Silence.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Several,” the speaker said. “Call me Shit For Brains, like Greeshal does when I don’t answer right away, nice guy Greeshal, should see me now, what do you want?”

  “I want the name you prefer.”

  “Cordios.”

  “What are you, Cordios?”

  “The answer to your problem.”

  “Do I have a problem?”

  “A lot of problems. Main one, you’re alive.”

  “So are you. Is that a problem, too?”

  “Wrong. Wrong. Error. Sorry.”

  “You aren’t alive?”

  “Not since I was born.”

  “When was that?”

  “Before I died.”

  “Cordios, do you remember becoming what you are?”

  “Do you remember being born?” it asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you must be human.”

  “Do you remember being born?” Derec asked.

  “Light, fade, pinpricks all through my head, I have now taken up the heat. Little nits chasing around through my spleen, see them run, see them caught and added to the dog. Everything hurts it feels right, for once I’m growing, I hear, I see, I touch when I want to... no, I don’t remember being born, just being reborn. The clarity! Look–at–that! If you made this then you must be good for something. Little shits can’t even reflect light, but boy do they inspire! Watch me Mommy while I kill the cat! If you don’t want me to break my toys then don’t give them to me, hypocrite, liar, that’s human, too. Left me here and all I did was breathe. Now I don’t even have to do that. Some things are worth dying for, you should see it from the other side.”

  “What is this?” Harwol ask
ed. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You want sense, tissue? Try this: evolution has infinite vectors, most of them unrecognized, a lot of them artificial. Evolution by design only happens when design evolves. Riddle, riddles, junior piddles, spank him nice and kill him twice. You’re all obsolete. Look at me, I’m the new standard.”

  Thunder burst from the speaker then, fading quickly to a whisper, then silence.

  “The interface has been deactivated, Derec,” Thales said. “Why?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You had no reason–?”

  “I did not deactivate it. The subject did.”

  “What does that mean?” Palen asked.

  “It means,” Derec said, “that this thing is still self-aware. It shut down the interface.”

  “Is that possible, boss?” Rana asked.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. But... Thales, see what you can salvage, then terminate the subject.”

  “I may have a problem with that, Derec.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is it human?”

  Derec considered the question. “I see. Then just terminate the excavation. I’ll deal with the remains.”

  “Yes, Derec.”

  The names still danced across the third screen, but now the other two showed nothing.

  “Thales, do you have any identification on the names being displayed?”

  “Yes, Derec. They are several lists combined. I have names of people currently employed in warehouses, shipping departments, and ITE offices. Dockworkers. Transportation specialists. There is a separate list of merchant ships. A considerable amount validates the information given by Yuri Pocivil. Another list of people and places which I infer from the locations are on Settler colonies. There is also a list matching files Ariel instructed me to locate regarding the kidnappings which precipitated the investigation that closed Nova Levis.”

  “They’re all the victims?”

  “Yes, Derec.”

  “I see. Copy all this to Ariel.”

  Derec walked away from the station. He could feel everyone watching him.

  “So, now what?” Masid asked.

  “We have to find them,” Derec said.

  “‘Them ‘?”

  “The rest. The cyborgs.”

  “So, now you’re convinced there’s more than one,” Harwol said.

  “Something like this... yes, I am. And we have to find them and stop them.”

  “Stop them from what?” Palen asked.

  “Taking our place.”

  Coren, Ariel, and Ambassador Setaris filled separate screens mounted on the wall of Palen’s private office. Harwol, Hofton, Masid, and Derec filled chairs around her desk.

  “Pocivil hasn’t shut up since he agreed to talk, “Palen said. “So far we’ve identified twenty-six locations for contraband, illegal transport, and warehousing on the ground, and seven bays here that are regular stops for the black market.”

  “Has he said anything about the operations being shut down?” Coren asked.

  “That’s why he was heading back to Cassus Thole,” Palen replied. “Operations on Earth are finished–so he says, anyway. Frankly, I doubt that.”

  “Maybe a temporary hiatus,” Ariel said. “They ceased before, after Wenithal’s investigation.”

  “We’re prepared to move on all the sites,” Harwol said. “Some of them are Spacer-owned, Ambassador Burgess. We’re waiting on you to clear us.”

  Ariel frowned. “Derec, the cyborg–I went over the autopsy and excavation reports a little while ago. How many of these do you think there could be?”

  “I have no way of knowing,” Derec said. “Seems safe to assume at least two of them–the one we have and the one down there. Blood scans confirm that this one here is not the same one that was in the cargo bin with the baleys. But as for how many there might be...” He shrugged.

  “We will sign off on the raids, Agent Harwol,” Setaris said, “under the condition that any cyborgs found, captured, or killed will be turned over to us for study.”

  Harwol looked unhappy, but he nodded. “Agreed.”

  “And I want my people to have access to the sites after they’re secured.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Ambassador.”

  “This isn’t a good time to play things too close, Agent Harwol,” Setaris stressed. “Your people know next to nothing about robots in the first place. You won’t know what you ‘re looking at if these sites contain positronic equipment, you won’t know how to deal with any robots on hand, and you certainly won’t know what to do with any of it afterward. If you encounter any cyborgs, you’ll be even less prepared.”

  Harwol cleared his throat. “I understand. How soon can you have people available to accompany our teams?”

  “Ariel?” Setaris asked.

  “Give the word,” Ariel said.

  Harwol was surprised. “Do you have that many?”

  “Enough for what we consider the key sites. I’ll copy the list to you. You have people on Kopernik who can fill the same roles there.”

  “Very well. I want to move on this within the next six hours, Ambassador. The sooner we do, the more of these people we can catch.”

  Ariel nodded. “Agreed. Coren and I will be going in with the Petrabor team. Coren has been there before.”

  “Mr. Lanra,” Harwol said, “you are aware of the possible risks. You aren’t an active agent–are you willing to submit to the team leader?”

  “My status is problematic, Agent Harwol,” Coren said. “Let’s stop talking and move.”

  “Very well. All agreed, on my authority. Chief Palen will coordinate the station raids. If we time this well, we can shut it down all at once.”

  Palen gave Harwol a dubious look but said nothing.

  “One more thing,” Derec said. “These cyborgs, if there are more, will not succumb to stuns. You ’11 have to use lethal force, a lot of it, and that means some humans will probably be killed as well. I suggest...” He hesitated, unsettled by his own thoughts. “I suggest you don’t worry about the human casualties. These things, loose, are far more dangerous.”

  Everyone stared at him for a time. He felt acutely uncomfortable.

  Masid spoke then. “Ambassador, what about the Spacer end?”

  “Pardon me?” Setaris asked.

  “Obviously, there’s a Spacer connection. Probably Solarian, most likely an embassy official. What will be done about that?”

  “We’re already working on that. We will take care of it.”

  Masid nodded.

  “All right, then,” Palen said, standing. “Let’s move.”

  Twenty-Eight

  COREN WATCHED THE TBI team sort and ready their equipment for the third time. The comm unit bead in his ear fed him updates on the status of all the other teams. He still could not quite believe they expected to pull this off–the final count had been thirty-one sites on the ground, and eight on Kopernik, all targeted to be hit simultaneously. It was ambitious.

  But the clearances had come through from the Aurorans, which, no doubt, would cause a furor within Spacer circles–several sites were Solarian-or Keresian-owned.

  Coren’s own pack lay at his feet; he had arrived prepared, and had never been one to check and recheck his equipment in nervous anticipation. He glanced around the edge of the bay, toward the warehouse across the alley–the same one where all this had begun. He distrusted tidy closures like this, but it seemed the most logical place for Tresha to go. She was either here waiting transport, or she was already on Kopernik–in which case, Sipha would grab her.

  At least this time I don’t feel like I need a bath...

  Ariel sat nearby, her back to the wall, eyes closed, arms folded over her chest, legs outstretched with ankles crossed. She gave the appearance, at least, of a seasoned field agent practicing patience, waiting for the Go signal. At this point, for all Coren knew, she was–everything he had assumed about her had turned out to be insufficie
nt for any reasonable assessment. Ariel Burgess did not conform to easy descriptions or predictable definitions.

  Like Nyom, he thought, only completely different...

  The TBI team leader approached her, and squatted down to talk. She spoke quietly and intently, instructing the ambassador on what she was expected to do. Ariel nodded and rose smoothly to her feet, then crossed the ancient floor of the bay and sat down. A dozen agents huddled around her for one more question-and-answer session.

  Telemetry chittered in Coren’s ear. Suddenly, he heard: “Set. Good to go.”

  He looked up and met the team leader’s eyes. She nodded. The huddle broke up into scurrying efficiency. In less than a minute, everyone was loaded up and waiting for the word.

  Coren pulled his mask down, hoisted the pack onto his shoulders, and jumped from the edge of the bay. He sprinted across the alley and leapt onto the apron of a mirror-image bay. He pressed against the wall and waited while the TBI team flowed throughout the alley, taking positions to cover him.

  Coren took a five-centimeter-square chit from his thigh pocket and slid it into the reader set in the wall. The bay door rumbled up and he ducked inside.

  Three dockworkers looked up from the workstation around which they stood, shocked by the sudden intrusion. Automatically, their hands went up as TBI agents rushed in, aiming weapons at them.

  “Down!” Coren hissed at the workers. They dropped to the floor obediently. “How many inside? Where?”

  “Um... short staffed,” one of the workers said. “Don’t, uh... there’s a special shipment, private... uh...”

  “Okay,” Coren said, tapping the man’s head. “Quiet.”

  Coren set the pack down on the loading dock. The sounds of the warehouse and the distant port thrummed in the vast open spaces, constant and oddly reassuring. Trucks, dollies, crates, containers, all furnished the area.

  He scooped out a handful of vonoomans and began methodically activating them. Upon release, they scampered into the recesses of the warehouse. He sealed the pack then took out his palm monitor.

  “Give them a few minutes,” he said to the team leader. He waved to an agent and pointed to the three workers. Immediately, they were restrained and moved out of the way. The team leader spoke intently into her comm.