by Isaac Asimov
“That’s better,” he said. “I like to know who is challenging me.”
One of the unveiled leaned forward. “You always knew who I was!”
“Yes, but now everyone does. So if I’m stabbed in the back, everyone will have a face to remember and a name to accuse.”
It amazed him sometimes how well unspoken communications functioned in this noncorporeal place. The tension around the table seemed to tingle over his skin.
“We’re moving all operations to Nova Levis,” the Chairman said. “From there, we can manage the coming campaign.”
“Are we going to war?” one of the others asked.
“We’ve been at war,” the Chairman said dryly. “We’re simply acknowledging it openly, at least among ourselves. I can’t see how this will have a negative effect. We may all become more focussed. I do not require all of you to join me there, though. You each have tasks which will be best carried out from other locations.”
“Why Nova Levis?” another asked. “It’s blockaded, the place is falling apart—it’s hellish.”
“Precisely. No one would expect anyone to move a power base to such a place. The blockade will give us the ideal blind from cover in which we can carry out our business. It has created tensions between all the factions and even though relations between Terran and Spacer are in some ways better, they are more fragile than ever before. If we damage that, we can compromise Aurora. And when Aurora finally falls, it will become the perfect world from which to orchestrate the final shift in power.”
He looked at them. He could see their interest, their avarice, even under their natural reticence and suspicion. They’re all worried what this is going to cost them . . .
“You’ve each been sent data packets since arriving at this meeting. In them you’ll find specific instructions. I’ve taken steps to ensure your safety as far as possible, but nothing worth doing is without risk. You’ve heard this before, of course, that the rewards are great. You’ve heard it before, heard it from me, and it has always been true. You’ve all gained enormous wealth through our association. Power. The only thing worth risking that for is more wealth and power. And status. Right now none of you can actually admit to anyone who you really are and what you really do. When this is finished, you may all step out of the shadows, into the full light of unchallenged status. Dawn is coming.”
A few smiles, nods all around, even from the two completely unmasked members.
“Good,” the Chairman said, slapping the table. “Let me show you the prize.”
Around the table, abruptly, a landscape shimmered into existence. Lush grass stretched away in all directions, toward low hills, fields filled with orchards, golden-barked serpentine oaks, and a cloudless turquoise sky. The Terrans at the table flinched. It had been a long time since their last visit here, and they were no longer used to the open-aired vistas in which the Chairman liked to hold his meetings. This, though, was even more striking. They were Outside, not even the pretense of a structure to shield them from the vastness of unenclosed nature.
“This is the prize,” the Chairman announced, standing. He waved around at the limitless sky and the pristine sward. “When we are done, this will be our capital, our home. We will live here.” He laughed and looked at them. Even those evidently pleased with the prospect seemed bemused. He laughed louder. “Don’t you recognize it? I said dawn was coming. This is what it will look like.
“This is Aurora.”
Chapter 1
ARIEL BURGESS OPENED her eyes in the dim room and stared up at the featureless ceiling. Dream images fled, dissipated against the flatness above. Lately her dreams seemed to be taking place from the perspective of a childhood she could not remember. It seemed appropriate that she could, on waking, retain nothing specific about the dreams.
But they had woken her early every morning for the past six weeks.
A heavy sigh, followed by oddly muted smacking sounds, drew her attention. Beside her, Coren rolled tentatively onto his right side, poised unconsciously for a few seconds, then twisted back onto his left side, his face half buried in pillow. He had kicked off his sheet again, though it persistently tangled his calves. Ariel never understood why he bothered with covers—he kept his apartment overly warm. She glanced down at herself, only covered up to her thighs.
Something primal about sleeping with a blanket, she thought. That must be it . . .
Ariel tried to fall back to sleep. It never worked, but Coren sometimes took it as a personal rebuke to wake up alone.
The hell with it, she thought, and eased out of bed.
She went to the kitchen and punched the autochef for coffee. A few seconds later, she took the steaming cup and went to the comm. She tapped in the code for her own apartment in the Spacer embassy enclave.
“Ambassador Burgess’s residence,” answered the faintly feminine voice of her robot.
“Jennie, it’s Ariel. Any messages?”
“Derec Avery wishes to speak with you at your convenience. Hofton called, but left no specific message. Ambassador Setaris wishes to see you as soon as possible.”
Ariel shivered briefly. Setaris . . .
“Thank you, Jennie. If Ambassador Setaris calls again, tell her I have not checked in. I’m taking personal time.”
“That would be a lie.”
“Exactly, Jennie. I am not now officially checking in. Understood?”
“And personal time?”
“Starting yesterday.”
“Very well, Ariel.”
“Are both Hofton and Derec still on Kopernik Station?”
“Hofton returned from Kopernik last night. Mr. Avery is still on Kopernik.”
“Fine. I’ll contact Hofton on my own. Patch me through to Derec.”
Ariel sipped her coffee while the complex transaction of making a secure connection between Coren Lanra’s apartment, through her own apartment in the Spacer embassy, to Derec on Kopernik Station proceeded. It took several seconds before Derec’s face appeared on the small screen.
His eyes widened briefly. Ariel leaned forward and adjusted the angle of view, limiting what Derec saw to just her face. Derec smiled.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Ariel answered wryly. “Setaris wants to see me. As soon as possible.”
“Ah. Have you spoken to her yet?”
“No. I thought it would be best to talk to you and Hofton first.”
Derec nodded. “Where are you?”
“I’m with Coren.”
Ariel saw the first hint of a frown, an instant of disapproval in his face, and felt a brief chill. Derec had never looked at her quite that way before. “Is that wise?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” She laughed self-effacingly. “I always seem to have better luck with Terrans.”
Derec looked surprised. “That’s not what I mean. Setaris wants to see you. Under current circumstances—political circumstances—”
“Oh.” Now she felt foolish. “Little late now to worry about that.”
“I suppose. Anyway, Hofton is on the ground, finishing up Thales’ transferral up here. Approval went through very quickly, so—”
“So it looks like we’re getting sent home after all.”
“I am, at least.”
“No, they’ve been treating us as a package. Every conversation I have with Setaris anymore, it’s ‘Mr. Avery and you’ or ‘Derec, you, others.’ I don’t think Setaris sees us as separate entities. If you’re going home, then I am, too. She just hasn’t told me yet.”
“She wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“Of course. Whenever Setaris wants something, it’s now. Has she spoken to you?”
“No, not directly, but I haven’t been able to talk to the liaison here as freely as I used to.”
“Is that why you called? To see if I knew anything?”
“Partly. I wanted you to see if, before you were completely shut out, you could at least sign off on Rana�
��s request for citizenship application.” For close to a year, his assistant, Rana Duvan, had been trying to get Auroran citizenship, partly because she hoped to study at the legendary Calvin Institute there. Mostly, however, it was because the troubles she, Derec, and Ariel had found themselves in had made Earth far too politically hot for her to remain.
Ariel tried to ignore the spike of irritation. “I thought that was already done. Hofton could take care of it.”
“Evidently not anymore. I received word that he’s been transferred out of your service, effective last night.”
“Oh.” The irritation turned to anger, then faded into a kind of hopeless resignation. “I see. So the shaft finishes its long journey into the heart.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Ariel said.
“No, but—hell, somebody should apologize and the people who did it to us certainly won’t.”
Ariel laughed. “Well. Look, thanks for caring. I’ll see what I can do for Rana. I have a few things I want to do before Setaris gives me my travel orders.”
“Talk to Hofton beforehand, all right? And be careful.”
“Always.”
She touched the disconnect and leaned back in the chair. After a moment, she turned. Coren stood in the doorway, watching her, a cup in his left hand.
“It’s almost over,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“I—maybe. Probably.”
“Setaris is looking for you. Derec’s getting final approval to take his Resident Intelligence up to Kopernik—which means Terran authorities have stopped trying to get him out of Auroran embassy space and just want him gone. And Hofton’s down here, probably looking for you, but reassigned.” He shrugged. “How long do you figure we have?”
The one thing about Coren Lanra she had yet to really understand was his complete lack of self-deception. He could be sentimental, but he always managed to isolate it from reality. Worse, his refusal to lie to himself forced her to a level of honesty that was immediate and unforgiving.
How long did they have? Ariel did not know how to judge. She had originally thought her transfer would come within days of being told she was going back. But that had been nearly two months ago. She knew things moved slowly through Spacer bureaucracy, but . . .
“Couple days,” she said. “At most.”
He took a drink from his cup, and came toward her. He stopped and brushed his fingers along the line of her jaw. “So what do you want to do?”
“Do I have options?”
“I could still make some calls, pull in a few favors, get you a Terran citizenship.”
“That’s a bit unlikely, don’t you think?”
“No. Not if you present it to the right people the right way.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m—it wouldn’t be comfortable.”
“All right. Then what do you want to do?”
Make love, she thought. They had done that nearly every day since Coren’s release from the hospital. She glanced at his right arm. The hair was beginning to grow back where the skin grafts had coated his wrist and forearm. Within, she knew, bone had been rebuilt. He had sustained other injuries from the cyborg Gamelin, but the arm had been the hardest to repair, taken the longest to recover.
Thinking about Gamelin, she asked, “Have you heard from Rega Looms lately?”
“No. I’m not on his keep-in-touch list.”
Coren’s former employer, whom Coren had walked out on, had sent only one communication that Ariel knew about—a large payment Coren assumed was severance pay.
Gamelin had been Rega Looms’ son at one time, abandoned in infancy, the victim of a chronic disorder for which there was no cure, only certain death after an undetermined length of time. Looms had kept the infant’s existence a secret from everyone, even the sister born a few years later—a sister the reconstructed, transformed, and returned scion had murdered, a sister with whom Coren had been in love once . . .
Quitting had been the only reasonable option Coren had left. He could not continue being Looms’ head of security when he no longer respected or trusted the man. Ariel thought she understood that.
But she had stubbornly refused to resign her own position with the Auroran legation after realizing that her own superiors had lied to her and used her and similarly destroyed her respect for them. She could not bring herself to quit. Is that a flaw or a virtue?
The past year and two months had been hellish. Friends killed, her mission on Earth for Aurora altered beyond recognition, old anxieties about her worth to Aurora resurrected. Cyborgs, of all things, appearing out the miasma of impossibility. The best she could do, the best she had done, was to simply hold on, ride it out, and do her job the best way she knew. Not that it mattered for her own career—any choice she made had put her more and more on the fast track to dismissal.
What do I want to do . . . ?
Not go home in disgrace.
Coren waited patiently. He possessed that ability in more abundance than any man she had ever known. He knew how to wait. He did it well.
What have I left unfinished? she wondered. Other than my life . . .
She looked up at him. “I want to see Nova Levis.”
Coren frowned. “The lab or the planet? There’s nothing in the lab. It’s been closed down for years.”
“So we were told.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded. “Get dressed.”
They stepped down the ramp from the semiballistic, into the press of the Indones Sector station. Ariel’s nose wrinkled at the sharp aromas. Just outside the transition lounge, vendors in kiosks hawked steaming foods, bright scarves that tied around the waist or across the shoulder, souvenir trinkets, and maps to the sector.
The concourse arched over them like the ribs of an ancient promenade. They made their way through the throngs, bags slung over shoulders, to the brightness at the far end.
Ariel and Coren emerged into a vast terminal. The domed ceiling above glowed with pearlescent light. Queues formed at all the desks, for travel either by tube, semiballistic, surface transport, or local service. Coren led the way to the local transport access and quickly secured a cab.
“DyNan Manual Industries local offices,” he told the autopilot.
“I thought you resigned from them,” Ariel said.
“I did. But I still have friends. I made a couple calls before we left.”
He opened his pack and pulled out a palm-sized device. He opened it out till it was nearly a meter square. A grid map appeared on its surface. He tapped a glowing green circle.
“The lab is somewhere in this block of old conversion,” he said. “Not sure precisely where, which is why I needed to make those calls.” He folded up his screen and slipped it back into the bag. “This whole region is constantly under construction. Most of it is underwater.”
“I know,” Ariel said. “The Pacific Ocean is above us even now.”
“Not yet. Another few kilometers.”
Ariel found his hand and squeezed. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers. She had a mental list of things she wanted to say to him. They rode all the way to the DyNan compound in silence.
The cab descended several levels, through narrower avenues lined with people and businesses and apartment blocks that seemed to crowd in even more than typically for Earth. The warrens pulsed with activity. Ariel felt a sudden craving. She wanted . . . but could not define what she wanted.
To stay . . . ?
Finally, the cab turned down an empty, private lane sandwiched between two high walls. It stopped at the gate at the end.
“Wait here,” Coren said, and got out.
Ariel watched him walk up to the gate and insert a card in the reader slot. A moment later, he used a different card. A door off to his right opened. He turned, grinning, and gestured for her to join him.
Ariel grabbed both packs and slid out of the cab.
Beyond the narrow entrance, they followed a
corridor to another doorway, which opened on a garden area. Glass-walled offices lined the opposite side of the arboretum. A man wound his way along the snaking pathway to meet them.
“Coren,” the man said, nodding as he stopped before them.
“Green,” Coren said.
“Coming back to work, boss?”
Coren looked surprised. “How’s that?”
Green looked uncertain then. “We heard you were injured.”
“You didn’t hear that I resigned?”
“Rumors . . . nothing anyone took seriously.” He frowned deeply. “Did you?”
Coren sighed. “I need a favor, Green. Depending on that we’ll see how true which rumors are.”
“Okay.”
“I need access to an old section in Teluk Tolo.”
“I take it you can’t get there through public services.”
“Let’s say I don’t want to bother anybody about it.”
Green nodded. “Let’s see what you need.” He glanced at Ariel. “You must be Ambassador Burgess.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Green Honli, branch security chief,” he said, extending a hand.
Ariel shook it. “Pleased to meet you.”
“There’s a snake out for you.”
Ariel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“How old?” Coren asked.
“Twelve hours,” Green said.
“What is a snake?” Ariel asked.
“One step down from a warrant,” Coren said. “On the quiet, a request for local authorities to locate and return you to your embassy. Nothing public, but a damn nuisance.” He hissed between his teeth. “All we need is a day, Green.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Come on, I’ve had housekeeping prep the visitor apartment.”
Less than a half-hour later, Green took them in a DyNan transport out another exit.
“We used to have a workforce of nearly three thousand,” Green explained. He gestured out the window at passing apartment blocks. “We housed them here. That’s been a few years. All this is empty. We’ve been negotiating with the local district housing authority for converting it to public domiciles, but we’re having a problem over squatting.”