Isaac Asimov's Aurora

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  “Are you suggesting Solaria does have something to do with this?”

  “A faction of them, almost certainly.” Setaris sighed. “It’s not your problem anymore, Ariel. You are out of this.”

  Despite herself, Ariel was forced to agree with Setaris. There was no other option. She had to go back to Aurora.

  She had known it was coming, that some pretext would be found to recall her, but still she thought she could avoid it. Now that it was real, she could find no flaw in the reasons.

  “Is Hofton still assigned to me?” she asked.

  “No. Hofton is staying here. He has duties.”

  That shook her even more, but she said nothing. After a minute or so, she stood.

  Then: “Why would anyone want to kill Chassik?”

  “That’s a very good question, Ariel. We’re hoping to answer it before all hell breaks loose.”

  “They did a wonderful job of keeping me in the dark,” Ariel commented sourly.

  Hofton and she sat at a small table in the embassy lounge, by the broad windows that gave them a view across the roof of the embassy, out to forest in the distance beneath open sky.

  “Everyone here is being kept ignorant of Ambassador Chassik’s death,” he said. “I didn’t know till two days ago. And to be fair, you did not exactly inspire our security people. Now that I think of it, maybe that’s the reason Byris has involved himself. You’re nominally attached to Intelligence, after all, and your actions have been questionable. At least to an outsider.”

  “I’m part of Auroran Intelligence now, Hofton, and I can’t find out anything. Don’t you find that funny?”

  “Riotously.”

  Ariel was startled at the glumness in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Hofton raised a hand. “Lately, I haven’t been my usual frivolous self. As for Ambassador Chassik, I believe only Ambassador Setaris and one or two of her personal staff knew any details of his death. There have been suggestions in certain circles that it was a Terran ship that attacked his liner. The Terrans are blaming pirates—an easy enough target—and since Aurora has been stepping up its presence on the Nova Levis blockade, accusations of collusion are inevitable.”

  “Hm. What’s your opinion?”

  “That returning to Aurora might be the safest option for you.”

  “Thanks. Why did it take so damn long? I expected to be on a ship a week after Chassik’s recall.”

  “Besides the usual glacial pace of Auroran bureaucratic process, the Terrans have been trying to keep you here.”

  “Why?”

  “It went through phases. First, there was the ongoing TBI investiga­tion about the cyborgs. They wanted you as an expert consultant. Then they wanted you as a material witness at the hearings. Failing to get that, they wanted to hire you. It graduated eventually to a demand for your arrest on charges of conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy to do what?”

  Hofton shrugged eloquently. “They simply don’t want you to leave. At least, some of them don’t. Senator Taprin is practically manic to get rid of you. The others I can understand—they want a source of information about a threat they don’t know anything about. Taprin is just . . .”

  “Taprin,” Ariel finished for him. “The problem is, I don’t know anything about cyborgs. None of us do.”

  “Mr. Avery has been learning quite a lot. Before our people seized the cyborg corpse we had on Kopernik, he recorded a great deal.”

  “Then why aren’t the Terran authorities trying to keep him?”

  “Oh, they have been trying. Setaris has successfully fended off every attempt.”

  Ariel thought about that. “Has it occurred to her that while she’s keep­ing us out of Terran hands they might be thinking her reasons are a bit more sinister than stated?”

  “You mean mightn’t they think we have something to do with the cyborgs?” He nodded. “I’m certain that has occurred to her, but she’s act­ing under orders from Aurora as well. I don’t think Ambassador Setaris has been happy with a single decision she’s been allowed to make in months.”

  “It’s falling apart, isn’t it?”

  “In my opinion,” Hofton said, “yes. Ever since Humadros was killed and Eliton’s conference self-destructed, things have gotten worse. And this Nova Levis thing is just aggravating it. You would have thought when an Auroran ship was attacked the Terrans would find common cause with us, that relations might ease up. But they keep worsening in too many other areas.”

  They sat in silence for a time, brooding.

  “Well,” Hofton said finally. “I have duties—”

  “Sure,” Ariel said. “Um . . . Hofton, I have a favor to ask.”

  “If I can help, of course.”

  “I need some grass analyzed.”

  Hofton gave her a quizzical look. “Grass?”

  4

  THE REFITTED cargo hold smelled of ancient oil, sweat, and hot plas­tic, odors so long embedded in the fabric of the ship that no cleans­ing could expunge them. That nearly eighty bodies were crammed in the narrow confines created by the false bulkheads—which hid the stacks of travel couches secured against the actual bulkheads—did nothing to make the aroma any more pleasant.

  “They told us we’d get used to it,” a woman observed sullenly from somewhere above.

  Masid Vorian looked up in her direction. He saw her feet dangling over the edge of her rack. “That,” he said with mock cheer, “and five cred­its will buy you any truth you want.”

  Laughter lightly cascaded around the collection of bunks. It was an old joke, but not so worn that desperately bored people would not find some humor still in it.

  Masid stretched on his couch. He estimated that they had been in transit now twelve days. Twice in that time the P.A. had barked at them to be as silent as possible due to imminent boarding. As far as he knew, the freighter had never been boarded. In between such moments of intense fear the time passed like sludge. It was too dark even to see each other clearly. He had heard the sounds of lovemaking a few times, but it was difficult in these cramped quarters to overcome the normal inhibi­tions against sex in public. Maybe others were simply good at being quiet at it. Conversation dwindled after several days, speculation on their chances of getting through and what it would be like once they arrived exhausting itself in the mix of ignorance and worry. One or two small groups chattered, their conversation ending the moment someone new tried to join in.

  Typical Terran cliquishness, Masid thought, born of equal parts arro­gance, stupidity, and paranoia.

  Masid suspected a few of the baleys might be other than Earth-borns, but no one willingly admitted it here. Maybe once they arrived on Nova Levis he might find one or two Settler-born.

  If they reached Nova Levis. Masid could not be certain, but he was convinced that the ship had had to change course at least twice, maybe three times. The ten-day transit had increased to twelve so far, and still no word from the crew about when they might arrive.

  The rations had been cut as well. Not bad, not yet, but it was not encouraging.

  It had already taken him longer to even get started on this trip than any previous one.

  Before slipping into this group of baleys, Masid had heard that Aurora was sending ships to reinforce the blockade around Nova Levis. He won­dered how much that might have reduced his chances of getting through . . .

  A low, barely audible vibration ran through the hull.

  What conversation there was ceased. Masid leaned his head out to peer up into the nearly-lightless spaces above.

  A hatch opened, spilling light into the cramped hold, and a man’s head and shoulders appeared.

  “Another inspection,” he called. “Keep it still, everything’ll be all right.”

  The hatch sealed again and immediately the chatter increased.

  “The man said quiet!” Masid shouted.

  Silence fell at once.

  Masid adjusted the pack on which he rested his head, settled
himself with hands folded over his chest, and closed his eyes. The best way to wait an inspection out was sleep, he believed. Anything more active was a sure way to get found.

  He kept track of the various sounds transmitted throughout the ship, the creaks and scrapes and shiftings, and guessed the point at which boarding occurred. There was still a chance they might get past all this, but—

  A whisper passed his ear. Masid’s eyes snapped open. Air moved. He heard it again, like something small and fast whizzing through the air. He swallowed, knowing—

  The hatch opened again and a new voice boomed through the confines.

  “Everyone out.”

  Damn . . .

  Masid took his time. The others climbed up the scaffolding to the hatch, their small bundles clutched in one arm or slung over tired shoul­ders. Masid felt for them. Most had spent whatever credit they had left to get this far. They had nothing to go back to, nothing to see them through. Depending on who their captors were, they could look forward to intern­ment camps, transition camps, or a quick trip back to their point of ori­gin. And then nothing.

  He heard a few sobs.

  “Come on, come on,” the voice urged from above.

  At least they didn’t cut the gravity, he thought. Likely they’re Spacers, then, not Terrans . . .

  “No stragglers, we’ve got a head count, come on out.”

  Masid waited until he was nearly the last. Then he rolled out of the couch, finding the footholds on the bracing. He snagged his pack deftly and slung it over his shoulder, then began the climb up to the hatch.

  Webbing stretched across the gap between hull and false bulkhead. Some of the older baleys had a little difficulty negotiating it, but when he reached the webbing himself, Masid saw several uniformed officers giv­ing ample help.

  Dull reddish-brown uniforms with gold flashings at high collars and waists: Theians.

  A strong hand caught his arm and drew him into the corridor. Theians formed a line, handing the baleys along toward the ship’s main lock. Masid followed, smiling grimly, looking from face to face. The Theians looked mildly embarrassed about the whole business.

  At the hatch to the lock area a pair of robots seemed to monitor the entire procedure.

  Masid stepped between them—

  —and locked eyes with a Theian officer. He hesitated and let himself smile just a little more.

  The officer turned to his aide and whispered. The aide looked at Masid, frowning, and stepped forward.

  “Sir,” she said. “Would you come with me, please.”

  “What for?” Masid asked loudly.

  “Sir.”

  “I don’t recognize your authority,” Masid said.

  The aide placed a hand on her stunner and gripped Masid’s elbow. “Please, sir.”

  Masid looked around frantically. The other baleys nearby cast fright­ened glances at him.

  “This isn’t fair!”

  He stepped out of line and let the Theian lead him away.

  She took him past drums strapped against bulkheads, around a nar­row makeshift gangway, and into the cargo bay. Overfilled cages of crates, nacelles, and cubes rose from the deck like topiary gone wild, the path of the maze barely discernible.

  The aide kept hold of him until they had made their way through the dangerously disorganized stowage and onto the loading deck.

  More robots, a few more Theians. The aide led him to an arbitrary spot against a bulkhead.

  “Stay here,” she said, then signaled for a robot to stand watch over him. Masid suppressed a smile, tempted to point out to her that he was himself not Terran and knew better than to be afraid of a robot. But he nodded mutely, gave the robot what he hoped was a convincingly fearful look, and slid to the deck to wait.

  The aide spoke to a couple of the other Theians, then returned the way she had brought him.

  Half an hour later, the Theian officer who had recognized him emerged from the maze. He stopped immediately in front of Masid.

  “Vorian, what in the hells of space are you doing here?”

  Masid glanced at the other Spacers; none of them showed any sign of having heard.

  “Trying to be inconspicuous,” Masid said. “What are you doing here, Anda?”

  “Arresting the crew of this—” he turned and waved disgustedly at the mass of precariously balanced cargo “—this excuse for a freighter. You could have died inconspicuously, you know.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Masid said, standing. “I’m trying to get to Nova Levis.”

  “Really. Well, forget it. The blockade became real a few weeks ago, when Aurora finally joined it officially.”

  “Is that what happened? I wondered why my passport wouldn’t work with the major carriers.” He glanced around again. “Nothing personal against your people, but could we carry this conversation on somewhere more private?”

  Anda’s eyes narrowed. “You’re working, then.”

  “Amazing powers of deduction you have there. They should promote you.”

  Anda scowled. “Come with me.”

  Masid followed the man to the big cargo bay door. The personnel hatch stood open. An umbilical ran a short distance to the Theian cruiser that held the freighter tightly in a tractor grip.

  As soon as he stepped out of the umbilical, into the Theian ship, Masid felt physically better. The air was cleaner for one, as were the decks and bulkheads. He suddenly felt a bit self-conscious in his grungy travel­ing clothes. He had been in the baley-hole for twelve days without undressing.

  Abruptly, a small sphere appeared over Anda’s left shoulder, hovering and slowly revolving. Anda spoke into the air.

  “This is Masid Vorian, officially a guest of the ship. Confirm.” A few seconds later, he nodded. “Come on,” he said to Masid.

  Two turns and up one deck, and they entered a spacious, pleasantly-appointed private cabin. A slender, ivory-colored robot met them just inside the door. The sphere hovering at Anda’s shoulder shot across the cabin and set itself in a slot in the wall.

  “Captain Wilam, welcome back,” the robot said, voice slightly femi­nine. “This is ship’s guest Vorian?”

  “Yes, Laris, this is Masid.”

  “Welcome, Masid. May I serve you a confection?”

  Anda unbuckled his weapons belt and dropped it on a couch. He glanced at Masid. “Drink?”

  “Clean water would be wonderful.”

  “Nothing for me, Laris.”

  The robot drifted off to a bar on the other side of the room and returned quickly with a tall glass of water.

  “If there is anything else you require, Masid, I am at your service.”

  “Thanks,” Masid said, accepting the glass.

  “So just what are you doing?” Anda asked.

  Masid took several long swallows. “You first. I’ve been out of the loop for over a month.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Trying to get to Nova Levis. I haven’t had this much trouble getting somewhere in—hell, I don’t know if I’ve ever had this much trouble.”

  “What do you want on Nova Levis? It’s a sewer.”

  Masid fingered his collar. “I should fit right in, then.”

  “We’ll fix that later.”

  “I’m sure.” Masid finished his water and handed the glass to the robot. “Please, sir, I want some more. I’ve been drinking recycled fluid—I won’t call it water—with electrolytes added like seasoning for the past two weeks.”

  “Goes with the job, doesn’t it?” Anda asked caustically.

  Masid ignored that. “Nova Levis is a sewer, huh? That wouldn’t have anything to do with your new and improved blockade, would it?”

  “A blockade runner fired on us. You knew about that, didn’t you?”

  “I heard something about it.”

  “That was incident the first. Incident the second happened three weeks ago. An Auroran police liner was attacked en route to Solaria. The ship was destroyed, all aboard killed. Inclu
ding Solarian Ambassador Gale Chassik.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “That was pretty much everyone’s reaction. The ships were recorded coming in, and the recordings were transmitted by hyperwave just before the liner was destroyed. They were identified as the same type that have been doing the bulk of the blockade-running off Nova Levis. Solaria was duly outraged and demanded immediate action, Aurora responded by demanding full disclosure from Solaria about their dealings with Nova Levis, and one result was Aurora presence on the blockade itself. No more Solarian ships are getting in anymore, which has one faction of the Solarian Legation mad enough to chew rocks. Once Solaria admitted to still actually owning Nova Levis, even though the Settler government is the one barring on-ground inspections, Earth began making ominous noises about Spacer collusion and we have our present situation. So we’re now intercepting ships bound for Nova Levis well in advance of their arrival—to avoid entanglements with overlapping jurisdiction, you understand—and this, too, has Earth in a spasm.”

  “How intemperate of them.”

  Laris brought Masid a refilled glass.

  “Your turn,” Anda said.

  “I need to get to Nova Levis.” Masid sipped water.

  “So you say. Who are you working for this time? Last I heard, you were actually working for Terran security.”

  “Station security, Kopernik. True enough. Right now I’m exercising my authority as an independent agent and working on behalf of everybody.”

  “Hah! There’s no such authority.”

  “You didn’t get the memo? Damn.” He leaned forward. “They’re build­ing cyborgs, Anda.”

  Anda hesitated and stared at Masid. “Who?”

  “That’s what I have to find out. But they’re building them on Nova Levis.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “No. But I have reason to believe it. Strong reason.”

  “There are no such things as cyborgs.”

  “You wish. I fought one. Be afraid.”

  “Why Nova Levis? It’s under blockade, there’s nothing there.”

  “There’s more there than you might think. Besides, you’re providing the best cover there could be.”