Isaac Asimov's Aurora

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  “Ethical?” Mia had prodded.

  “Sure. By necessity, a cyborg would be a mule. You would be creating a species with no possibility of reproduction.”

  “Humans have done that for ages.”

  “True, but not an essentially human species. I rather doubt more ster­ile hybrids are aware of their sterility.”

  “A cyborg would be. Why would that be a problem? A lot of people choose it.”

  “Exactly. They choose it. A cyborg would have no choice.”

  “You wouldn’t have to necessarily make it sterile, would you?”

  “Technologically, no. But I wouldn’t want to create my own species’ replacement.”

  “What about robots? They could always build more of themselves.”

  “They don’t. The Three Laws prevent it.”

  Ariel had then changed the subject. It had seemed at the time that she understood more than she had said, but Mia had dropped it. There were no cyborgs, so it was just talk.

  Now, though . . .

  Can you reproduce? she wondered, watching them. She had seen nothing so far to indicate separate genders—they all seemed, in general, to be males—but if they were an entirely new species, reproduction did not necessarily have to be sexual.

  The variations in physical appearance did not suggest any kind of parent/offspring connection. They all seemed to be the same age, although she had no real basis for judging.

  Mules . . .

  They had salvaged a quantity of standard ration kits from the wreck, and every morning Mia found a couple of them inside the bubble tent she had been given. The food was bland, but kept hunger at bay. She never saw who left it.

  * * *

  On the third morning, she woke to find a rash on her left hand. By early afternoon, it had spread up her arm and a new spot had appeared on her face. That night, she shivered uncontrollably with fever and on the fourth morning her legs were weak. She vomited shortly after breakfast and lay, completely lethargic, on her bedding.

  On the fifth morning, her head throbbed, and it hurt to open her eyes for long. Outside her bubble, several cyborgs squatted, watching her. She thought she heard them talking among themselves, but she could make out no words, only the susurrus of continuous conversation.

  That afternoon, she felt herself lifted onto a gurney and carried across the camp. She draped an arm over her eyes to shield them from the painful brilliance of the sky. Then she was in a close, dark place. Presently, she sensed motion. After that, she slept.

  Time compressed and expanded unpredictably. She felt she slept interminably, but then, in quick succession, motion stopped, light stabbed at her again, and she was being carried. Doors clanged, footsteps tapped on tile, she caught glimpses of a hallway and lights and people huddled around her.

  “Am I back?” she asked once.

  Her arm was prodded and stuck, her clothes removed, and then she slept again forever, her thoughts muffled in a thick nest of uncertainty. All she knew, all she could be certain of, was the persistent headache, but even that did not feel entirely within her skull, as if the pain existed a few meters away, hers to use if she cared to . . .

  More sleep.

  Then . . .

  “I’m dying . . .”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I don’t—no.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I . . . no . . .”

  “This might help.”

  Later, she could not recall who had said what.

  Mia opened her eyes, startled. The light was low and did not hurt. She lay very still, trying to get a sense of where she was.

  A sheet covered her up to her throat.

  The quiet pulsings of a biomonitor hummed rhythmically somewhere.

  Bogard . . . ?

  The room smelled as if it had recently been decontaminated and washed.

  A door opened, and then a woman appeared alongside her.

  “Good,” she said, “you’re awake. How do you feel?”

  “I don’t—” Mia’s throat caught, her mouth thick and dry.

  “Oh. Sorry.” The woman placed a straw in Mia’s mouth.

  She drew automatically, swallowing greedily at the cool water. She studied the woman while drinking—thin, harsh lines in her face, short hair, off-white smock, perceptive gaze, clinical . . .

  Mia coughed. “Where am I?”

  “The Nova City Free Clinic. You were damn near dead.”

  “How long?”

  “You’ve been here four days.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Shasma. You are Mia Daventri, Lieutenant, Terran Expeditionary Force security.” She gave a quizzical tilt of her head. “Are you a spy?”

  “Not here.”

  Dr. Shasma smiled. “No, I imagine not. I’m told you came down in a drone supply ship. Your partner died. Not very subtle.”

  Mia felt herself grow warm, angry.

  “Sorry,” Dr. Shasma said. “You can tell me when you’re ready. Or not.” She glanced away for a few moments. “You’re stable for now. I’ll be back later to administer another round of cyclines.”

  “What . . . what did I have?”

  “Not did. Do. You have an aggressive fungal infection. It’s permeated your lungs. We caught it before it had time to move into the lymphatic system. That would have been fatal. It’s in remission right now, but you’ll have to go through a complete cellular purge to be rid of it. We can do that, or just treat it symptomatically. You’re lucky it was this one—most of them show no symptoms until too late.”

  “Cellular purge . . . that takes months, doesn’t it?”

  “Several weeks. And it hurts. Get some rest now. I’ll be back in a few hours, you can ask more questions then.”

  “And you’ll answer them?”

  “If I can.”

  “Answer one right now,” Mia said quickly as Dr. Shasma began to walk away.

  “All right.”

  “Those . . . people . . . who brought me here. I’m guessing they brought me, you didn’t just find me in an open field.”

  “No, you were brought.”

  “What are they?”

  “Orphans. Discards. Nova Levis’s nasty little secret.”

  Mia felt impatient. “That’s not an answer I can use.”

  “Useful answers are at a premium here. Don’t worry about it for now. We can talk later.” She paused. “Why are you here? I didn’t think Terrans had any interest in grounding on Nova Levis.”

  “Unplanned vacation.”

  Dr. Shasma waited for more, then grunted. “Fine, have it your way. You’ll live, Lieutenant. Now get some rest, I’ll see you later.”

  Dr. Shasma walked away. A moment later, the door closed.

  Mia raised a hand. The rash was gone, but her skin looked very dry, very old. She let the arm fall and tried to sense her own condition. Tired, to be sure, and suffused with a not-quite-right feeling of somehow being different.

  She let her gaze drift over the small clinic room. She stopped her examination at a small set of shelves against the wall opposite the door, filled with paper books.

  28

  access Auroran comm matrix via coordinating R.I. Eos security obtained, vetting probabilities, originating communications, links, and associations assigned subject Aspil Tro, collating date/frequency, analyzing

  subject Aspil Tro assigned residence on return from Earth, termination of assignment Humadros Trade Legation, Madarian Apartment Complex

  comm traffic logs average thirty communications per day for period of eighty-seven days till reassignment of subject to Nova Levis negotiations team

  resumption of name-specific comm traffic logged at five alternate res­idences, commencing fourteen days after subject was scheduled to depart for Nova Levis blockade, each address sorted by number of communica­tions, duration, and return communications

  analysis of comm patterns, voice, and semantic
content of communi­cation validates high probability that subject remains on Aurora, check­ing access to diplomatic registry, logs of extraplanetary agents, query specifically Aspil Tro, verify assignment to Nova Levis blockade, verify arrival, confirm all contacts, assess probability of separate identification protocols

  probability plus ninety-percent Aspil Tro remains present on Aurora, communications logs verify continued contact with seven of the eighteen primary contacts registered prior to reassignment Nova Levis, tracing comm sequences now

  error in routing, oversight R.I. dysfunction consistent with prior anomalous behavior, reference files Union Station D.C. Earth, forward analysis to Thales for independent corroboration, affirmed, request override on oversight R.I. to establish source of continued communications

  verified, location, assigned parties, verified

  secondary trace, location of primary subjects, protect protocols, sub­jects Avery Derec and Burgess Ariel, primary network indicates no trace, scan security network, sixth-level communications, isolated and routed through compromised R.I.

  subjects located, condition verified through remotes assigned Security Lieutenant Craym

  determination of Three Law response, report logged, as follows—

  —primary subjects held incommunicado in violation of standard Auro­ran security protocols, condition optimal, no immediate threat, First Law obligation conditional upon change in circumstances, Second Law in force, initial task to locate potential threat Aspil Tro—

  proceeding

  Derec woke from a brief nap and found himself gazing across at Dr. Penj, whose head lolled back, mouth open, snoring. The two guards still stood by the exit. Ariel lay sprawled on another sofa.

  Clin, her trio of orbiting extensions hovering around her head like a loose halo, stood in the midst of the projection of Eliton’s death scene.

  He slowly stretched and stood, keeping an eye on the guards. Neither reacted as he crossed the room and entered the projection. One of the little spheres moved to block him and he hesitated. Clin looked at him, briefly surprised.

  “Allow,” she said, and the extension drifted back into its stand-by position over her right shoulder. She returned her attention to the corpse displayed at her feet.

  “I have a strange question,” Derec said in a quiet voice.

  “Yes?”

  “How common is it for Aurorans to go without their extensions?”

  Clin glanced at Dr. Penj. “He’s an anomaly.”

  “Granted. And First Advisor Maliq? Security Chief Talas?”

  Clin returned her gaze to Eliton’s body. “He was assigned six exten­sions. That’s the standard security perimeter for high level diplomatic vis­itors.”

  “Difficult to disrupt, I gather?”

  “Very. But Eliton wasn’t brought here with that status . . .”

  She pointed. “Look at the pattern they fell in. Almost evenly-spaced around him. He was standing here when they failed—”

  “—and standing there when he was killed—”

  “—which meant that whoever killed him was in the room while they still functioned—”

  “—and no alarm was sent.”

  Clin straightened. “There ought to be some record.”

  “Maybe,” Derec said. “Where did your orders to arrest me originate?”

  “Cleared through Chief Talas.” She gave him an irritated look. “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Who arrested Eliton?”

  “Once he was removed from the Wysteria . . . Chief Talas.” She indi­cated the crime scene. “Do you have anything useful to say about this?”

  Derec studied the projected image for a few moments. “It seems evi­dent he was comfortable with whomever was in the room with him. He was completely surprised. We—I assume all of us—have been assuming it was just one person. But as far as I recall, we never made a connection directly between Eliton and Tro Aspil.”

  Clin’s jaw worked delicately. “I think you should return to you seat, Mr. Avery.”

  Derec moved away from her, glancing at the two guards. He sat down where he had been. Ariel was awake, rubbing her eyes.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “A very big one, I think. Were you listening?”

  “Mostly.” She looked casually around the room. “No comm.” She winced suddenly and grabbed at her calf.

  Derec watched her for a few seconds. “Cramp?”

  She nodded, her face distorted in obvious pain.

  Derec moved over to her sofa, sat beside her, and began massaging her leg. Ariel reclined, moaning convincingly. “Sorry,” she said.

  “No trouble,” Derec said.

  “Why talk to her?” Ariel asked in a whisper. “She may be in it.”

  “Then there’s nothing to lose,” Derec said. “Penj doesn’t use extensions, neither of us are that acquainted with Auroran custom anymore . . .”

  “Someone had to interrupt surveillance,” Ariel said. “The extensions had to go down at a command.”

  “A very specific command, otherwise everything that RI is handling would be affected.”

  “We don’t know that it wasn’t.”

  “True, but I’m betting any other problems were of such an unrelated nature that they’d be passed off.”

  “Transient errors?” Ariel suggested.

  “Sound familiar?”

  Ariel let out a long, satisfied breath. “Mm-hmm.” She smiled at him. “Thank you. What’s next?”

  Derec released her leg. “Wait and see if my bet pays off.” He looked at the guards. “If it doesn’t . . .”

  “We’re dead anyway,” Ariel said.

  Dr. Penj snorted loudly and drew in a long, loud breath, shifted posi­tion, and continued sleeping.

  Bogard kept back from the full light filling the plaza. He has assumed the bulky shape of a laborer and waited, immobile, as though on standby pending instructions. Several shops lined this side beneath an elegant arcade balcony, so his presence drew no attention from the Aurorans.

  Denis came toward him from the apartment block opposite.

  Report, Bogard sent.

  Subject domicile located, currently vacant, access to comm log obtained, receive file now

  Send

  rec/log—timechop 11:35 code 4^+38 level five encryption diplomatic proceed . . .

  Bogard scanned the file as it poured into his buffers. Denis stood beside him by the time the entire log was delivered.

  Anomaly detected, refer sequence nine-oh-eight-dash delta four four

  Noted, routing vector, Cassili grid, oversight RI

  Require access to relevant RI logs

  Working

  Current subject location?

  Departed twelve minutes ago, in company with Auroran official, des­tination undisclosed to household robot

  Trace transport

  Working . . . accessing public security logs . . . located, tracking

  The two robots stood side by side for several seconds. Then, abruptly, they moved off together, to a walkway between two buildings, and through to the next street. There, they parted, moving into the robot lanes where they gained speed, heading in opposite directions.

  Ariel looked around as First Advisor Maliq came through the door. Alone. By now she would have thought a half-dozen officials should be involved. That, or they should be left completely alone on the off-chance Aspil might try a repeat . . .

  “Ambassador Burgess,” Maliq said, gesturing, “would you mind if we talked . . . ?”

  Ariel followed him to the far side of the room, away from the others. She noticed Lt. Craym watching them, eyebrows cocked speculatively.

  “Yes, Advisor?” Ariel said, folding her arms.

  “We seem to have an embarrassing situation,” Maliq said quietly. “I’m sure you can appreciate the concerns when communications between one department and another fail.”

  “Tro Aspil isn’t at Nova Levis.”

  “No, he isn’t. No
r is he on Aurora.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Maliq made a chagrined face. “We’re looking into it. But we have a more immediate problem. Tro Aspil was supposed to head the team we sent to Nova Levis. As a result, that team has yet to be granted official status at the blockade.”

  “Reclassify one of the others,” Ariel suggested.

  “It’s not that simple. Procedural difficulties, not to mention the Terrans are being uncooperative.”

  “How does that concern me?”

  “When we have this cleared up, this . . . miscommunication . . . we would appreciate it if you would take over that team. You still retain your rating as Ambassador, you know the Terrans, you have more than ample qualifications.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “Would I be free to choose my staff?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Ariel nodded toward the others. “Derec Avery?”

  “I’m . . . I’d have to see, of course, but . . .”

  “When would you need me to leave?”

  “As soon as we can make all the arrangements and register you as the new head of mission. A few days.”

  “And what if I’m required here to testify?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “Ambassador Eliton’s murder.”

  He drew a breath. “A great many details will have to be cleared up, of course, but—”

  “But you’d really like us off Aurora, wouldn’t you?”

  Maliq started, surprised. “I—”

  Ariel held up a hand. “Whose idea is this? Chief Talas?”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Ambassador.”

  Ariel studied him, wondering. Then she shook her head. “Can I think about this, Advisor? It’s a considerable change in what I expected when I was recalled.”

  “Of course, but the sooner we have an answer—”

  “Certainly. How is the situation at Nova Levis?”

  “Fluid.”

  “I see.” That covers a lot of territory, she thought.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Maliq said, “I have matters to look into. I would appreciate your answer sooner than later.”

  He began to turn away. Ariel said, “May I ask . . . where are your extensions?”