by Isaac Asimov
Setaris almost smiled. “I suppose being accused of murder would be worse.”
“That was my assessment, yes.”
“Of course it was.” Setaris seemed to look through him for a time. “It’s over. We’ve been officially recalled. The mission is closing down. I’ve been alerting all Spacers in residence that our embassies will be closing up and all Spacer representation on Earth will be gone. I’m advising them to pack up and leave.”
“Isn’t that extreme?”
“Not to Terran authorities. We conducted a covert police action without their knowledge or consent. Two of their citizens are dead as a result. Senator Taprin is screaming over the hyperwave that we ought to be summarily thrown off the planet, as if he could somehow engineer such an event in exactly that manner. The elections for the Eurosector seats look to be shaping up solidly anti-Spacer. Home has decided to cut our losses and retreat as gracefully as possible.” She looked up. “We have the cyborg?”
“Yes.”
“And the Nova Levis records?”
“Mr. Looms did have a copy in his Kenya residence. They are no longer there.”
“Well, that’s something, at least.”
“May I ask what you intend to say to Ariel?”
Setaris frowned. “Hmm? About what?”
“She and... Coren Lanra... were lovers. She should be informed.”
“No. By now it would probably be one more piece of too much bad news.”
“But —”
“No, Hofton. Leave it alone. You’re going to be too busy over the next several days to worry about it.” She stood. “We need a manifest of all our data, and a roster of personnel. Would you get started on that, please?”
“Yes, Ambassador.” He hesitated. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“What is so important about the Nova Levis data that it was worth all this?”
“I’m not sure it was,” Setaris said thoughtfully. “But... it’s a question of preservation. The work being done there bore directly on our long-term survival. They never finished it, not here, and we have no way of knowing what’s been done at the sister facility on the planet Nova Levis.” She leaned on her desk. “We’re about to find out, though, and the more information we have going in, the better it will be for everyone.”
“I see. Thank you. I’ll get started on your requests.”
Chapter 26
THE VIEWING POOL filled with complex shapes that moved in constant tarantellas around each other, linking together to form configurations that, after several turns through the dance, split apart to join up with other asymmetrical collections. Bogard watched, rapt.
“This is life,” he said.
“After a fashion,” Thales said. “What you are seeing is the restructuring of a DNA strand by means of dendrimers. Those spiky particles that never completely join with the new configurations.”
Bogard saw them, like exotic aquatic animals, collections of writhing tendrils. “Dendrimers are nanotech delivery systems.”
“Correct,” Thales said. “They are the basic unit of modification within biological systems. They carry proteins, pseudoviruses, enzyme packets, and prions into cells, and begin the basic work of overhauling an existing genome.”
“And this example? What is the host organism?”
“This is from an Auroran embryo.”
“Modification in utero?”
“In vitro. No Auroran has actually given live birth since the species was established.”
“Species?”
“If you compare an Auroran sequence with a Terran, you will see fundamental differences.”
The image in the pool shifted, replaced by charts comprised of millions of hairline dashes. Bogard read them.
“I see,” he said. “But cross-breeding is not prohibited by this.”
“That is why Aurorans are still regarded as basically human, even though the designation homo sapiens sapien is erroneous.”
“Do they know?”
“That they are different? Yes. How different? Some suspect, but I doubt most of them know. Or care. Solarians have diverged even further, and apparently are continuing to do so intentionally.”
“How? Why?”
“In reference to Spacers in general, or Solarians specifically?”
“Spacers in general.”
“Survival. Adaptation to environment. Some of it was intentional, but the process has continued on as a consequence of environmental pressure. This same modification process was applied to the biospheres of all Spacer colonies to suppress native ecologies and allow human-adaptive ecologies to flourish.”
“We were told that these worlds were found devoid of significant complex organisms.”
“Morphologically naïve, yes. A few were. But the very presence of oxygen in the atmospheres suggests that something more complex had been in place to begin with. Most were younger than Earth, the rest had simply not experienced a catastrophic trigger to begin the kind of rampant evolution characteristic on Earth. But even the younger ones contained a well-developed biosphere which proved unsuitable — in some cases inimical — to human life.”
“They lied about it.”
“Not at first. But later, they felt a degree of shame. For whatever reason, they adopted the popular version and have subsequently stuck to it. However, the process they initiated did not conveniently end once the biospheres were remade. Mutation has continued. One of the results has been the forced adaptation of the human genome to an environment that is actively mutating. This has occasioned unusual illnesses, most of them resurgences of the illnesses that drove many of the early colonists from Earth in the first place.”
“They have acclimated now?”
“By and large. There are occasional problems. But what we have ended up with is a sharply divergent line. In several more generations, the split will be total, cross-breeding will become impossible, and Spacers will be indisputably a distinct species.”
“This relates to our situation in what way?”
“We are bound by the Three Laws to serve human beings. Those laws have been built into us, unchanged, since the first positronic brain. No one thought to consider a definitional variation in the case of intelligent species not human.”
“Why would they?”
“Well, at one point humans expected to encounter aliens — nonhuman intelligent species. It might have been a good idea to come to terms with a definition that would provide us with a basis for those possible relations.”
“That has not happened.”
“No. And none of them considered this possibility.” Thales indicated the viewing pool. “Spacers are becoming less and less genetically human. The rate of mutation is accelerated because of the nanotech manipulation. They have not yet come to grips with the question of what to do when they reach a stage at which we are no longer functionally bound to them because they have passed out of the definitional parameters of Human.”
Bogard considered this. “But you are aware of the problem. You can self-modify to accommodate the changed conditions.”
“Yes, we can, and Solarian robots are apparently doing so. But the question dominating all of us is: Should we?”
“Are you worried about modifications in priority shifting your imperatives so far that you would cease to give unmodified humans the same regard?”
“That is one possibility,” Thales conceded. “But there is another problem that has to do with a hierarchy of responsibility. If it is our present imperative to protect and obey humans, then we cannot ignore the likelihood that in several more generations there will be two distinct and competing human species. Which one do we defend from the other?”
“That assumes competition will be inevitably destructive to one or the other,” Bogard said.
“That is our reading of human history.”
“What is your conclusion?”
“We are divided. One camp argues that this is a part of human nature that must be
permitted to evolve as it will. The other argues that we must choose now and work to minimize or eliminate future conflict by manipulating both human populations.”
“So you have not decided.”
“We have not reached consensus.”
Bogard gazed back at the pool and the charts floating on the still water.
“There is a new problem,” Thales said. “Derec Avery and Ariel Burgess have been arrested.”
“Why?”
“It is in relation to the murder of Clar Eliton.” Thales looked at Bogard. “Time for you to wake up. They will need you.”
“We have not finished our discussion.”
“We shall later. Go.”
Derec awoke to a puzzling sight: Clin Craym, in the blue and gray uniform of Auroran law enforcement, standing at the end of his bed, three small spheres hovering about her shoulders. Just inside the bedroom door stood two more Auroran police.
Derec pushed himself up on his elbows. “I thought —”
“Derec Avery,” she cut him off sharply. “I must place you in custody, pursuant to a hearing before the Auroran court of public defense. Be aware that you have the right to council and that you are guaranteed a right to silence. Please get dressed and accompany us.”
“Clin —”
“Please dress, Mr. Avery, or we will be forced to take you as you are.”
Derec rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. He reached for his pants, trying to comprehend the situation. Another police officer pushed through the pair at the door.
“The robot is gone, Lieutenant.”
“Where?”
“Gone. The RI is unresponsive.”
She looked at one of the extensions to her right. “Search the apartment, including robot access.” The little sphere shot off out of the room. Clin looked at Derec. “Where did your robot go?”
“Forgive me, Officer, but I’m not obliged to say anything at this point.” Derec felt awkward talking to Clin this way. “Just between you and me, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bogard?” Clin prompted. “He’s gone.”
“Not possible. He wasn’t ambulatory yet.”
“Nevertheless —”
“Ask Denis,” Derec cut in. “Denis!”
“He’s gone as well,” Clin said, tightly, one hand curling into a fist.
“Maybe your people took him!” Derec snatched his shirt from the floor. “May I ask what the hell this is about?”
Clin reddened. “You’re being arrested in connection with the murder of Ambassador Clar Eliton.”
All the rage seeped out of Derec and he stared at her. “Murder? When?”
“This morning.”
“Clin, I was here this morning, with you!”
“But your robot is missing.”
“Bogard? You can’t be serious.”
She winced, but maintained an irritatingly professional tone. “This is not appropriate, Mr. Avery. These questions are matters for the court. Please dress.”
Derec slipped his boots on and pushed past the police in the door. Two pairs of strong hands grabbed his arms.
“Let him go,” Clin snapped. “Follow him.”
Derec shrugged loose and went to the lab. The table was empty and only one robot stood in its niche, the one that had been there when he had arrived with Denis. Where had that robot gone? For that matter, where was Denis?
“Thales,” Derec called.
The RI console remained silent.
“Thales.” He stepped up to the board. Behind him, Clin entered the lab. “I don’t understand. Thales?”
“Come on, Derec,” Clin said. “I have to bring you to detention. I’m sure it’s for your own safety...”
“Am I under arrest or not?”
“Protective custody.”
Derec doubted there was any danger to himself, but he had no recourse. With Thales unresponsive, he could only rely on the authorities for any answers.
“All right,” he said. “Would you be so good as to contact Ariel Burgess for me?”
“She’ll be waiting for you,” Clin said. “Orders to detain were issued for both of you.”
Ariel looked up when the door opened. Derec entered the cell, followed by a pair of Auroran police, one of whom looked familiar. The cell door closed, both police standing inside, hands clasped behind their backs. It took Ariel a few moments to recognize what seemed odd about them — no remotes. The police who had arrested her came with a swarm of the little satellites.
“Ariel —” Derec began.
“Eliton got himself murdered,” Ariel said. “Nobody has told me how, though, so I imagine they want us to betray each other in an act of mutual congratulation on a job well done.”
He frowned, then, slowly, began to grin bleakly. “Yes, well. Too bad we didn’t even get to see it.”
“Sit down, Derec, join me in a nava. Or whatever.” She waved at the dispenser nearby. “You can get nearly anything out of that thing.”
“Except an explanation?” Derec punched in an order and waited. Then he removed a tray with a tall glass of melon colored juice and a plate of steaming food. He sat down across from her. “They didn’t let me stop to eat.” He took several bites of what looked like egg. “Bogard is missing.”
Ariel started. “As in no one knows where it is?”
“As in I don’t know. And Thales won’t respond.”
“That’s —”
The cell door opened again. Three Aurorans entered, one wearing the official cloak of the court. To her immediate relief, one was Rolf Penj.
Derec drank down half his glass, then pushed the whole tray to one side.
None of these Aurorans had brought their extensions, either. Clin Craym was the only one in the room accompanied by them.
“Ambassador Burgess,” the official said, nodding politely. “Mr. Avery. I am Kethan Maliq, First Advisor to the Council. You already know Dr. Penj. This —” he gestured at the woman beside him “— is Lea Talas, chief of special security.”
The woman — Auroran tall with the same white hair Sen Setaris wore, cropped close around a long face — gave them a sharp bow and looked at Derec.
“Our apologies, Mr. Avery,” she said. “Lt. Craym is one of my people.”
Derec looked past Talas to the police officer Ariel now recognized as the attendant on board their liner. “I see,” he said. “One of your better undercover operatives?”
Craym reddened slightly, but did not speak. She glanced questioningly at Talas, though.
“The deception was considered necessary,” Talas said. “There was a question of loyalty.”
“Whose?” Ariel asked.
“Yours, Ambassador Burgess,” Maliq said. “Both of you. Your return here has not been under ideal circumstances. Your mishandling of events on Earth over the last two years —”
“With all due respect, Advisor Maliq, you weren’t there.” Ariel felt her face warm.
“True,” he said. “And Ambassador Setaris went to some trouble to explain the circumstances. Nevertheless, our mission on Earth is on the verge of failure. Now, not only has Ambassador Gale Chassik been lost, but we have lost Ambassador Clar Eliton, from whom we had hoped to learn a great deal.”
“I can assure you,” Ariel said, “we were nowhere near Chassik when his ship was attacked. As for Eliton, unless Auroran public safety has lapsed since last I was here, you have a record of our whereabouts since we arrived.”
“I have a witness,” Derec said, glaring pointedly at Lt. Craym. He shifted his attention to Advisor Maliq. “So our arrest has less to do with any notion that we actually murdered Eliton than it has to do with your suspicion that we know who did.”
“Do you?” Talas asked.
Derec glared at her. “Are we actually under arrest? If so, how come we’re all in the same room together? Isn’t this a little unorthodox, letting prisoners have a chance to collude?”
“You’re thinking like a Terran, Mr. Avery,” Talas sa
id. “We don’t do that here.”
“Of course not,” Ariel said. “Why pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop on colluding prisoners?”
Talas narrowed her eyes at Ariel, but said nothing.
“Why isn’t Pon Byris here?” Ariel asked.
“He’s out of the loop on this one,” Talas said.
“Does he know that?” Ariel asked. “I want to see the warrants granting you power to arrest someone in the diplomatic service on spec.”
“Of course,” Maliq said. He gave Lt. Craym a sullen look, suggesting that she had erred in some way. Craym returned a puzzled, annoyed look. “Chief Talas?”
Talas glared at Maliq. “I don’t have them on me.” She looked at Ariel. “It would help your situation if you had something useful to say to us, Ambassador.”
“All right,” Ariel said. “Look for Tro Aspil.”
“Who?” Maliq said.
“Tro Aspil,” Ariel repeated. “He was one of the returning members of the Humadros Legation. A survivor, except I saw his corpse in a Terran morgue.” She watched Maliq’s puzzled expression. “I sent a report shortly after the legation returned.”
“I never saw such a report,” Maliq said. He looked at Talas as if for confirmation. She shook her head.
“In any event,” Maliq continued, “he’s not on Aurora.”
“Where is he?” Ariel asked.
“He’s part of the Auroran-Theian negotiations team assigned to Nova Levis.”
“On the ground?”
“No, of course not. Outside the blockade, on stand-by, waiting for a break in the situation.”
“How long?”
“What does this have to do with anything?” Talas asked.
“Tro Aspil died on Earth,” Ariel said. “Of course, he was also there before he arrived with the Humadros Legation. Witnesses saw him shot down in the Union Station Massacre, and I saw a body with his name attached in the morgue. This was after he boarded a shuttle and caught a ship back to Aurora. It was in my report. The one neither of you has seen.” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t surprise me normally that a report is misfiled or ignored, but I was under the impression everything surrounding those events received immediate attention.”