by Isaac Asimov
“But he never left Aurora.”
“No.”
“Excuse me,” Derec interrupted. “May I ask why the RI overseeing these postings didn’t make the appropriate changes in status?”
“It was never informed,” Maliq said. “Some things still rely on simple human actions.”
“Then,” Derec said, “we have to find Tro Aspil.”
“We’re looking,” Talas said. “We’re also looking for your robot, Mr. Avery.”
“Find one,” Derec said, “I’ll wager, and you find the other.”
“Why would that be?”
“Because I imagine Bogard is looking for Aspil.”
Chapter 27
MASID HAD NEVER seen a fortified city. From the outside, Nova City looked nearly impossible to enter without someone’s permission. A wall surrounded the main section, which sprang up like prickly weeds, jagged towers amid domes, boxes, and more exotic fulleresque shapes. Outside the wall — which was constructed of heavy composite-material sheets connected by a gridwork, topped by ramparts supporting antipersonnel weapons — a huge camp sprawled, a filthy collection of makeshift dwellings, portable domes, and tents that filled the land between the city wall and a vast lake. Masid wrinkled his nose at the stench.
“Blockade,” Filoo said to Masid’s unasked question. “People started coming here out of fear that they’d be bombarded from space.”
“They should know better,” Masid said.
“Most Settlers came out here because they distrusted, disliked, or plain hated Earth. Some of them had reason. Now they think Earth has come to get even.”
The transport bumped unevenly over the thickly rutted road. Occasionally, they rolled onto long stretches of unbroken pavement. Bleak faces stared at them from the cover of the shanties as they went by.
The journey had taken three days, with stops for business, the nature of which Masid had been kept ignorant. He assumed more dealing. The trade on Nova Levis in pharmaceuticals of all types exceeded in frenzy anything Masid had previously encountered. Judging by the business he had done alone in only a few weeks, Masid estimated three-quarters of the population was sick. He could see it in the faces gathered here: pallor, scars, sores. Only those like Filoo seemed immune.
Filoo had spoken little about business. He had regaled Masid with a series of quasi-autobiographical stories of people he had known, many of whom had met bad ends, particularly when they had attempted to cross him. By the morning of the third day and the last leg of the journey to Nova City, Masid had turned to him and said, “Do you always try to scare your employees?”
Filoo laughed. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just telling stories.”
“I know a few stories myself.”
“You should tell me one, then. I didn’t mean to hog the entire conversation.”
“Is that what we’re having? A conversation?”
Filoo studied him, eyes narrowed. “Are you as smart as you seem?” When Masid shrugged, Filoo grunted. “Figured out what’s wrong with this place?”
“No, not totally. I can guess.”
“Do. I’d like to hear it.”
“From the analyses I did of the infectious agents, I’d say the terraforming nanotech has gotten into the biome at the cellular level. We’ve got smart diseases. That’s just a guess.”
“Not bad, not bad. How come it’s happened here and nowhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why Nova Levis and no other colony?”
Masid looked out the window at the tangled wilderness through which they passed. “Are you sure it hasn’t?”
Filoo laughed again. “Good answer! Maybe you are as smart as you appear. You’re certainly one of the coldest shits I’ve ever met.”
Masid’s stomach crawled. “Just a businessman.”
“Hah! Even I don’t use living people to culture samples.”
Masid grinned icily and gestured out the window. “Someone does besides me.”
Filoo frowned, then, and briefly Masid thought he saw fear in the dealer’s eyes. Now, rolling through the guard posts at the main gate into Nova City, Masid worried at the guilt he felt at using Tilla so callously. She had been dead, it had not been as if he had harmed her, but he had, he now realized, hoped Filoo had not known about his relationship with her, or that Filoo would check to see what Masid had been doing. Knowing now that — no doubt shortly after they had left — Tilla had been autopsied, Masid ached.
I’m sorry, Kru... wherever you are, I am sorry for what I did to your friend...
Filoo passed an ID chit to one of the guards. They were waved through. As he entered the city, Masid managed to seal off the guilt in the special room he kept in his head for such things. He could not afford it now. He sometimes wondered when he would ever get to deal with the clutter stored up in that room.
Nova City within the wall was sharply different from the squalor outside. The streets were crowded, but clean, and the structures were solid and maintained.
He saw no visible sign of disease.
Masid looked at Filoo, who nodded. “Parapoyos takes care of his own.”
“It’s been an open secret for a long time that Parapoyos had a base here,” Masid said carefully, “but this looks like more than just a presence.”
Filoo chuckled. “The blockade was a gift in a perverse way.”
They continued on in silence, driving deep into the center of the city. Masid was impressed despite his reservations — Nova City thrived, at least on the surface.
Filoo pulled into an underground garage. A drone directed him to a bay, and he shut down the transport.
“Now what?” Masid said.
“Now you come with me and keep your mouth shut.”
Masid followed Filoo down a long row of huge bays, most housing different types of transports, some being serviced. The air smelled of oil and ozone. Their steps echoed in the dark spaces above.
Filoo led him up a ramp, into a row of offices. Most were empty, but in a few Masid saw people huddling to tasks at large desks with hodgepodges of datum assemblies. At the end of the corridor, a short flight of stairs took them into a connecting tunnel. They emerged onto a covered thoroughfare. The air was cold, and condensation slicked all the surfaces.
Filoo pointed to the right. “That way leads to the port,” he said. He indicated the opposite direction. “That way takes you into the main business districts.”
They crossed the road and headed toward the port. The tunnel began sloping gently up as the light brightened at the far end. Before reaching the opening, Filoo mounted a flight of metal steps to an inset landing halfway up the wall. He inserted his ID in the reader mounted alongside a heavy door, which snapped open, admitting them into a locker room.
Masid followed Filoo into the next room, which was occupied by several people sitting around tables, talking, playing cards, or eating. They looked up when Filoo entered, and conversation ended.
One man stood and stepped toward them. “Filoo,” he said. “You’re early.”
“Depends,” Filoo said. “I almost didn’t make it at all.”
“Where’s Kar?”
“He doesn’t work for me anymore.” Filoo gestured with his thumb. “This’s Masid. His first time here.” He looked at Masid. “I want him cleared.”
The other man nodded. “Come with me,” he said to Masid.
“Where?” Masid asked, suddenly nervous. He then noticed the two people standing just behind him, to the right and left, holding blasters on him. He made himself shrug. “Wherever.” He scowled at Filoo. “I thought the interview was over?”
Filoo frowned, then stepped back.
“Come with me,” the other man repeated.
Masid sighed and followed him out of the room, the armed pair close behind.
“I’m Gretcher,” the man in the lead said. “Filoo just hire you?”
“Yeah,” Masid said.
“This is just routine,” Gretcher said.
“Attitude isn’t necessary here. It counts for nothing.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Do.”
After three turns down narrow corridors that reminded Masid of the deep warrens on Earth, they brought him to a lab. A woman looked up from a tabletop projection, her narrow face illuminated by red and orange from below.
“Doctor,” Gretcher said. “We need an analysis.”
She straightened and came forward, her left leg dragging slightly. She wore a pale blue jumpsuit, the kind normally found in biotech labs. She looked at Masid.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Pedigree,” Gretcher said.
She nodded and indicated a bench toward the rear of the lab. “Please sit over there. Remove your jacket.” She looked at Gretcher. “I was just about ready to return to my clinic. Do I need to stick around after this one?”
“No,” Gretcher said. “Do you need an escort?”
She shook her head and walked back to the tabletop display. “Give me half an hour,” she said.
Masid glanced at Gretcher, who simply nodded in the direction of the bench. He and the pair of guards then left.
Masid reluctantly stripped off his jacket and sat down. He watched the woman move from display to display for several minutes. It seemed she had forgotten his presence, but he doubted it. He waited until finally she switched several of the monitors off and came toward him with a small device.
“Your arm,” she said.
“What kind of a test is this?” Masid asked.
“Global. Your arm.”
Masid extended his left arm and she applied the device. He felt a brief pinch as she triggered it. A red patch remained just below his elbow, on his forearm.
“Blood and tissue sample?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“My name’s Masid.”
“I’m Dr. Shasma.” She activated another unit and plugged the sampler into its reader.
Masid’s scalp tingled upon hearing her name. He wanted to ask a number of questions, but he refrained.
“What are you looking for?” he asked. He did not know what specifically she sought, but he knew very well what a tissue analysis could show an expert eye.
She did not reply, but continued working, steadily and, from what Masid could tell, proficiently. When she finished setting up the scans, she returned to her other work and ignored him.
Masid studied the equipment he could see. It seemed a hodgepodge, even though someone — he presumed Dr. Shasma — had installed it very professionally. Most of it appeared to be the expected bioscan apparatus any good clinic ought to possess, but a few pieces looked as though they belonged in an industrial manufactory — crystal interferometry scanners, molecular assembly decompiler, and a polymer analyzer if he was correct. Certainly not what he expected to find in a medical facility. He noted several more pieces of equipment he did not recognize.
He waited. More than anything, he wanted to see what about him she was analyzing, but he quashed his impatience. Nearly twenty minutes went by before a chime sounded, and Dr. Shasma returned to the monitor into which she had delivered his samples.
She studied the screens for a time, then nodded to herself, making notes on a keypad to her left. She made adjustments and started another analysis. Masid watched her closely. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. She stared at the screens for a long time. Then, slowly, she closed her eyes. Only for a few seconds. When she opened them again, she initiated one more set of analyses and watched the results calmly, her professional demeanor regained.
“Will I live?” Masid asked.
“For a while,” she replied. “You aren’t a native to Nova Levis.”
“Who is?”
“Quite a large population, actually, from the original Terran settlement. But most people here aren’t. You’re from another Settler colony, though.” She looked at him inquisitively. “How’d you get here?”
“By twists and turns.”
“I can find out.”
“Eventually, maybe. Is it important?”
“Not to me. The only thing about you that interests me is your biome.”
“And what does it say?”
“You’ve already contracted three of the seven major diseases Nova Levis has to offer. So far you’re asymptomatic — infection was recent, which suggests you haven’t been here very long — and you have a very sophisticated antibody response to two of them. I’d bet you have a lymphatic augment, which would mean either ex-military or Spacer... but I don’t see any of the telltales I’d expect in a Spacer.”
“Oh?” Masid leaned forward, curious. “What sort of telltales? I thought Spacers were...”
“Were what? Just like everybody else?” She smiled sardonically. “That would explain two and three century lifespans how?”
“I don’t know. I just assumed superior medical technology.”
“That’s what most people assume.” She entered more notes. “So — ex-military. Deserter?”
Masid sat back, frowning.
“Doesn’t matter,” Shasma continued. “If so, you’ll fit in perfectly here.” She limped to another console and punched in a sequence of commands. Then she came toward him with an injector. “Your arm,” she said, waving her fingers. Masid extended the same arm from which she had taken his samples and she placed the injector in roughly the same spot. “This will take care of the infections. You’ll require boosters in order to stay clear. You’re not a Spacer, so I’m assuming you’ll be cleared to receive them.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Two things. Spacers sometimes don’t react well to our antigenic programs — they already have in-built mechanisms for dealing with infection — and any of them who come here from outside Nova City are generally spies.”
Masid rolled his sleeve down. “And then what do you do? Administer a toxin?”
Her face colored, and she glared at him. “I’m a doctor. I don’t execute people.”
Masid waited till she seemed to calm down. “Sorry,” he said.
“Reasonable question, I guess,” she said. “I’m... prevented... from doing anything. I have to report them. What happens after that is out of my hands.”
“If you don’t report them?”
“I can’t risk that.” Shasma studied him, eyes narrowed. “Since you’re evidently new to Nova Levis, maybe you don’t know what’s going on here.”
“I know you’ve got a health problem. It’s provided me a good living since I grounded.”
“You came in with Filoo, I can imagine. Noresk?”
Masid nodded.
“Noresk used to be one of the primary raw material cities on Nova Levis,” she said. “It sits on top of deposits of minerals from aluminum to zinc, and not difficult to mine. Prior to the blockade, exports in processed material from Noresk exceeded the gross income-generating production of any other place on the planet. There was a state-of-the-art filtering system in place then, and a permanent public health staff of fifty-eight physicians. The filtering system was dismantled and brought to Nova City.”
“And the doctors?”
“Brought here one by one or sent to other towns. Or killed by the new plagues.” For a moment, she looked sad. Then she shook her head. “Noresk is particularly bad because of the local environmental degradation. Prophylactic ecologies that are supposed to protect inhabitants broke down a long time ago and require regular infusions of new strains, but since the blockade there’ve been no new shipments. So the worst of the outbreaks have started there.”
“You have cures for them,” Masid said, raising his arm. “How come they aren’t distributed?”
“They aren’t permanent. Not without boosters. Reexposure results in eventual reinfection.”
“With a variant strain? Mutation happens that fast?”
He watched the muscle in her jaw work in the multihued light from the screen.
> “I kept having to tweak my products,” Masid continued. “I didn’t have the equipment to do a full analysis, but my cultures showed a continual shift in the protein shells of the major strains. Not unexpected in viral mutation, but it doesn’t usually happen that fast.” He paused for a reaction, but she remained silent, concentrating on the screen. “Something was utilizing exotic materials for the modifications.”
Shasma straightened and sighed. “What kind of materials?”
“Again, I didn’t have the equipment —”
“Did you guess? Or are you like every other black marketeer, not giving a damn what might work, just so long as it makes your customers feel better enough to keep coming back for more ineffective product?” She grunted. “Six months ago, a group of locals selling what they called ‘polyherbal morphenals’ was shut down at my insistence. They were attempting to create the equivalent of herbal remedies by mixing local flora with certain synthetic prophylactics. It resulted in outbreaks of fast-killing syndromes that threatened to blossom into one or more new plagues, the vectors and morphologies of which we would never be equipped to track and stop. I appealed to the ledger balance of the people I work for — if your customer base dies off, you won’t have anyone to sell to. Finally, a couple of them took me seriously and dealt with the problem.”
She glared at the screen. “You’re not a Spacer. I don’t care where else you might be from, but may I suggest you stick to recognized and reliable analysis protocols if you’re going to keep selling pharmaceuticals? If you’re not, then I don’t care.”
“Why are you working for these people?”
“I run a clinic at the wall, to help people in that camp outside. I work for Parapoyos so I can keep my clinic open.” She smiled wryly. “We all practice a form of prostitution here. Welcome to Nova Levis.”
She lurched further away from him, into her lab.
“What’s your problem?” he called. “I would imagine you could about fix yourself easier than anyone else.”