After that, she had spent the rest of her time dealing with panicked Aurorans and at least five attorneys who threatened suits on behalf of Terrans who had been injured or simply frightened senseless at Union Station. They could not sue Aurora -the diplomatic arrangements between Spacer worlds and Earth made it virtually impossible-but they could bring suit against resident Spacers who owned businesses. For the most part, they were only threats designed to elicit out-of-court payments. Ariel told them to go ahead and file, that she thought it likely that, once it was brought to the attention of certain government departments what they were doing, they could lose their licenses rather than risk countersuits by Aurorans. The conversations turned ugly in a couple instances, with one attorney telling her bluntly that he intended to press the suit anyway if there was any chance of getting the damn Spacers off Earth.
Her responses grew sharper and sharper until she finally told Hofton to stop putting the calls through. She could no longer concentrate on her job. Her attention was divided.
"Ariel," Hofton's voice came over the intercom, "I have recordings of the incident, as you requested. Two for now, a third one has been promised."
"I'll view them at my apartment later. Thank you, Hofton."
She stared into space, letting her thoughts collide randomly.
There had been gaps in the exchanges with Agent Sathen and Gale Chassik. She kept turning over in her mind what else they might have left out. Sathen had pointedly said nothing about the two agents who had come to see him after Mia's admission to the hospital. Chassik's implication of wrongdoing against Derec infuriated her. He had danced over the fact that it was a Solarian firm that had installed the RI at Union Station and that if any collusion were involved it would be between that company and the conspirators. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that both Sathen and Chassik had made deliberate omissions, and in the case of Sathen, at least, unwilling omissions.
Ariel had never gotten used to the standard practice reticence diplomatic service entailed. Not being told things because it was "not your area " or was not part of her "need to know" irritated her to the point of fury, but she had come to accept it. This was different, though she could not quite define how. There was a distinction between covering one's butt as a matter of routine and covering up. She could sense the change even when it defied specification.
Perhaps her insight came only from the fact that Mia Daventri was hiding out in her apartment. It seemed curious that Special Service could pronounce her dead without a single tissue sample.
She stabbed the intercom.
"Hofton, I'm going home. Unless war breaks out before tomorrow morning, handle it."
"As you command," Hofton intoned with mock gravity.
"Don't be impertinent."
"Never."
In spite of her headache, Ariel smiled. She gathered up the disks of all the downloads Hofton had gotten for her and slipped them into her pocket.
She stepped into the lobby and raised her hand to gesture good-bye to her staff.
"Ariel," Hofton said, looking up from his desk, "you might want to take this call."
"I might?"
"I think so. It's Derec Avery from the Phylaxis Group."
Thirteen
Derec waited restlessly in the small Phylaxis Group reception lounge.
The room contained comfortable chairs, a bar, a subetheric, a viewer on which could be displayed promotional or educational material-a pleasant environment in which clients could become better acquainted with Phylaxis, its work, and positronics. Derec remembered the party held here when they had received their license. His truncated staff and Senator Eliton and a few of his own aides had toasted the future, the gamble they were taking, the hope that things would change. It had been the only time anyone had actually used the room.
A bell chimed and Derec pressed the button on the receptionist's desk to open the door.
Ariel stepped inside and stopped. She glanced around, then looked at him. Derec began to smile. She wore a better-than-average Terran one-piece the color of clay and a dark blue jacket. She was thinner than the last time he had seen her, eyes wearier, the lines around her mouth a little deeper, tighter. Except for the slightly exaggerated contours of her chin-length black hair-closer to Spacer style than Terran-she might pass for an Earther.
"I'm here," she said.
"Thank you. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I'm still not sure it's worth my time. You said you have something to show me?"
Derec felt his brief pleasure fade. Better, he realized, to get directly to business.
"Who from the Calvin Institute supervised the installation of Union Station's RI? It wasn't you."
She frowned. "Directly? No. I'm the commerce liaison here, not a project manager. But I looked in on it." She shrugged. "Why?"
"Who did the inspection? I mean, specifically."
"Bys Randic. She rotated back to Aurora last year, though. Is it important?"
"Could be. Was there anything unique about it? The brain itself, that is."
Ariel sighed deeply. "I didn't come here to be interrogated. You told me you found something wrong with the RI. Did you?"
"Oh, yes. But-"
"Show me."
Derec started to protest, but stopped himself and waved her toward the door behind him. Clearly nothing had changed in the years since the last time they had spoken together in the same room. At least this time Ariel was not shouting and redfaced. Not yet, anyway.
A short corridor ended at a heavy security door, which stood open. Ariel preceded him through to the main lab.
Rana looked up from her console, one eyebrow cocking critically. From behind Ariel, Derec patted the air to let Rana know it was all right.
Ariel did a more careful survey of this chamber. Derec could almost imagine the way she assessed each piece of equipment, sorted out the way in which the lab worked, and judged it…
"I'm impressed," she said. "You could do some excellent work here." She turned to him. "What do you do with it?"
"Till lately," Rana said, "we've done a lot of theoretical work, plotting positronic vectors under stress situations and the like, and we can play some really high level strategy games on it. For the most part, though, we spend our time answering questions from resident Spacers who can't understand why their robots won't anticipate their wants and desires the way they do back home and explaining to others why they shouldn't have a positronic robot outside embassy confines."
Derec glared at her. "Rana, this is Ariel Burgess. Ariel, Verana Duvan, my chief roboticist."
"Burgess," Rana said, rising. "Calvin Institute." She stopped a pace away from Ariel. "I read your brief on 'Cross-Inference Deduction in the Field. ' Good work."
Ariel hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Thank you. I'm afraid I can't say I've seen any of your work."
"Don't apologize. I'm Terran. We don't get to publish in Spacer journals."
"How…?"
"How did I get involved with robotics?" Rana grinned. "My degree is in Industrial Automation, with a minor in AI. I got sidetracked into positronics. We aren't all rabidly antirobot."
"That must have been difficult."
"Tracking down the material was a challenge. Frankly, if Derec hadn't come along with his offer to work here I was going to apply for emigration. I was preparing my application to the Calvin Institute. Futile gesture, maybe, but you never know till you try."
"Why futile? If Derec wanted you, you must be good."
"Calvin doesn't take very many Earthers. I checked.
There's a very old saying about a snowball's chance…?" Rana started to go back to her console, then looked at Ariel. "And I am good."
"Modest, too," Derec said.
"So with all this talent, why do you need me?" Ariel asked.
"Because we didn't install the RI at Union Station, we only watched from a distance," Rana said. "And it has some peculiarities we can't explain."