"This car isn't positronic, is it?" Derec asked.
"I wish. Car, how far to Union Station?"
"Ten minutes at current course and speed."
"Proceed as normal. Let me know if that vehicle begins to gain on us."
"Yes, Ambassador."
"When did you get a promotion?" Derec asked.
Ariel waved dismissively. "It's programmed to respond to the primary passenger that way unless specifically told otherwise. Sometimes I really hate it here."
"You miss your robots."
"Damn right I do! At least you get to play with some, when you're not building killers."
Derec's face warmed. "Excuse me?"
Ariel scowled but would not look at him. "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did. Do you want to explain it?"
"Why should I? You know perfectly well what I mean."
"Bogard."
Ariel extended her hand, palm up, in a gesture that said, There, see? You knew what I meant.
"Bogard's purpose is to protect humans," Derec said.
"By being willing to harm other humans."
"It's not that simple."
"Evidently not. It failed."
"Not with Agent Daventri."
"Oh, it messed up the first time and now it's doing better to compensate? Why did it let Senator Eliton die? There are three holes in that man that shouldn't have been there!"
"I don't know why Bogard failed! I can't find out till she releases it to me and I can run a proper diagnostic on it!" Derec's anger filled him suddenly. "You never have accepted the idea that robots needn't be straitjacketed by the Three Laws, that the nature of positronics can be applied to allow wider discretion-"
He stopped, realizing that she was no longer listening. Ariel stared into the middle distance, her face expressionless but her eyes bright.
"What?" he demanded.
"Hmm? I-" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring this up now."
And she looked away from him, pointedly ending the conversation. Derec knew better than to try to force her to continue. He sat and seethed until the limo arrived at Union Station.
"So when did you get a promotion?" he asked again.
"Two of those bodies were Ambassador Setaris's top aides. I ended up next in line."
"No, you don't. They could draft some junior legate."
Ariel shrugged. "Since the situation involves a positronic unit, it made sense to have me step in as Setaris's chief aide. For the time being."
"You're being set up to take the blame if anything goes wrong."
"Are you surprised? Typical Auroran politics."
She still sounded distracted. Derec was surprised to find himself worried for her, but right now it did not seem to matter to her.
The limo stopped on the apron of the main gallery.
"Car," Ariel said, "you will return to the embassy garage."
"Yes, Ambassador."
"We're finding another way back?" Derec asked as he got out.
"We can use the Auroran embassy offices here," Ariel said.
Derec searched the boulevard for their shadow but saw nothing unusual in the cluster of cabs and limos crowding against the apron.
The normality of Union Station troubled him. Two days ago Derec had entered upon a scene of violence and terror; now it seemed as though nothing had happened. The gallery echoed with the sounds of foot traffic and conversation; the P. A. announced boarding for a shuttle; the floor gleamed with new polish.
There was still a trace of the powder bums along the wall.
Derec felt anxious all the way to the customer service desk. He realized then that he half-expected a security guard to eject him. He glanced up at the row of windows that overlooked the gallery, where he had been two days ago.
At the desk, Derec had planned to use a self-service datum. Instead, the small consoles were all shuttered. A young man greeted them with a vague smile.
"Can I be of service?" he asked.
"Are the datums down?" Derec asked.
"For a few days. We're going through a complete systems overhaul. In the meantime, I can help you."
Ariel shrugged. "Fine. I'd like to confirm a passenger."
The attendant nodded and glanced down at his own console, hidden from Derec and Ariel by the desk. "Do you have the flight number?"
Ariel checked her portable datum. "Shuttle flight two-seven-K-dash-one-one-nine-A. Yesterday at four-fifteen AM?"
"Shuttle to Kopernik Station. It launched on schedule."
"Seat E-twenty."
"Confirmed for a Mr. Aspil, Tro. Final destination… Aurora on the liner Corismun."
"I'd like to confirm that he actually took the flight."
The young man looked up, not quite frowning. "Is this official?"
"He's an Auroran citizen," Ariel said, digging out her ID, "and I'm from the Auroran Embassy."
"But-"
"It's not official yet, but it could be. I'm trying to save everyone some headaches."
The attendant checked her ID. He looked unhappy for several seconds, then shrugged. "I suppose there's no problem just checking to see if he boarded." He handed the ID back and worked at his console.
Derec turned around to survey the gallery. Something bothered him about the scene. The access to the service areas was guarded by uniformed security people. A small truck sat against the wall bearing the Imbitek logo. That was an obvious difference. What nagged at him felt more subtle, less…
No robots, he realized. None-not even the mindless mobile drones that usually scuttled about with luggage or messages or food. Instead, he saw humans doing those jobs.
"I have Mr. Aspil checking in at three-twenty to board the four-fifteen shuttle," the attendant said. "According to the record, he was logged visually and verified."
Ariel sighed. "Fine. Thank you."
Derec turned back to the young man. "Can I ask, when was his ticket purchased?"
"Um… six weeks ago."
Ariel blinked. "Who bought it for him?"
"According to my records, he bought it himself."
"Could you give us the account number?" Derec asked.
The attendant openly frowned now. "We're not really-"
"Listen," Derec said, placing a hand on the desk top in front of the attendant, "there are some irregularities with this and if necessary we can get authorization to go through the records without your help. That might cause you some problems if it has to be explained to your supervisors that we're rummaging through files because someone didn't cooperate when it would have saved time and trouble."
The young man's face darkened briefly. Then he shrugged again. "It's not worth my job. Here." He handed a printout to Derec. "You didn't get it from me."
"I've never seen you before," Derec said, taking the slip.
"Thank you," Ariel said. As they walked away, she said quietly, "It is contrary to service regulations to divulge personal information without proper authorization."
Derec shrugged. "He won't have a job next week anyway-he's a temp. He probably doesn't know the regulations. But he certainly doesn't want an unsatisfactory mark on his performance record." He gestured around the gallery. "Did you notice? No robots."
"It's a shame. This place felt…"
"Like home?"
Ariel snorted. "No place on Earth feels like that. I was going to say 'civilized,' but that's not right. It felt safe."
"Because of the robots?"
Ariel nodded. She held up her datum. "Who bought Tro a ticket back home six weeks before he even arrived?"
"Shows a little foresight, doesn't it?"
"On whose part?"
Derec gave the service entrance another look. "I need to get in there, before they rip everything out."
Ariel pointed to an archway guarded by two uniformed security men. "Embassy offices are through there."
The archway opened onto a long concourse. On either side, stairs at ten-meter intervals led up to narrow corridors. Ariel entered the one nearest the far end. The corridor ran five meters to an ornate, metal-finished door that, Derec guessed, was heavily armored. Ariel slipped her ID into the reader and a moment later the door opened for them.
The reception desk made a graceful arc, halving the floor space in the antechamber. A single attendant sat dozing, head propped on fist, before the elegantly-molded bank of monitors to his right. At times Derec missed Auroran luxury, but it could be overwhelming. The walls cascaded with a complex blue-and-yellow pattern that seemed to shift like falling water as he moved. The desk almost glowed from its high polish. The air was scented, and the carpet gave a good two centimeters underfoot, absorbing all sound from their tread.