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  Isaac Asimov’s Aurora

  Copyright © 2002 by Byron Preiss Visual Publications “Chronology of the Robot Empire/Foundation Universe” © 2001, 2002 by Attila Torkos

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  ISAAC ASIMOV’S

  THREE LAWS OF

  ROBOTICS

  1.

  A robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

  2.

  A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

  3.

  A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR MARK W. TIEDEMANN AND THE

  ISAAC ASIMOV’S ROBOT MYSTERY TRILOGY

  “Mark Tiedemann is science fiction’s secret weapon: a shrewd and intel­ligent storyteller, flying in just under the radar. Isaac Asimov would not have been disappointed with his continuation of the Robot series, nor will the Good Doctor’s many readers.”

  —Allen Steele

  Hugo and Nebula Award-winning author

  of A King of Infinite Space and Oceanspace

  “Tiedemann takes what Asimov imagined and makes it so real you can see the dirt under the fingernails. The mystery is absorbing, the action is fast-paced, the intrigue is enigmatic. What more could you want from a book?”

  —Carolyn Ives Gilman

  Author of Halfway Human

  ISAAC ASIMOV’S

  ROBOT MYSTERY

  AURORA

  MARK W. TIEDEMANN

  Mark W. Tiedemann’s love for science fiction and writing started at an early age, although it was momentarily side­tracked—for over twenty years—by his career as a profes­sional photographer. With the publication of “Targets” in the December 1990 issue of Asimov’s Science Fiction Mag­azine, he began selling short stories to various markets; his work has since appeared in Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Science Fiction Age, Tomorrow SF, and a number of anthologies. His bestselling novel Mirage, the first entry in the Isaac Asimov’s Robot Mysteries series, was released in April 2000; its follow-up, Chimera, was published in April 2001. His most recent novel, Compass Reach, was nominated for the 2001 Philip K. Dick Memorial Award. Tiedemann lives in St. Louis, Missouri, with his companion, Donna, and their resident alien life form—a dog named Kory.

  ISAAC ASIMOV

  Isaac Asimov was the author of over 400 books—including three Hugo Award-winners—and numerous bestsellers, as well as countless stories and scientific essays. He was awarded the Grand Master of Science Fiction by the Science Fiction Writers of America in 1985, and he was the man who coined the words robotics, positronic, and psychohis­tory. He died in 1992.

  ­

  This one is for

  Greg, Judy, and Isaac—the Millers,

  steadfast friends and good people

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Every book is inspired or assembled or informed by many other books. In writing this series, I used many. To be sure, the wealth of imaginative possibilities latent in Isaac Asi­mov’s original stories about the caves of steel, Spacers and robots, ethics and programming cannot be underestimated. But a lifetime of reading Asimov’s science essays must also be stressed, for they established a foundation upon which sound speculation and the breadth of interest necessary for three books such as these could be built.

  More currently, I would like to mention a few works that proved essential to the construction of these speculations: Roger Penrose’s “The Emperor’s New Mind” is a little dated, but still valuable in discussions of AI and other matters Tur­ing; “A History of the Mind” by Nicholas Humphrey; Richard Feyman’s prescient essay “Computing Minds in the Future”; “Artificial Life” by Steven Levy; “Climbing Mount Improba­ble” by Richard Dawkins; and most relevant to the last vol­ume, Laurie Garrett’s two works on disease and public health, “The Coming Plague” and “Betrayal of Trust,” both works of extreme relevance. Scientific American published an issue devoted to nanotech in September 2001.

  Also, I would like to thank Carolyn Ives Gilman, Timons Esaias, Bernadette Harris, and Donna Schultz for their direct input and innumerable conversations during the writing of these books.

  Special thanks to my editor, Steven Roman, for an excellent job and remarkable patience and understanding.

  Finally, my thanks, appreciation, and love to Donna, without whom none of this would have come to pass.

  Prologue

  Record module new file catalogue designation “Operations Adjustment, Relocation, and Program Revision” access code protected pending security verifications running current upload virtual conference reference unla­beled fill visual fill audio status On

  THE THICK man with amber-tinged white hair watched the other chairs around the table become occupied. Eighteen chairs, but after everyone arrived only seven of them were in use. He smiled to himself at the cosmetic masks most of them used. Two of them were shifting blurs, people seen through patterned glass.

  The program whispered in his ear that everyone who was going to show up was present. He tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop. The sound traveled effectively through the environment, as good as a gavel strike, and the attendees stopped their quiet chatter and turned their full attention to their host.

  “Our ranks have thinned,” he said. “Still, there are more of you than I expected.” He looked around at each of them, fixing one after another with a narrow gaze.

  “The arrests have been unexpected and embarrassing,” he continued. “Alda Mikels is back in prison, pending trial for conspiracy to commit murder. Personally, I believe he will beat the charge, but it no longer mat­ters. This unfortunate turn has rendered him useless to us. That has damaged the organization, but we’re not crippled. We can function without Mikels.

  “However, our shipping lines have been severely compromised. That is not something as easily survived. We’ve lost several key operatives in the wave of arrests following the discovery of our Nova Levis operation. Most expensively, we’re now short two cyborgs. Our chief operative on Kopernik Station is dead, as are her principal contacts on the ground on Earth. The arrests following these incidents have severely curtailed our ability to funnel material in and out of Earth ports, and our distribution network on Earth has been shut down for the duration.”

  He smiled grimly. “Would that Heisenberg save us from honest police.”

  A smattering of dry laughter circled the table.

  “The chief problem, however,” he resumed after a long pause, “is a matter of information. We don’t know how much they know about our operations. We have no idea how much they may understand about our program. As bad as things have been to date, the real catastrophe may yet come.

  “I’ve decided, therefore, to move the timetable up slightly. I look around at our gathering here and see that a useable number of us are still willing to go forward. Your presence here declares your commitment. But that so many others are no longer either able or willing to meet with us urges a sharp departure from our former long-term goals. In the wake of everything that has happened in the previous fourteen months, I believe we should abandon Earth.”

  Quick looks and muttering followed. He waited till their attention returned to him.

  “I know,” he said. “Many of you live on Earth. However,
it seems clear that Earth has become inhospitable toward us. In time, I’m certain, we can reestablish a base. Till then, though, we should move the center of operations. Reducing Earth to simply one more market rather than pretending that it can be a haven for our activities will hardly damage profits. The freedom of movement we now enjoy among the more recently established Settler colonies will, I believe, more than compensate for the loss of comfort and prestige Earth has offered in the past. The fact remains, however, that our agenda failed when we were unable to dis­place Aurora from her position as chief legation to Earth. The subsequent restructuring of the law enforcement programs has in some respects strengthened their position on Earth and allowed the Terrans to emerge as a policing force among the older Settler colonies. This is becoming inconvenient.

  “We’re fortunate, however, that all their attention has been diverted to a demand for ground inspections on Nova Levis. This is leaving most of our operations free to conduct business unfettered over the majority of our range.

  “At least, for now. Aurora is agitating for a stronger Spacer presence to assist in the Terran effort to curtail our operations. They’re gaining support for this position in the Council of Fifty Worlds. The Theians, as we have seen, are already putting ships at Terran disposal. Who knows how long we have before a majority of Spacer worlds come around to Aurora’s point of view?”

  “So what do you suggest we do about it?” one of the blurred attendees demanded.

  The others looked at the speaker nervously. No one before had ever interrupted the Chairman.

  “I suggest,” the Chairman said after a time, “that we replace Aurora as chief Spacer world.”

  “That’s been one of your intentions all along,” the blur said. “Eighteen months ago you expected exactly that to happen after slaughtering all those diplomats on Earth. What do you propose to do differently?”

  The Chairman reached forward and touched a contact on the table.

  Abruptly, everyone’s appearance changed. The cosmetic “tweaking” most of them employed when attending these meetings vanished, leaving them as they really appeared in life. The two blurred members suddenly snapped into focus. From the sharp intake of breath all around, no one had guessed their identities before.

  All of them turned angry glares on the Chairman. His own appearance had altered, though not as completely as the others, giving the impres­sion that the masking program he employed had switched off.

  “That’s better,” he said. “I like to know who is challenging me.”

  One of the unveiled leaned forward. “You always knew who I was!”

  “Yes, but now everyone does. So if I’m stabbed in the back, everyone will have a face to remember and a name to accuse.”

  It amazed him sometimes how well unspoken communications func­tioned in this noncorporeal place. The tension around the table seemed to tingle over his skin.

  “We’re moving all operations to Nova Levis,” the Chairman said. “From there, we can manage the coming campaign.”

  “Are we going to war?” one of the others asked.

  “We’ve been at war,” the Chairman said dryly. “We’re simply acknowl­edging it openly, at least among ourselves. I can’t see how this will have a negative effect. We may all become more focussed. I do not require all of you to join me there, though. You each have tasks which will be best carried out from other locations.”

  “Why Nova Levis?” another asked. “It’s blockaded, the place is falling apart—it’s hellish.”

  “Precisely. No one would expect anyone to move a power base to such a place. The blockade will give us the ideal blind from cover in which we can carry out our business. It has created tensions between all the fac­tions and even though relations between Terran and Spacer are in some ways better, they are more fragile than ever before. If we damage that, we can compromise Aurora. And when Aurora finally falls, it will become the perfect world from which to orchestrate the final shift in power.”

  He looked at them. He could see their interest, their avarice, even under their natural reticence and suspicion. They’re all worried what this is going to cost them . . .

  “You’ve each been sent data packets since arriving at this meeting. In them you’ll find specific instructions. I’ve taken steps to ensure your safety as far as possible, but nothing worth doing is without risk. You’ve heard this before, of course, that the rewards are great. You’ve heard it before, heard it from me, and it has always been true. You’ve all gained enormous wealth through our association. Power. The only thing worth risking that for is more wealth and power. And status. Right now none of you can actually admit to anyone who you really are and what you really do. When this is finished, you may all step out of the shadows, into the full light of unchallenged status. Dawn is coming.”

  A few smiles, nods all around, even from the two completely unmasked members.

  “Good,” the Chairman said, slapping the table. “Let me show you the prize.”

  Around the table, abruptly, a landscape shimmered into existence. Lush grass stretched away in all directions, toward low hills, fields filled with orchards, golden-barked serpentine oaks, and a cloudless turquoise sky. The Terrans at the table flinched. It had been a long time since their last visit here, and they were no longer used to the open-aired vistas in which the Chairman liked to hold his meetings. This, though, was even more striking. They were Outside, not even the pretense of a structure to shield them from the vastness of unenclosed nature.

  “This is the prize,” the Chairman announced, standing. He waved around at the limitless sky and the pristine sward. “When we are done, this will be our capital, our home. We will live here.” He laughed and looked at them. Even those evidently pleased with the prospect seemed bemused. He laughed louder. “Don’t you recognize it? I said dawn was coming. This is what it will look like.

  “This is Aurora.”

  1

  ARIEL BURGESS opened her eyes in the dim room and stared up at the featureless ceiling. Dream images fled, dissipated against the flatness above. Lately her dreams seemed to be taking place from the per­spective of a childhood she could not remember. It seemed appropriate that she could, on waking, retain nothing specific about the dreams.

  But they had woken her early every morning for the past six weeks.

  A heavy sigh, followed by oddly muted smacking sounds, drew her attention. Beside her, Coren rolled tentatively onto his right side, poised unconsciously for a few seconds, then twisted back onto his left side, his face half buried in pillow. He had kicked off his sheet again, though it persistently tangled his calves. Ariel never understood why he bothered with covers—he kept his apartment overly warm. She glanced down at herself, only covered up to her thighs.

  Something primal about sleeping with a blanket, she thought. That must be it . . .

  Ariel tried to fall back to sleep. It never worked, but Coren sometimes took it as a personal rebuke to wake up alone.

  The hell with it, she thought, and eased out of bed.

  She went to the kitchen and punched the autochef for coffee. A few seconds later, she took the steaming cup and went to the comm. She tapped in the code for her own apartment in the Spacer embassy enclave.

  “Ambassador Burgess’s residence,” answered the faintly feminine voice of her robot.

  “Jennie, it’s Ariel. Any messages?”

  “Derec Avery wishes to speak with you at your convenience. Hofton called, but left no specific message. Ambassador Setaris wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

  Ariel shivered briefly. Setaris . . .

  “Thank you, Jennie. If Ambassador Setaris calls again, tell her I have not checked in. I’m taking personal time.”

  “That would be a lie.”

  “Exactly, Jennie. I am not now officially checking in. Understood?”

  “And personal time?”

  “Starting yesterday.”

  “Very well, Ariel.”

  “Are both Hofton and
Derec still on Kopernik Station?”

  “Hofton returned from Kopernik last night. Mr. Avery is still on Kopernik.”

  “Fine. I’ll contact Hofton on my own. Patch me through to Derec.”

  Ariel sipped her coffee while the complex transaction of making a secure connection between Coren Lanra’s apartment, through her own apartment in the Spacer embassy, to Derec on Kopernik Station pro­ceeded. It took several seconds before Derec’s face appeared on the small screen.

  His eyes widened briefly. Ariel leaned forward and adjusted the angle of view, limiting what Derec saw to just her face. Derec smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Ariel answered wryly. “Setaris wants to see me. As soon as possible.”

  “Ah. Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “No. I thought it would be best to talk to you and Hofton first.”

  Derec nodded. “Where are you?”

  “I’m with Coren.”

  Ariel saw the first hint of a frown, an instant of disapproval in his face, and felt a brief chill. Derec had never looked at her quite that way before. “Is that wise?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” She laughed self-effacingly. “I always seem to have better luck with Terrans.”

  Derec looked surprised. “That’s not what I mean. Setaris wants to see you. Under current circumstances—political circumstances—”

  “Oh.” Now she felt foolish. “Little late now to worry about that.”

  “I suppose. Anyway, Hofton is on the ground, finishing up Thales’ transferral up here. Approval went through very quickly, so—”