Greg Bear - Foundation and Chaos

Tritch watched them from across the bridge. “What did you find?” she asked.

“The man I’m looking for,” Planch said. “He lived a little longer. He must have arranged the others, then come here to die.”

As he brought out Lodovik, Tritch tried to back away, but could not find a grip fast enough. The body, curled and lifeless, floated ahead of Planch, under Tritch’s nose, and she nearly gagged with some reflex expectation.

“Don’t worry,” Planch said. “This one doesn’t smell much. It’s colder on the bridge.”

Tritch could not believe they had come all this way just to retrieve a single body. Back aboard the Flower of Evil, with Lodovik safely stowed in a box in the hold, she passed Planch a bottle of Trillian water of life, and he poured himself a glass and lifted it in cheerless toast.

“The Chief Commissioner wanted to make sure. And now that we know he’s dead, and all the others with him, I’m to take him back to his home world and see him decently buried, with full Imperial honors.”

“And leave all the others? That seems a little bizarre.”

Planch shrugged. “I don’t question my orders.”

“Which world is he from?”

“Madder Loss,” Planch replied.

Tritch shook her head in disbelief. “A man in such high authority, from a planet of disgraced parasites?”

Planch inspected his glass and lifted one finger before finishing its contents. Then he poked glass and finger at Tritch. “I remind you of our contract,” he said. “The death of this man could have political repercussions.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

“People could guess from what little you do know, if you spread it around in the wrong places. And if you do, I’ll find out.”

“I keep my contracts, and I keep my mouth shut.”

“And your crew?”

“You must have known we were trustworthy when you hired us,” Tritch said softly, dangerously.

“Yes, well it’s even more important now.”

Tritch stood and lifted the bottle from the table between them. She corked it firmly. “You’ve insulted me, Mors Planch.”

“An excess of caution, no insult intended.”

“Nevertheless, an insult. And you ask me to go to a world that no self-respecting citizen willingly visits.”

“They’re citizens on Madder Loss, too.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “How long do we stay?”

“Not long. You drop me there and leave at your own pleasure.”

Tritch was finding this harder and harder to believe. “I will ask no more questions,” she said, and tucked the bottle under her arm. Apparently Planch was no longer so attractive to her, and henceforth their relationship would be strictly professional.

Planch regretted this, but only slightly.

When he delivered Lodovik Trema to Madder Loss, he would be a very wealthy man, and he would never have to work for anyone again. He imagined buying his own luxury vessel-one that he could keep in tip-top condition, which was more than could be said for most Imperial ships.

As for the strange and tightly disciplined man in the hold, a man who could stay enclosed in a coffin for days without complaint or need…

The less he thought about that, the better.

Lodovik lay in the darkness, fully alert but quiescent, having heard the coded phrase that alerted him to Daneel’s participation in his rescue. He was to cooperate fully with Mors Planch; eventually, he would be brought back to Trantor.

What would happen to him there, Lodovik did not know. Having performed three self-checks in the coffin-shaped box, he was reasonably certain that his positronic brain had been altered in subtle ways. The results of his self-checks were contradictory, however.

To keep himself from deteriorating through disuse, he activated his human emotional overlay and ran diagnostics on that, as well. It seemed intact; he could operate as a human in human society, and that provided some relief. However, the contact with Mors Planch on the bridge of the Spear of Glory had been too brief for him to try out these functions. Best to be kept isolated until a more thorough test could be performed.

Above all, he must not reveal himself to be a robot. For all the robots in Daneel’s cadres, this was of paramount importance. It was essential that humans never learn the extent to which robots had infiltrated their societies.

Lodovik put his human overlay into the background and began a complete memory check. To do so, he had to shut down his control of external motion for twenty seconds. He could still see and hear, however.

It was at this moment that something bumped against the box. He heard fumbling outside, then the sound of metal scraping against metal. The seconds ticked by…five, seven, ten…

The lid of the box was pried open with a metallic groan. With his head turned to one side, half facing the wall of the box, he could only gather a blurry glimpse of one face peering in, and a fleeting impression of one other. Eighteen seconds…the memory check was almost complete.

“He certainly looks dead.” A woman’s voice.

The memory check ended, but he decided to remain still.

“His eyes are open.” A male voice, not that of Mors Planch.

“Turn him over and look for identification,” the woman said.

“Sky, no! You do it. It’s your bounty.”

The woman hesitated. “His skin is pink.”

“Radiation burns.”

“No, he looks healthy.”

“He’s dead,” the man said. “He’s been in this box for a day and a half. No air.”

“He just doesn’t look like a corpse.” She reached in and pinched the tissue of his exposed hand. “Cool, but not cold.”

Lodovik blanched his skin slowly, and dropped his external temperature to match the ambient. He felt inefficient and incompetent for not having done that earlier.

“He looks pale enough to me,” the man remarked. Another hand touched his skin. “He’s cold as ice. You’re imagining things.”

“Dead or whatever he may be, he’s worth a fortune,” the woman said.

“I know Mors Planch by reputation, Trin,” the man said. “He won’t just hand his prize over to you.”

Lodovik, on his conveyance into the rescue ship, had heard the name “Trin” applied to a woman he gathered was second-in-command to the captain, Tritch. This could be a very serious situation.

“Take his picture,” Trin said. “I’ll get a message out this sleep and we’ll learn if he’s the one they want.”

A camera was lifted over the box and silently recorded his image. Lodovik tried to model all the possible causes for this behavior, all the scenarios and their potential outcomes.

“Besides, Tritch has given her word to Planch,” the man continued. “She’s known to be honorable.”

“If we succeed, we’ll make ten times what Planch is paying Tritch,” Trin said tightly. “We could buy our own ship and become free traders on the periphery. Never have to deal with Imperial taxes or inspections again. Maybe even go to work in a free system.”

“Pretty rough territories, I hear,” the man said. “Freedom is always dangerous,” Trin said. “All right. We’re here. We’ve broken the seals on the box. We’re committed. Make an incision in his scalp and let’s get what we came for.”

The man withdrew what sounded like a scalpel from his pocket. Lodovik activated his eyes and watched them in the dim light of the hold. The man swore under his breath and brought the scalpel down.

Lodovik could not allow himself to be cut. He would bleed from any superficial wound, but even an untrained eye would see that he was not human if the scalpel cut deep. Lodovik quickly calculated all the pluses and minuses of any particular action he might take, and arrived at the optimal, based on what he knew.