Mark Tiedemann - Mirage

"You have my sympathy," Yarick said.

"It's not all bad. After today I expect the rest of the year will be easy. But right now I'm trying to keep a panic from destroying everything we've built here. Humadros's mission would have made my life-well, not easier, but at least more hopeful. 'As it is, everything could fall apart."

"As I said, you have my sympathy. How does that concern us?"

"It's a question of appearances. I'd like you to reconsider your departure. Delay it, at least until the local authorities can make arrests. It would mean a great deal to the resident Aurorans to see the surviving members of Humadros's legation-"

"I'm sure it would, and I'm sure you mean well, and maybe you even shared Galiel's vision of a stronger tie with this planet, but frankly I could care less right now," Yarick interjected. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I watched people I loved and admired die today from an act that made even less sense than the actions these people usually make."

Yarick closed her eyes briefly and seemed to gather herself. "I'm quite honestly afraid, Ms. Burgess. The only reason we're talking-well, there is no reason we're talking, only blind chance. Humadros died right in front of me. Then Carset, then Shoal. They were the heart, mind, and spirit of this mission. Then all the others-Vorin, Janilen, Aspil, all dead right in front of me, and the wounded, Kitch, Moreg, Vanloonis, Graw… No, I want out. I'm just as glad Setaris forwarded me to you because I don't want to talk to Ambassador Setaris. When she has the time, she'll do her level best to talk us out of it, and she can be very persuasive."

Yarick shook her head emphatically. "I don't want to be persuaded, and I don't need any added guilt. I want these arrangements made quickly and with the least fuss. Everyone else on the embassy staff will be in sympathy with Setaris. I want a full escort to the shuttle. I won't begin to feel safe until I'm on a liner back to Aurora. I'm sorry I feel that way, Ms. Burgess, but I do and I can't stop shaking. I'm frightened of this place. If I stayed, what good could I do, hiding here in the embassy? Because I won't set foot on a Terran street! They even killed their own representative!"

"Please, Ms. Yarick, I understand-" Ariel began.

"No, you don't! Have you ever been shot at? Has your life ever been threatened so immediately that you believed your next thought would be your last? I don't think you do understand!"

"How old are you, Ms. Yarick?" Ariel asked quietly.

"What? I-what?" Yarick frowned, off-balance.

"How old are you?"

"Ninety-eight."

"Do you know that the average life expectancy on this planet is less than eighty?"

"I-yes, I knew that. I'm afraid I don't see your point."

"You've reached nearly a hundred and this is your first brush with mortality. These people live with it daily once they hit forty. Part of Humadros's mission might have given them some hope to change that."

After a long pause, Yarick said, "Are you implying that my reaction lacks perspective?"

"Perhaps. You're making a lot of assumptions about how little anyone else might understand."

"I see. Well, that may be true, and if so then I will apologize to you once I recover my perspective enough to appreciate it. But for now, I can't get away from my own reactions. I'm sorry if that's not what you wish to hear."

"I apologize if I seem insensitive," Ariel said. "But I do understand."

"Very well. Yes, perhaps I was presumptive."

"Would anyone else of your staff be willing to stay? It would help if the entire Auroran legation did not abandon the mission."

"The wounded are already scheduled to go up to Kopernik. I can talk to Trina and Gavit, but they're as badly shaken as I am. I do see your point, but-"

"Anything you might be able to do would help. We can move you into the Calvin Institute wing -there would be a full staff of robots. I'm asking for a gesture, an act of faith-"

Yarick laughed dryly. "The day has used up its allotment of gestures, don't you think? But I promise, I'll speak with the others. I'll let you know in the morning, Ms. Burgess."

"That's all I ask. Thank you."

The connection broke and Ariel let out a long, exasperated sigh. Sometimes her job made it difficult for her to see why she wanted it.

She tried Tro Aspil again, but the link remained closed.

Ariel paced the length of her living room and back, and by the time she reached her bar, the whiskey was gone, and she finally felt the first intimations of sleep coming on. She looked at the time-nearly one in the morning-and tried to ignore the knowledge of her early appointments.

"Time for bed," she announced to the room.

The doorbell sounded, bright and clear.

"What in-?" she groaned.

Impatience mounted steadily to anger as she strode toward the door. She could think of only a couple of people in the building who might be so impolitic as to disturb her this late, but could think of no possible reason other than to bother her about what had happened today. She thought they would know better, but after a day of dealing with the skewed reasoning of her fellow Aurorans it should not surprise her that they might not.

R. Jennie was already at the door by the time Ariel reached it.

"It is after the hours during which Ms. Burgess accepts company," R. Jennie explained through the intercom patiently. "Please return in the morning."

"I can't," came a small, tight voice. "I need to see Ariel now. Listen, I am ordering you-you are a robot?"

"I am-"

"Listen, I am ordering you-"

"Jennie," Ariel said. "Admit them."

"But, Ariel-"

"Admit them."

"Yes, Ariel."

Ariel's nerves danced as R. Jennie opened the door.

Standing in the hallway, supported by the oversized arm of an immense robot, Mia Daventri smiled weakly at her.

"Hi, Ariel. Sorry to bother you so late. Can I stay here for a few days?"

The Phylaxis Group offices occupied three floors of a refurbished small industries complex in the Lincoln District, just off the Seventeenth Corridor. They were crowded between a modest heavy metals recovery business and a recently abandoned tailoring shop. The air always faintly smelled of hot ozone and acid. A small plaque by the main entrance identified the Group headquarters, but they received no walk-in business. Derec had put in a reception area when he had gotten the permits, but it had been a gesture, a visible symbol of what he had hoped would become more than just a promise among politicians. As he walked through the empty front office, he doubted any of his hopes would come true. Earth would surely reject all positronics now. And if not, the Fifty Worlds had no reason to try to continue relations with them.

When he entered the main lab, Rana turned from her console and grinned at him proudly. She was a compact woman, with close-cropped black curls and narrow hazel eyes. "I made a duplicate," she said. "We still have an RI matrix to study."

Derec stared at her, uncomprehending. "A copy… how-?"

"While the transfer to their buffer was going on. It was simple to just assign a secondary address."

Derec laughed. "It's not traceable, is it?"

"Please, Derec. Credit me with some sophistication. I didn't want to say anything over the com earlier, just in case. You mentioned Special Service, and I just don't trust those"

"They're not that bad. "

"With all due respect, Derec, you don't trust them either, otherwise you wouldn't have 'forgotten' that you were on com with me when they showed up."

He sobered, thinking of the two agents arriving at the med facility-the same pair that had thrown him out of Union Station. No, he did not trust them, but he doubted they had tapped his comlines. But perhaps Rana's caution would not be a bad example to follow until they knew more.