Mark Tiedemann: Mirage

Beginning at the apron before the main entrance, two rows of station security robots formed a sort of honor guard that continued down the length of the concourse into the station's great hall. Arms extended and linked, they kept the crowds back by a combination of presence and cordial cajoling. Union Station was one of the few places on Earth where positronic robots were in such public use, which, Mia felt, was a shame. She liked them-which set her apart from the vast majority of her fellow Terrans-and could not see the evil they supposedly represented. They were here because so many offworlders came through; Spacers who not only were used to a clear robotic presence, but depended on it. Union Station was a kind of international zone in which all jurisdictions had representation, containing embassy offices of the Spacer missions-satellites to the main embassies east in Anacostia District.

But beyond the diplomatic necessities, Mia thought the use of robots was ideal for crowd control during events like this. Earther distaste-Earther fear-for robots kept most people from getting too close to them. Mia could hear the insistent, genderless robotic requests to "please stay back" and "do not cross the line" even over the din. If anyone actually got past that line, it was up to a human to usher them, gently or otherwise, back behind it. For that, regular police and station security stood ready.

Even so, these robots were not entirely independent units. They were all slaved to Union Station's Resident Intelligence. The RI handled the complex coordination among the various units. Besides Mia's own Special Service team, the police, and station security, several of the representative bodies from industry and political interest groups had brought along their own small security teams. In the unlikely event of a security breach or other emergency, the RI would deploy these units more efficiently than any human coordinator might manage.

"Moving up now," One said.

Mia caught sight of her two team partners on the other side of the archway. Each of them, Mattu and Gel, gave her a nod and returned their attention to the avenue.

The moving strips immediately fronting the Union Station entrance had been shut down today. The strips on the other side of the independent traffic lanes still moved, but they were empty.

The oversized limo rolled silently into sight, small flags fluttering at its corners, and pulled up against the curb. Mia strode to the doors and tapped a code into the lock. A section of polished black metal slid back and Mia stepped away.

A robot emerged first. Standing nearly two meters tall, it nevertheless appeared almost toy-like. Smooth-jointed, its arms hung to its sides, little more than tubes that ended in clumsy-looking three-fingered hands. It seemed too thin for its height. The rounded head possessed ill-formed ear shells, a faint depression where a mouth ought to be; above that was a single slit that glowed white-its optical array. Its bronze skin dully reflected the station's lights.

"Agent Daventri," it said through her link, "it is good to see you again. Is all secured?"

"Hi, Bogard. Yes, we're fine." She glanced at the gathered spectators and saw a number of round-eyed stares. Despite the robot's innocuous appearance, they were clearly afraid of it. "Bogard, please link to RI network now."

"One moment," Bogard replied. "linking. link complete. Security net, sensory net, and related peripherals realtime linked to Union Station Resident Intelligence. Telemetry optimal, Agent Daventri."

"Very good, Bogard. Proceed."

Bogard took two steps forward, then turned smartly. Senator Clar Eliton stepped from the limo. He seemed taller than he actually was, his high forehead crowned by thick waves of greying black hair. The beginnings of a double chin and the dense webbing of creases around his eyes betrayed his age and the wear of office, but the rest of him appeared fit and energetic. Boos and angry shouts peppered the air as his personal staff emerged behind him. Eliton, seemingly oblivious to them, smiled and waved as though on a campaign stump, and started down the entry tunnel.

Bogard fell into step behind and to the Senator's right. Mia and her teammates ranged out ahead, she to the left, Gel on the opposite side, and Mattu on point. She spotted other members of the on-site security sprinkled along the way and through the crowd as they brought Senator Eliton into the main gallery.

The line of robots on either side saluted. Mia felt herself grin.

Who's idea was that? She glanced back at Bogard, but it seemed unaffected.

"We're ahead of schedule," Mattu said through the link." The Auroran legation is still enroute from Kopernik. Three minutes."

"Do we let him talk?" Gel asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"One says no," Mattu replied, his own voice revealing none of his feelings. Mattu, team leader, was the oldest of them, the most experienced, and he had repeatedly cautioned them against letting their sentiments show. "You have a job to do," he often said, "despite the politics."

They slowed down. The Senator picked up on the signal and made more smiles and handwaves. The catcalls diminished as the party neared the other end of the tunnel; the crowd had been screened so that more supporters than detractors filled the gallery. Even so, Mia was grateful Eliton's vice senator, Taprin, had had other commitments today. The antipathy toward Eliton was bad enough. Having both of them present would only have increased the negative reactions.

"Flesh, not steel!" someone yelled, voice amplified. station security waded into the crowd, looking for the speaker.

Mia's nerves danced upon hearing the popular motto of the current radical reform movement. She had heard rumors that Eliton had attempted to invite representatives from the Order for the Supremacy of Man Again, trying to be as inclusive as possible, but the Managins had refused… to the relief of Eliton's handlers. That did not mean, though, that they would not show up.

More dignitaries arrived, forming a brief parade of politics and commerce. Several others waited on the platform that dominated the floor by the arrival gate.

Within the gallery, ropes held the crowd in check. Fewer robots stood at wider intervals, since human security did most of the work here. Mia caught brief squirts of comspeak from the officers, all of it reassuring, everything positive. Even with the advance screening, Mia had expected more hecklers and protestors. A group of police passed her, on its way somewhere, faces intent. Out of the possibility for so much chaos, it amazed her how much order prevailed.

The entourage reached the base of the raised platform. Mattu mounted the broad steps, eyes roving intently. He stood for a few seconds at the top, frowned briefly, then gave the all-clear, and Senator Eliton came up.

"Looks like a walk in the park," Gel said. "Stay sharp," Mattu cautioned.

The assembly on the platform was a cross-section of Earthly power. Mia recognized a few lobbyists from various coalitions, but mostly she saw industrialists. Alda Mikels of Imbitek stood in the midst of his own cadre of functionaries and security, which looked lighter than Mia expected. Nearby, Rega Looms, CEO of DyNan Manual Industries, and his handful of aides milled among themselves, appearing uncomfortable and out of place. Mia was surprised to see a face she recognized hovering on their periphery. She had not seen Coren Lanra for over a year, since he had resigned from the Service. She caught his eye and he smiled and nodded.

"Wouldn't you know," Gel commented through the link, "Lanra would be babysitting Luddite, Inc."

Mia ignored the remark. As with most of Gel's observations it held more acid than substance.

It was curious, though. Coren had quit over protest at bringing robots like Bogard into Special Service, though Bogard was the first and so far the only one. She had heard that Lanra had opened his own agency, a small office somewhere in the southeast corridor, but if he was doing security for DyNan she wondered if perhaps he had given that up for a corporate sinecure. Though he had made his feelings about robots clear, Mia had not thought him sympathetic to Looms and his radical notions of a return to some sort of premechanized idyllic past. But a job is a job, she supposed, and turned her attention back to her own.