Mark Tiedemann - Mirage

Mia limped back to the couch, leaving Bogard connected to the com. She had not thought Bogard could do this, but, thinking about it now, it was only logical. She stared at it, wondering what other capabilities it possessed to which she-or anybody else in her department-had given no thought.

She stared at her datum screen for several seconds. It no longer said WORKING. Instead, the words SEARCH COMPLETED glowed green.

Hesitantly, she pressed ACCESS.

Derec touched pavement at street level, relieved to finally be off the rooftops. He looked back up the length of ladder, toward the distant ceiling of D. C. Some of those roofs ended at that ceiling, forming part of the support for the cap that covered the city.

He shook his right arm to ease the bum. He had climbed down the entire length of this building -about fifteen meters, he guessed-with the crate under his left arm. His muscles ached.

"You know," he observed, "it's been a long time since I did any serious climbing, but this really isn't a very good substitute."

Ariel was looking around, her face pulled into an annoyed scowl.

"What?" he asked. "You've been looking like you lost something since we got to this sector."

"It's-I don't know, I can't quite put my finger on it. I should know something else about this area."

"What does your datum say about it?"

"A warehouse district, some small assembly plants, mostly merchandiser's storage. I-"

Ariel snatched out her datum and tapped it quickly. She turned and pointed. "That way."

Derec followed, irritated afresh. "You have an appointment?"

"Actually, yes."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"No, but it's part of my duties to know certain areas."

Derec waited for more explanation, but none came. He resigned himself to following and waiting for a bit longer.

Ariel went down a narrow gangway and out into a broad service alley that ran between loading docks. She glanced left and right and went left. At the fourth dock she stopped, referred to her datum, then pointed.

"That's the place."

"What place?" Derec asked.

Ariel climbed onto the dock apron and tried the employee door. When it did not open, she looked expectantly at Derec.

"Don't overuse this," he said as he joined her and inserted his decrypter. The lock was simple and the door opened within seconds.

Inside, they found a small, neat office. Business licenses hung on the walls.

"This is Auroran," Derec noted.

"I know."

"What are we looking for?"

"Contraband."

The warehouse proper was filled with rows of ceiling-high shelving containing crates of a similar dull grey as the one beneath Derec's arm, though much larger. Ariel stepped up to the nearest one and studied it, then looked around. She found a small handheld device hanging from the end of the shelves and ran it along the length of the crate.

The lid unsealed and swung out. Within stood a humaniform robot, minus the head.

"A DP-8," she said. "Porter model drone."

"A bit too human for here, isn't it?" Derec commented dryly

"Just a bit." Ariel checked three more and they all contained headless DP-8 drones. "Now, where do you suppose the heads are?"

They wandered among the shelves. Derec saw cases containing a variety of drones-factory assembler units, agromaintenance, cleaning drones-but only one section with the humaniforms, and every one of those that they opened they found headless. He began to suspect now what it was he carried under his arm.

"Derec," Ariel called.

He followed her voice to a wide door leading into another, smaller storage chamber. He saw machinery and workbenches.

"How come no one's here?" he asked.

"The embassy ordered all our nationals to close their businesses for the duration of the crisis."

"There's a crisis?"

She gave him a warning look.

On one of the benches sat a row of humaniform heads. Not absolutely human, but broadly so-caricatures of human faces. The backs were open. Derec turned one to peer into it.

"Empty."

"And…?"

He looked at Ariel. "It's easily adaptable to a positronic brain, if that's what you mean."

"I do."

He looked at the crate he carried, then back at Ariel.

"This place is only a short distance from the garage," she said. "Proximity doesn't usually mean much, but in this case I'd have to say the coincidence is a little too much."

"I think we'd better leave before another incident."

Ariel nodded vaguely and let Derec lead her back to the small office. She went to one of the three desks, though, and switched on the terminal. She took out her datum and connected it to the I/O.

"Ariel-"

She held up a hand and Derec pressed his lips together tightly. It was futile to argue with her when she had her mind set on a goal. He waited while she riffled the system and transferred data.

Finally, she shut down and pocketed her datum.

"Let's go."

Relieved, Derec stepped out onto the loading dock.

Derec looked sharply to the right. A police cruiser squatted in the alley and two officers stood behind it, weapons aimed at them.

"Shit," he muttered and slowly placed the crate at his feet. "Just what were you looking for?"

Ariel stared angrily at the back of the cop's head. Her voice was controlled and reasonable, completely at odds with the frustration Derec saw in her face.

"Convention space," she said. "There's going to be a trade show of Spacer manufactures. That's what I do, I'm the commerce liaison with the Auroran Embassy."

"Convention-? There aren't any convention facilities in this area, Ambassador, and that was a private warehouse-"

"But it's called Convention Center District on all the maps."

"Yes, it is," the cop said agreeably. "But there really aren't any convention facilities there."

"So why is it called that if that's not what it contains?"

"It's always been called that," the other cop said. "You must be new on Earth. "

"So it must be a practical joke, is that it? Leave outdated names on all the maps so the new tourists end up over their head in a bad neighborhood. Of course, that's a joke, too, since the Terran Tourism and Visitors Department swears there are no bad areas in D. C. or in any other major urban center on the planet."

"Tourism doesn't ask the police, Ms. Sorry."

"Someone should ask someone," Ariel went on, her voice acquiring an edge now.

Derec watched appreciatively as she gradually amplified her rant, over the course of the several kilometers back to the Auroran embassy, irritating and then enraging the two police officers who had, in fairness, just done their jobs. She picked on every explanation they offered until they clammed up and gave her only monotone answers and clearly could not wait to get her out of their cruiser. They had not arrested them because Ariel had her embassy ID on her and had convinced them that she had had business at that warehouse. Derec still had the crate, secured by the same explanation, though the policemen were clearly not happy about it. They were not willing to risk the trouble, though, in arresting an ambassador. Now she had gotten them to the point where they cared about nothing other than returning them to the Auroran embassy, which they had been more than willing to do, no doubt under orders to make sure no more Spacers got harmed or killed in the aftermath of Union Station. Ariel took advantage of that to so thoroughly outrage them with her petty slurs against Earth that they did not bother asking for Derec's ID, nor did they ask the questions that would have opened the door to answers Ariel did not wish to give.

On the landing pad, fifth floor of the embassy, they climbed out of the transport. Ariel strode off in a huff. Derec looked in at the two cops.