Mark Tiedemann - Mirage

Bogard staggered against a wall, turned with comic grace on one foot, and lurched toward the opposite wall. Mia found herself inexplicably worried for the robot, even though it was a machine just doing what it was told.

What Derec had told it to do.

"You're sure it'll be all right?" she asked.

He gave her a curious look, then shook his head. "It's risky. Any number of things could go wrong. TBI could pick it up, local police, a corridor gang, even a salvage crew. Are you changing your mind? You said this was the only way to get inside."

"Yes… it is. Only…" She glanced at her feet, avoiding his gaze. Only Bogard is the only thing I feel absolutely confident in right now… She sighed. "All my backdoors into the Service databases have been shut down, all my passwords have been discontinued. We need access."

Derec nodded, then touched the com unit on their vehicle's dash.

"Ariel," he said, "we're ready. We let it off in Corridor 93, sublevel ten, MacMillan Sector."

"Got it," Ariel replied. "I'll wait two minutes, then call it in."

"Good."

Bogard disappeared around a corner and Derec started the transport. "Car, proceed to second preset destination."

The transport-an ordinary maintenance vehicle from an embassy garage, unmarked and anonymous-pulled away from the alleyway.

"Don't worry," Derec said to Mia. "The least we can do is fail."

"Hah! Mattu used to say that failure wasn't even part of our vocabulary."

"Mattu was your team leader?"

"Since the first day I was assigned personal security for Senator Eliton. He and Gel had been working as a team for four years. I replaced a retiring agent, Starns. She'd been team leader. Mattu was next in line. He was very good, Mr. A very."

Mia looked at him and saw surprise in his face and wondered how harsh she had sounded. Her eyes burned; time to stop talking about it.

"You feel guilty," he said quietly. "You're alive, they're not. Bad enough if it had been some bunch of mad fanatics, outsiders, but you don't know how to make sense of it being your own people."

"Are you a frustrated psychoanalyst?" He laughed briefly, without humor. "That would be convenient. No, I just-I don't really understand human nature that well. I try. I pay attention. It seems that's more than most people who don't believe they have a problem with it do."

"Is that why you work with robots?"

"I told you-"

"You told me why you built Bogard."

"Touchй." Derec looked out the opposite window for a time, and she thought he intended to drop the subject. But then, not looking at her, he said, "I'm the son of a genius. I lost… memories. I've made up for a lot of them, but I can never know how much I'll never recover. I don't know why I'm as good at robotics as I am. Parental influence? Maybe. Probably. But that answer is common, easy, and unsatisfying. Maybe you're right. Maybe I work with robots to… to understand." He turned to her. "They make more sense than people do. Most of the time."

Mia felt uncomfortable under his gaze, as if he expected more confession or perhaps confirmation.

The transport turned onto an ascending ramp.

"Do you think Senator Eliton is alive?" she asked.

He blinked at her, surprised again. He nodded, though, accepting the change of subject. "If he is, then where is he?"

"I'm more interested in why. If we know why he's still alive, then we can figure out the rest. Why will give us who."

"Maybe we can find out from Bogard."

"From the Service database? Why would it be there?"

"Two agents, a senator, who knows who else?"

"I can't accept that the entire Service is culpable. Can you?"

"Can you accept that Eliton might be part of it?"

"I don't know."

Derec shrugged. "This is Earth."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"When something inexplicable happens, Spacers like to say 'Must be Terran. ' It's a joke. A bad one. But there's some truth in it. Something inexplicable happens here, they say 'This is Earth. ' Less of a joke."

"What is so inexplicable about Earth that isn't about Spacers?" Mia asked.

"Hate. Hatred is a tradition here. Terrans hate robots. Most of them have never even seen one except in bad vids with rampaging robot villains, but they hate them anyway. It doesn't make sense, but it's the truth. Even sensible people hate them. How can you tell the difference between them and the fanatics?"

"We don't have a monopoly on hatred."

"No. But it seems to be better done here than anywhere else."

Mia fought with her resentment, surprised at her sudden anger-it proved his point, after all, especially since she found it impossible to disagree with him.

"If hate is driving this," she said, "then why the pretense of a conference at all? Why not just reinforce the restrictions already in place and shut the Spacers out even more?"

"Too much money at stake to stand on principle," he said.

"For some, not all."

"Like Rega Looms?"

Mia nodded. "He's one example."

"Maybe. But it may still be a money issue. If the conference succeeded, what would that do to DyNan's P amp; L statement?"

"You're suggesting he's the one most motivated to see it fail because of profit?" Mia shook her head. "Even without Spacer competition, he would never be able to outperform the others. Imbitek could buy DyNan out of petty cash."

"Then it's hate."

"Coren Lanra suggested that it's the black market. The pirates."

"Greed again. Take your pick. Hate versus greed. In the middle, Eliton."

Mia found it too simple. Credits dictated life throughout the vast moral middleground of Terran politics and industry, yielding at the edges to the passions. But she had never known a truly passionate fanatic who could move in those middle terrains and not be seen clearly for an outsider. Even Looms, radical as his personal philosophies made him, gave unto Caesar and was deemed dependable by all the rest. Somehow, he did not fit this crime.

But she found Derec's simplistic reasoning compelling. What had she learned at the academy? The simplest motives explain the most? Complex behaviors could often be rendered down to very basic emotions. The complexity only obscured the driving force.

So what was it? Hate or money?

Or both?

The transport pulled onto a broad, brightly-lit thoroughfare. Derec climbed into the back and returned wearing a stylish blue jacket.

"Personally," he said, "I'm hoping it's greed. That can be understood as a matter of logic, simple numbers. If it's hate-"

"Then why would Alda Mikels personally invite you to see him?"

"One can only wonder. Wish me luck."

"Luck better have nothing to do with this."

He grinned at her. Presently, the transport pulled off the main road and slowed to a stop in a service corridor. Derec opened his door and stepped out.

"Be careful, Agent Daventri. After all, you're supposed to be dead."

"The dead are tough, Mr. A very," Mia said. He started to close the door. "Derec." He paused, waiting. "Good luck."

"Thanks. You, too."

He closed the door and she watched him cross the corridor in front of the transport. They had stopped half a kilometer from the corporate offices of Imbitek.

Derec and Ariel were not professionals and although so far everything they had done had turned out well, Mia wondered how much longer they could operate without incident. Now they were confronting people, digging where they could be discovered. This would have been a difficult enough investigation with trained agents, but with amateurs…

She would have to get used to it, there was no choice. When Derec was out of sight, she touched the contact on the dash.

"Car, proceed to destination three."

The transport rolled on. DyNan Manual Industries maintained a large suite of offices far out in the Arlington District, away from the majority of its fellow corporations. Looms evidently believed in making statements whenever possible, and his choice of location spoke of his deliberate dissociation from everyone else.