Mark Tiedemann - Chimera

Tentatively, Derec clasped her hand. The grip was dry and strong. Abruptly, he felt very foolish.

"Ms. Palen, yes. I-" He looked past her at Rana. "Would you excuse me?"

He set his briefcase down at Hofton's feet and embraced Rana. Her arms came around his back and squeezed him.

"I don't-" he began.

"It's good to see-"

"-what are you-?"

"-too long-" she commented.

"-can't believe it, you look-"

Derec's breath escaped in a heavy sigh, simultaneously with Rana 's sharp laugh. He stepped back. Her eyes glistened and she wiped at them impatiently.

"What are you doing here?" Derec asked.

Rana smiled. "I'm your embassy contact."

"Embassy…?"

"Long story," she said. "Later." She nodded in Sipha Palen's direction. "Business."

Palen watched with a bemused gleam in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back.

"Sorry," Derec said. "Rana and I used to work together. It's been a while since we saw each other."

"Of course," Palen said.

"Um…yes, Mr. Lanra said you'd meet us. You're chief of security?"

"Every bit of it, " she said, smiling. "Welcome to Kopernik. "

"Thank you. I believe I'm supposed to oversee an excavation on a positronic brain?" He looked at Rana, who shrugged.

"We haven't let it out of our lockup yet, " Palen said. "Now that you're here, we can get started."

"Rana is more than qualified-"

"Coren and I have agreed to a certain protocol in this case. You are part of it."

"I see. Well, then, let's get started. I understand there's a time limit?"

"There is. I'll take you to the robot directly and we'll all escort it to the Auroran embassy, if that's acceptable to you, Ms. Duvan. "

"I'm not in charge of the embassy," Rana said. She glanced at Hofton. "If it's been cleared with Yart, then…"

"I've already secured the appropriate clearances," Hofton said. "Ambassador Leri is aware that certain unusual circumstances prevail. We have his cooperation."

"Good," Sipha Palen said. "Then…?" She made a gesture for them all to proceed.

Derec retrieved his briefcase and they fell into a group, he and Palen in the lead, Hofton and Rana following. As they passed beneath the arch leading to the main concourse, Derec glanced to the left and saw a tall man in a knee-length ivory coat. His face was almost as pale as his coat, but mottled, as if from scarring. The faintest trails of hair traced across his scalp above a high forehead, and sharp, golden-green eyes shifted slowly, intently. He stood facing the customs aisles, as if waiting for someone, but as they walked by, he turned to watch Derec and his companions. It seemed to Derec, just for a moment, that the man smiled. Too brief to get a firm sense about it, but Derec thought he recognized a sign of familiarity and satisfaction in that expression.

Then Derec was through the archway and out of sight. He had never seen the man before. He knew he did not want to meet him. The reaction was irrational and after several steps he dismissed the entire episode as a leftover of his anxiety.

Must be Palen's man, he thought. It made sense. By the time they reached the embassy branch, Derec had forgotten all about him. Palen's section looked cramped. The doors were narrow and the passageways claustrophobic. The main desk nearly filled the front office, the bulkheads behind it filled with communications equipment that appeared constantly active. As they' entered, two uniformed officers looked up from where they sat behind the long, heavy counter.

"Chief-" one started.

"Not now," Palen said. "Where's Oler?"

"Back in the lockup," the other officer said.

"Chief," the first one said again, "you've got a message here from an Agent Harwol, TBI. He says it's urgent, would you-"

"Later, " Palen cut him off.

Without another word, Palen led the way around the end of the desk and into a corridor. At the other end, they emerged into a wide, low-ceilinged chamber lined with cells. Derec counted three people behind the transparent doors, none of whom bothered to look up as Palen's group filed through. One, though, caught Derec's eye-a Spacer, judging by the clothes.

Adjacent to the cell block was another chamber about the same size, but without the cells; instead, tables, chairs, and a few couches littered the floor. Against one wall stood an autochef and a samovar.

A short woman with no hair sat at one table, bent over a reader, one hand wrapped around a tall cup. She looked up.

"We're here to get the tinhead, Oler," Palen said. "Get us a gurney, will you?"

The woman nodded, paused to finish reading something, then walked out. Palen went to a plain door opposite the auto chef. With a passkey, she opened it and stepped inside.

Derec followed Palen into the storage locker. Shelves stacked against the left wall to the ceiling, boxes and canisters piled on the floor to the right. At the far end lay a robot, legs bent up in the small space.

"You stored it here?" Derec asked.

"It hasn't moved since we found it," Palen said. "What would you have me do, put it in a cell where it could be seen? Most of our guests don't stay very long. I thought it best to keep rumor to a minimum."

"I understand, but I thought you'd have it in your forensic pathology lab or something."

"I repeat: I wanted to keep rumor down. I already have the people who were there when we found it assigned exclusively to the crime scene and a communications block around that bay." Palen frowned. "Besides, my people were a little nervous about it."

"I thought you were used to dealing with robots," Derec said. "That's what Lanra implied anyway."

"More used to it than the average Terran, but considering the possibility that this one committed murder, that was more faith than I was willing to ask of my people."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"No. But it wasn't me I was concerned with. Now, do you want to look at this thing or criticize my methods some more?"

Chastised, Derec stepped past her and knelt down. As he expected, it was a DW-12-a very versatile laborer, basically. In the inadequate light of the closet, it seemed physically in reasonably good condition, but it was hard to tell. He lifted one heavy arm and pulled it straight. Relieved, he set it down-at least it had not locked up.

"It should be easy to move." He stood. "What have you done to it?"

"I had my chief pathologist go over it for physical evidence, but honestly not much beyond that. It was in his lab for about an hour, then we put it in here. I thought it best to just wait for you. "

"Fine. Let's get it to the Spacer embassy, then."

"Mr. Avery." Palen stepped closer to him. In the tight space she seemed to tower over him. It was an effort not to back away. "What are the chances of recovering anything from it?"

"There's no way I can give you an estimate yet. I have to see how badly collapsed it is first."

"But statistically-"

"Any numbers I give you would be meaningless. You'll just have to wait till we can start the excavation." He waited, but she continued to stare at him. He shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"Fine. Then let's get you situated." Yart Leri looked very much an Auroran: slim, face smoothly ageless, large, clear eyes, and a politely attentive demeanor that nonetheless discouraged intimacy.

"Welcome, Mr. Avery," he said, meeting them in the embassy reception area. A robot occupied the desk. "We've arranged quarters for you and Mr. Hofton. I've been instructed to lend every assistance. The resources of the embassy are, within certain limits, at your disposal."

"Thank you. I'd like first off to see your positronics lab."

"Certainly. I'll have Rotij show you around. That's Rotij Polifos. He's our chief roboticist. He'll be assisting you, should you require it."