A crowd stood outside the police lines. Hopeless faces, some crying; parents holding children by the hand, couples holding each other, wearing stricken looks. People who would be better off almost anywhere but here.
Sixty-three confirmed dead, so far. The apartment building, a run-down six-floor concrete structure with no balconies, now had a huge bite taken out of it at ground level. That it would have to be condemned was a given. I was more worried that it might fall over any moment, crushing everything nearby.
This wasn’t a great neighborhood. By almost any pre-war standards, it would be a slum. Buildings all had their own power systems since the invention of dependable fusion, but the streets were dirty, unlit, and covered with graffiti. Windows and doors at ground level had long since been reinforced or completely covered over. Stains ran down the sides of the structures from weather, deteriorating paint, and contributions from birds.
The people living in this favela hadn’t been significant in any way. They weren’t government, or military, or anything that would justify making them a target. Just people, probably unemployed, living on the edge of poverty. Most of them likely had no hope, no future, other than the possibility of eventual emigration to another star system.
What was the point? What could possibly justify this? The perpetrators had attacked people with next to nothing, and taken even that. Sometimes it shamed me to think that I used to be human.
I accepted a call from the Brazilian minister.
“This is the third attack this month, Riker. And there has been no progress in catching the perpetrators. What assurances can you give me that something will be done?” Minister Benedito looked more spooked than angry. Very probably he was worried about his job. Still, this wasn’t the time to get my back up.
“Minister, I’m not in charge of the investigation. Really, I’m not in charge of anything except the global emigration effort. I’m here as, well, a consultant. I will help out the investigation any way I can. But you have to look to your internal security forces to get this resolved. Plus whatever the UN can do, of course.” I could see from Benedito’s face that he didn’t think much of my response. But it was all I had.
I made mining drones available to the emergency personnel, to help locate and extract bodies or survivors. I set up surveillance drones around the perimeter, in case the terrorists tried to send in a follow-up attack. And I made sure that those in charge had a direct line to me. And mostly, I waited.
This was, as the minister had said, the third attack this month. This was terrorism, pure and simple. And not even for any political end, as far as I could tell. There had been no announcements, no demands. Someone simply seemed to be out to get Brazil. Since Florianópolis was pretty much all that was left of the former empire, this was the natural target.
Fifteen hundred ships, or fifteen hundred trips. The inexorable logic of mathematics mocked me.
*
Minister Gerrold, the representative from New Zealand, was holding forth again on my shortcomings, both real and imagined. He really hated me, for some reason, and had since day one. Not that I cared—the man was a putz—but my orderly mind liked to have a link between cause and effect. Plus, if I was going to create this kind of reaction in someone, I would rather have an end-game. Fighting some random idiot was a waste of energy.
Today’s rant was about the sabotage and our inability to deal with it. I let my public avatar display alert interest, while I rolled my eyes in my VR.
He finally ran down, and I prepared to offer a response, but the minister from the Maldives beat me to it. And beating a computer to the punch was an impressive feat. I wondered if I should do a systems check.
The chair recognized Minister Sharma and she stood up. “I’d like to thank the minister for giving us a summary of his speech from last session. Which, if I recall, was also a summary from a previous speech. I’d be even more appreciative if it had been a prelude to some new information. Or at least witty. Minister Gerrold, you’ve obviously got a problem with the replicants. I’d like to ask you to take it offline, so we can get on with actual business.”
The attention lights blinked rapidly, the remote meeting’s equivalent of applause. Minister Gerrold’s face clouded up and he sat back, arms crossed.
I made a note to send Sharma a thank-you note. But she was right. He obviously had a pickle up his butt about replicants in general, and me in particular.
The next item on the agenda concerned the deteriorating climate. Several enclaves in the higher latitudes were approaching non-viability. Two ships, Exodus-4 and Exodus-5, were due to launch this month. The UN had confirmed that the island nations would be sent to Poseidon. The question on the table was whether we needed to switch the order of emigration, or whether we could just move the troubled enclaves into the vacated territories. Everyone had an opinion, and every opinion seemed to be different.
I leaned back and looked around. I’d just realized that Homer wasn’t here. He usually popped in to mock the UN meetings. I think I was starting to depend on his satirical take on things to get me through the tedium.
Looked like I’d have to get through this one the old-fashioned way. I activated sandbox Bob and handed off the video window. Freedom.
19. Prey
Bob
June 2172
Delta Eridani
Archimedes patiently tied two strands of vine together while the cub watched. I smiled, observing the tableau in the video window. His mate, Diana, kept one eye on the drone. She had never liked the drones, or me, and still tensed up when one was around. Having a child to protect just made her that much touchier.
Archimedes was oblivious. He was too busy teaching his cub basic skills. The cub took the vines and, tongue sticking out of a corner of his mouth, tied a perfect granny knot. Archimedes sighed and corrected it into a square knot. The cub smiled up at his father and I experienced a jolt of—well, something. Pride? Envy? Wistfulness? Maybe all of the above. It was hard to sort out. My eyes were watering, and I had to suppress a strong urge to re-watch one of the recordings of Riker’s chats with our family.
I minimized the window and turned to see Marvin watching me. He said nothing, and after a moment he dropped his eyes and went back to what he was working on.
I took a few deep breaths and brought the window back up. The cub had successfully executed a square knot, although he still didn’t seem to be clear on the difference. I chuckled. I’d given Archimedes some sailing knots over the last while, and he was learning them, one at a time. It looked like he was trying to pass that knowledge on to his cub.