"Asimov, Isaac - Robot Mystery - Chimera" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

Ariel shrugged. "Terran jurisprudence. Damned if I can see what's prudent about it. But how long after that do you think it will be before he starts haranguing us in public of trying to bring a suit against us? That might just convince Setaris to ship us home."
Derec closed his eyes and swallowed more scotch. Alda Mikels: head of Imbitek Heavy Industries, industrialist, engineer. And murderer. The trial had lasted nearly two months--scores of witnesses, experts and counterexperts testifying...but not one positronic specialist. Derec had been deposed, as had Ariel, but neither of them had been called to the stand. Something about their status as noncitizens, it seemed; Derec never did get it entirely straight.
Mikels had sabotaged the complex Resident Intelligence of Washington D.C.'s Union Station, the showpiece on Earth for positronics. The fragile treaties and agreements that had allowed it to be built in the first place as an intercultural zone where Earthers might come to see for themselves how positronics worked, the first step in a hoped-for reintroduction of robots to Earth, shattered in the aftermath of that very system's failure and the subsequent slaughter of so many Spacer and Terran diplomats.
A failure Alda Mikels had implemented.
But the end result had been that Mikel's sabotage had been poorly understood and therefore the harm he'd done had been rendered less his responsibility than the unpredictable nature of positronics. Derec had watched, amazed, when the lesser indictment of "Public Endangerment" had been handed down.
It had all been part of a larger scheme to discredit positronics and any possible diplomatic advancements in Spacer-Terran relations. At its center had been Senator Clar Eliton, a man who had convinced Aurora of his honest intentions to help bring robots back to Earth. For his part, Eliton had escaped prison because of the frail evidence to connect him to Mikels and the others involved--which included the former head of Special Service, who had vanished. At least Eliton had been recalled, losing his senate seat in the process.
Not that his replacement, Jonis Taprin, was much better. He was openly hostile to Spacers and robotics. Better that than the oily duplicity in which Eliton had indulged, Derec felt.
But it had been Mikels' technology that had undermined the positronic intelligence that ran Union Station and allowed a team of assassins to enter the main gallery and shoot down the gathering of diplomats who had arrived to commence the conference they had hoped would begin reconciliation.
Coren Lanra's employer, Rega Looms, had been suspected for a time. None of his people had been shot during the slaughter, which made him look very culpable. But that, too, had been a set-up.
Their own involvement--Derec's and Ariel's--had gotten them sequestered to the embassy, in a legal limbo, awaiting deportation at the convenience of Sen Setaris, the head of the Auroran mission on Earth. Ariel's confinement had been repealed after a few months as certain duties were returned to her, but as far as Derec knew she rarely left. He often wondered what was taking so long to deport them. It seemed cruel to leave them dangling like this, teasing them with possibilities. He had grown numb waiting.
He finished his scotch and went to the bar for another.
"My question," Derec said, "is how come we're being so careful? Do you really want to stay here?"
Ariel frowned. "I don't--"
"You 're afraid to do anything that might get us kicked back to Aurora sooner. We both know that's what they intend to do anyway. Why are we being so careful? I repeat: do you want to stay on Earth?"
"I don't know." She looked at him. "Don't you?"
"Under these circumstances?" He shrugged and left the question hang. In truth, he was tom. Saying no would mean he had never found anything worthwhile here, which would be a lie. Saying yes meant he was willing to tolerate anything to remain, which would be a bigger lie. His affection for Earth complicated his thinking. He finished his second scotch and set the glass down. "Thanks for the drink. I have some time to hunt down and kill, so if you'll excuse me..."
Ariel raised her own glass in mock assent.
Derec left her offices and headed down the corridors, in the direction of his apartment, his mood muddied by the alcohol. He reached the elevator and punched the button.
"Mr. Avery?"
Derec turned slowly. Coren Lanra stood nearby.
"Forgive me," Lanra said. "I just thought you'd like to know--that you'd be interested to know--that we believe a robot was responsible for Nyom Looms' death."
Derec stared at him. One more point in Ariel's favor...
"That's impossible, of course," he said.
Lanra smiled thinly. "So you say. But I suppose you'll never know now. Thank you for your time. Sorry to bother you."
Derec watched Lanra walk away until the elevator door opened.


FIVE

A
riel, you have a call. "
Ariel squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. She rolled over, and the band around her skull tightened just enough to let her know that the muzzy warmth of too much scotch needed several more hours to sleep off. Too late. She opened her eyes.
R. Jennie stood at the foot of the bed, impassive and attentive.
"What? What did you say, Jennie?" Her mouth felt gummy, barely cooperative.
"You have a call. Ambassador Setaris. "
"Hell...what time is it?"
"Two-twenty."
"In the morning?"
"I asked if it would be convenient for her to call again later, but she insists that she cannot."
"Of course she does," Ariel complained as she pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "That's what it means to be an Ambassador. Ambassadorial prerogative...plenipotent--potentiary authority...executive privilege..." She shook her head. "Two-twenty... what in?"
"I brought coffee."
Ariel looked up at the robot. A tray with silvered urn and various cups waited on Ariel's dressing table. Ariel sighed. "Thank you, Jennie. Tell Ambassador Setaris I will be there in a minute. Or two."
"Yes, Ariel."
It seemed to Ariel that her robot left the room gratefully, as if relieved to have something to do other than watch Ariel struggle with a hangover. Impossible, really...or was it? Empathic mimicry was part of the positronic package...
Ariel stood, dismissing the thought. Too complicated at the moment. She stumbled only once on her way to the coffee. She poured without trembling and raised the cup of hot, black liquid to her lips. The aroma, usually welcome, made her shudder briefly, but she swallowed a mouthful without incident and decided that she would manage.
She caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror and frowned at the deep circles under her eyes. Her black hair stood out in chaotic spikes and she noticed that she had the faint beginnings of jowls and a double chin. The rest of her seemed trim enough, though she had not paid serious attention to her body in nearly a year. She met her own eyes again--normally a clear blue, but cloudy now and slightly unfocussed--and saw the weariness. This past year had been a steady mix of boredom and anxiety, layered over a sense of helplessness. Instead of fighting it she had taken to sense-dulling indulgence. It showed.
She finished the cup, poured another, and pulled on a robe.
R. Jennie had kept the screen on the comm blanked. Ariel sat down before the compact unit, ran fingers through her hair, and keyed ACCEPT.
"Good morning, Ambassador," she said, letting sarcasm leak into her voice.
"My apologies, Ariel, I realize this is an inconvenient hour, " Setaris said smoothly. "I need to speak to you in person. Please come to my office."