Burk did remember him after all, though they had barely spoken to each other. Guardian Adriyan had spent most of that evening chatting up a handsome crewman, whom he obviously found more interesting. That had been fine with Burk: he had sat nursing his drink, desperately unhappy, trying not to think of Milliya and almost looking forward to a couple of light-years of unconsciousness in the pod.
“Yes, I do remember now.”
“Colleague Adriyan is in the Social and Recreational Department. Which is why he is taking part in our enquiry, you understand.”
Logical enough, since that was the section that Burk worked in on the Starstretcher (although he’d had no further contact with winsome Colleague Adriyan); otherwise, unfortunately, Burk didn’t understand at all. However, what he had noticed was Guardian Sousanna’s apparent unwillingness to use the ominous word “interrogation”. Which could only be a good sign, he thought.
“And this is Guardian Grade III (Senior Level) Rebek’a. From Ideology.”
She gestured politely towards her huge colleague, who acknowledged the gesture by turning her basilisk gaze on Burk.
“It is slightly unusual to have someone of her rank participating in an initial procedure of this kind, but it was felt that the investigation would benefit from her experience and expertise.”
Oh yes, Burk thought, looking at the huge forearms and muscular neck. I wonder what her special area of expertise just happens to be? At which point she smiled, a smile which made Guardian Sousanna or even Slabface look like an angel of mercy, and said quietly:
“Now we want to know who you are, little man.”
She had a deep voice, and spoke in the measured tone of someone who was used to being obeyed.
Before Burk could answer that, Guardian Sousanna rustled the papers in front of her, cleared her throat, and began to speak.
“Burk, John. No further names. Thirty years old. Birthplace, parents, nothing of particular interest there.”
Guardian Adriyan interrupted her.
“‘John’ is spelled in the old-fashioned way. That’s interesting, I would say. Indicative perhaps of an unconventional, rebellious family background?”
Guardian Rebek’a: “Or that he had stupid parents?”
“Well, yes, Colleague, it would be stupid behavior in the sense that it would draw attention to the boy in later life, and for no good reason.”
“He could have changed his name, though. But he didn’t. Perhaps our friend wanted to be seen as a non-conformist. A sentimental traditionalist. Out of step with the established order of things in our modern universe. A trouble-maker.”
“Colleagues, colleagues….” Guardian Sousanna was now visibly exasperated. “This sort of speculation isn’t very helpful. I’d like to continue if I may?”
Her colleagues both nodded.
“Very well. School. Regarded as intelligent but unconventional. Media Studies at college. Minor in Literature. Pretty straightforward stuff.”
Now all three of the Guardians snorted. And they were right, of course. Burk’s college had been famous, but only for its fantastic social scene, and Media Studies was a notoriously cushy option. Career Guardians, on the other hand, tended to study useful subjects like Advanced Cybernetics, Inormation Technology or Administration. Or Ideological Theory. Or Politics and Law.
“Good but not exactly spectacular grades. No application was submitted for Guardian training, despite recommendations made by the school and by the university. Interesting, that…. Various jobs, journalism, public relations, including the present posting to the Starstretcher. A few run-ins with the Government censor. No excessively long periods of unemployment, given his rather unpromising qualification profile.”
She paused.
“Quite good references. For the most part.”
She wasn’t reading, but extrapolating the relevant information from the documents. What could they be looking for? What would be “of particular interest” to them?
At this point Guardian Adriyan chimed in with: “Are you related to Ciaran Burke?”
Pause.
Burk feigned ignorance, pretending to be racking his brains.
“You mean: Kieran Bourke the football player?” (Though it was Kieran Brake, as he well knew.)
“No, I don’t mean Kieran Bourke the football player. I mean Ciaran Burke the terrorist.”
Guardian Adriyan was clearly a history buff. Ciaran Burke (“the terrorist”) had organized what little resistance there was to the mass triaging in Africa during the last great Water Crisis. Burk—no relation—hardly thought of him as a terrorist. Dr. Ciaran was an obsessional, unstable idealist, a man of noble intentions and zero effectiveness who had come to a predictably sticky end. Not a person that Burk would normally want to find himself associated with.
“No. And it’s Burk without an ‘e’.”
In his recreation hours, Burk had researched high and low in the genealogical archives, hoping to find a “Burke” in the family, more aristocratic, more intellectual-sounding, more Irish than just plain “Burk”, but he could only come up with Buerks, Börks and similar plebian variants.
“Burk is classified as AdPop, Lower Executive Level. Various minor entitlements, but no particular priority rating that we need to take into account. Private life: no partner or known long-term relationship. At least, not according to his file. Off the record, however—we know that he puts himself about in a rather tasteless and inappropriate manner.”
“Really?”
Guardian Adriyan was all interest. Guardian Rebek’a gave him a withering look.
“But not in your direction, darling!”
Then she turned to Burk, leaning forward to give her words more intensity.
“You’re a good-looking boy, John. Very good-looking, in fact, albeit in a rather predictable way. I expect that you’ve always been able to find some poor little low-grade to rut with. I don’t find that as disturbing as Colleague Sousanna here seems to. However, what does interest me is this: with your job and salary, your physique, good genes no doubt, too, why haven’t you ever been chosen as a Consort?”
She laughed nastily.
“Or could it be that you’re programmed like my sweet Colleague Adriyan here?”
More rustling of papers, as Guardian Sousanna looked through the information on Burk that was spread out in front of her.
“There is indeed no indication in Burk’s record of an application for Consort status ever having been submitted.”
Consorts were the males chosen as breeding partners by the females who made up the “useful” part of the Useful Population. Since fertilization by synthetic sperm was the normal procedure, and had been for more than a century, Consorts—who were given honorary UsePop status—were males who had something very special to offer as a reason for bringing them in to fulfill what was, after all, an outdated and superfluous procreative role. Perhaps charm, or looks, intelligence, sexual sophistication, excellent parenting or homemaking skills, any or all of those qualities. Whatever it was, a Consort would need to have it in spades to make some Breeder prefer his sexual company to that of a pleasure android.
“No Breeder seems to have noticed him, though.”
“And he is not (as far as I can tell) ‘programmed’ like myself, as you so charmingly put it.” He tittered slightly. “Unfortunately, I would even go so far as to add. But one always lives in hope, I like to think.”
Burk remembered how crudely Guardian Adriyan had eyed him up at the reception. Receiving no encouraging