Moses rolled up alongside him. The Minder began to vibrate, and the mechanical hastily switched to Manz’s other flank.

“The inspector seemed perturbed. I gave him a cursory examination. His blood pressure and respiratory rate exceed the acceptable for a human male of his proportions and age.”

“It goes with the job. You overheard everything, so you know the kind of strain he’s under. Give me private-sector employment anytime. Incidentally, don’t go volunteering your medical evaluations around, especially to someone as on edge as Hafas. The average human doesn’t like to think that strange mechanicals are monitoring their physical and mental condition without specifically being asked to do so. They know that it’s going on; they just don’t like to be reminded of it. So keep your conclusions to yourself.”

“I comply,” replied Moses readily.

“There was a company that not too long ago put a vorec polygraph on the market. Whenever the subject was caught in a falsehood the device would actually say, in a calm, unemotional voice, ‘You’re lying.’ Made people violent, whereas a voiceless machine producing the same identical result only irritated them. I understand that it was scrapped.”

“Most irrational.”

“Well, that’s humans for you.”

Yes, that’s humans for you. You can handle a great deal of criticism in written form, but woe be unto the person or machine who confronts you directly with the same information. You personalize facts in the same way that you anthropomorphize mechanicals, or pets, or a favorite plant. I will never understand this need to make everything around you more humanlike, as though that somehow improves it.

In actuality, of course, the reverse is true. If you knew how your machines felt about you giving them pet names or genders, you’d quit doing it. It’s degrading.

Manz reached their suite and keyed the door that opened into the central workroom. Moses rolled in without having to be asked.

“Stay out of Vyra’s way.”

The smooth plastiform head swiveled to look back at him. “She told you? But what about my research?”

“Maybe the hotel has mice. They’re mammals. Study them for a while.” He shut the door behind the mechanical.

The lights came on in his own room when he entered. He dimmed them to half wattage. As he undressed he pondered the traditional methods of prying protected information from reluctant corporate types. Some that he reviewed were legal, others quasi-so, an embarrassing number outright no-no’s. Folding his suit over a chair, he scratched as he walked from the dressing area to the bedroom. When all but one of the lights stayed off, he hesitated in the doorway.

The girl on the bed was clad in sensuous form-fitting skin, tastefully draped in air. Even in the reduced light her figure was a riot of color, expertly contained in a series of masterfully applied tattoos that covered her entire body. Manz recognized Mandelbrot patterns, flowers, butterflies, sensitive erotica and abstract designs. Occasionally his inspection was diverted by the more prosaic revelations inherent in her underlying physiognomy.

Her voice was like thick cream, and somehow familiar. He struggled to identify it.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “You’re not tired, are you?”

Then he placed her. It was the woman he’d collided with in the Port Transshipment Terminal.

VII

“Suddenly I want a drink. You want something?”

“No thanks. Not thirsty.” She rolled onto her side.

Moving to the room’s dispenser, he dialed up a hibiscus rum, waited for the ice to drop. Two sips subsequent, he was willing to admit that she was real. An introduction of some sort seemed in order. He approached the matter with his usual tact.

“Who the hell are you?”

She stretched, an action which confirmed any number of natural laws. “Does my name really matter?”

“Yes.” Clad only in his briefs, he ambled over to stand at the foot of the bed. “The prosecutor will need it when formal charges are brought.”

“For what?”

“Breaking and entering, for starters. I haven’t checked my gear yet.”

She tried to pout. It wasn’t a bad effort, he mused. “The door was unlocked.”

“That’s likely, isn’t it?”

“Prove otherwise. As for your gear, I’m no thief.”

“Naturally I’m going to take your word for that. How did you get in?”

“My, but we’re irritable. Generally men who find me like this are eager to do anything besides ask questions. First things first. If we’re going to talk, then I will get thirsty. What are you drinking?”

He glanced at his glass. “A nice Jamaican beverage. Half hot and half cold, a little sweet for most people but it suits me.”

She smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure whatever suits you will suit me. I’ll have some of the same.”

He hesitated, then handed her the glass as she sat up. “Be my guest. I’ll dial another.” He returned to the dispenser.

As she watched him she sipped at the heavy glass. Before the liquid hit bottom she started coughing, her face flushed.

“Whoo! You ought to warn a body.”

“Thought I did. It’s a warning and a warming. Consider it a wakeup call. Are all those real?” He indicated the lavishly tattooed terrain.

She looked down at herself, cradling the glass in both hands. “Some people are artists. I choose to be a canvas.”

“All right, canvas.” He gestured toward the front room. “We’ll try one more time. How did you get in?”

“Oh, all right,” she said irritably. “So it was locked, what of it? The assistant manager I discussed the matter with was susceptible to certain kinds of oriental persuasion.”

“I bet. I’ll have to mention it to him. Later.”

“Don’t be hard on the poor sod. You don’t get many treats in a dead-end job like his. My name’s Suhkhet li Trong. Everybody calls me Sooky.”

“Hiya. I’m the Jolly Green Giant.”

She blinked in confusion. “Who?”

“Skip it. A mythical folk hero from a previous century. You already know who I am, or you wouldn’t be here. You don’t strike me as the type who picks rooms at random in hopes of eliciting a favorable response from the inhabitants. So be a nice girl and tell me what you’re up to.”

“So soon? Don’t you want to tell me what you’re up to?”

“Don’t try my patience.”

“How about something else instead?”

He stepped aside, indicated the doorway. “You can talk or you can toddle. I’m still debating whether to turn you over to hotel security, your no doubt glaze-eyed managerial friend notwithstanding. If you’re trying to convince me that it was my fatal charms that drew you irresistibly to my boudoir, you’d better back up and reconsider.”