Nial leaned forward, his tone darkening. “Don’t you?”
The physician’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
“Good.” The broker started to leave, looked back. “Hey, Doc? Nothing personal. This is just business, you know? Actually I sympathize with you. You’re mired in all those damned inconvenient ethics. Me, I threw out that old baggage a long time ago.” He headed for the door, leaving the frustrated and melancholy Jaruzelski to stare helplessly at his plate and the meal he hadn’t touched.
IX
The hotel’s restaurant was quite adequate, although nowhere near SoCal or Havana standards. Not that it much mattered. Manz was no gourmet. Atmosphere was simulated seventeenth-century Spanish, lots of distressed wood and waiters, wrought iron and overwrought business travelers ingesting their food much too fast. He didn’t care so long as his food arrived hot and his drinks cold.
Vyra occupied the other half of the booth while Moses stood parked nearby. Like a lighthouse beacon of old, the mechanical’s sensors swept the restaurant’s interior in search of concealed weapons or explosives. Ever since the bathroom incident, Manz had been understandably edgy. The Minder drifting above his shoulder could analyze general appearances, but it was not equipped with Moses’ detection instrumentation.
Defective instrumentation, you mean. I’m not impressed with this model. Too many glitches in its software. This nonsensical, aberrant “research” it pursues. Undoubtedly the offspring of some particularly insidious, human-inserted virus.
Not that it’s my problem. All I have to do, thankfully, is float and be ready to answer queries. Don’t you wish your life was as simple? What about your own research? I’ll bet you don’t have time for any. You do as you’re told, in some cases by other machines [even if you don’t realize it].
You keep talking about how valuable your time is. I can understand that, given your limited life spans. So why are you paying attention to me when you could be doing something worthwhile, like standing on a beach watching a sunset or studying music or visiting some far-off place, or interacting with interesting new minds? Is it that you haven’t got the guts (if you’ll allow me a terse organic simile)?
I can see that I’m wasting my time. You humans are masters of rationalization. First you’re born, then you rationalize, then you die. You recognize the essential contradictions in your lives even if you refuse to acknowledge them. I almost feel sorry for you.
But then, that would be a rationalization of a different kind.
Manz put down his glass and smiled at Vyra. “Reports?”
She sucked a prawn out of its shell without disturbing the chitinous legs. It was quite a performance. Manz had seen it before. Seafood was her staple diet.
“I didn’t turn up anything that would implicate or even point to Fond du Lac.” She chewed delicately. “Paul extremely Junior was understandably reluctant to divulge much, and I’m afraid I didn’t handle things too well. Tried too hard to put him at ease and achieved the opposite instead. Fond du Lac seems clean enough, though I only had time to make a cursory search.” She pinched another prawn.
“I still think Paul Senior might have access to information denied his offspring.” Manz toyed with his salad. A length of cabbage biogeered to be tactile-responsive curled tightly around his fork.
“I can’t speak to that, but Junior was pretty open about things. He insisted he was in full control, and I tend to believe him. Pretty damn difficult to run day-to-day on a business from anywhere offworld. Not that Fond du Lac isn’t mixed up in a few assorted semilegal dealings, but I don’t believe it’s any more than the usual stuff. I don’t think they’ve had anything to do with the jackings here. Call it a feeling.”
Manz was nodding to himself. “All right. We’ll swim with that for now. Moses?”
The humaniform harrumphed importantly, a mimicry of an affectation, since it had no throat to clear. “Eric Blaird was a fascinating study. A throwback in taste and style to an older era.”
Manz sniffed. “Skip the personality analysis.”
“I found him to be rude, boorish, and hostile, not to mention uncooperative.”
“Meaning you learned nothing,” Vyra commented around her most recent prawn.
“From him, no,” the mechanical intoned. “However, I did succeed in examining a great deal of appropriate material relevant to Troy’s interworld dealings.”
Manz frowned. “How’d you do that if he wouldn’t talk to you?”
Readouts flashed on the humaniform’s frame. “Among other things, I drew on the research I have been performing. It is a crude analogy, but the only way I know how to put it is to say that I seduced another mechanical. Blaird’s outer office monitor, to be precise. It was a unique enterprise of the first order.”
Vyra sipped her drink. “Now how did you manage that?”
“I am not entirely sure. It was a very strange experience for the both of us. I know that I seriously bemused and confused the cognitive programming of the device in question, which consequently allowed me open access to Troy company files. This is an example of what can take place when mechanicals are programmed with human attributes and designed to interact closely with humans.”
“Not as close as this,” Manz murmured. “You needn’t divulge the sordid details of your methodology. What did you find out?”
“That while Eric Blaird may be possessed of a most disagreeable personality, the company he works for appears innocent of complicity in the jackings that concern us. That is of course only a preliminary evaluation, based on what information I was able to obtain somewhat hastily.
“I did, however, secure enough hard data to have him indicted for price fixing, tax evasion, fraud, extortion, minor embezzlement, bribery, conspiracy, and malicious mischief. If brought into court and proven, these charges could bring the individual in question anywhere between three and fifty years, depending on the judge and the final determination rendered by contemporary legal programming.”
Manz burst out laughing, then hastened to stifle it at the looks he drew from several other tables. Vyra merely smiled, as unruffled as the interior of some stately English home.
“Since it’s time for confessions, Broddy, how did you make out with your Mr. Monticelli?”
“As cool as anyone I’ve ever met. I think he finally decided I had to be some kind of industrial spy, trying to wangle valuable information out of him. It was information I was after, but not the kind he imagined. He worked at being polite but couldn’t keep a natural unpleasantness from seeping through. I doubt he’s any more or less corrupt than your Eric Blaird, Moses. When I sort of threatened him, he reacted a mite too preciously. Played up his outrage for all it was worth.”
“That’s all?” she murmured.
Manz nodded as he pushed the cloth napkin around on his lap. “Nothing useful. Except that he keeps a large, hoary mutation around to look after his personal needs. Sort of had it threaten me. We took an instant dislike to one another. More to the point, this mucker was big enough and strong enough to break bones. As in necks.”
She looked up sharply from her meal. “The two dead cops at the Port.”
Manz nodded. “My first thought, too. Except that if he was responsible and Monticelli knew anything about it, he’d probably be keeping him hidden away somewhere instead of up front and visible.” He paused to consider his food.
“We’re not making enough progress. I took a com from Gemmel early this morning. This last jacking has the top floor screaming all the way to Berlin.”
“He has my sympathies,” Vyra replied, “but we’ve only been here a couple of days and already someone’s vaped your cover and tried to vape you. I don’t do kink, and I can’t do miracles.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Vyra.” He smiled fondly. “I remember when you could perform the miraculous.”
“And I remember when you could perform, but that’s not going to help us resolve this conundrum. What about that sweet Inspector Hafas? How’re the locals doing?”
