“Not permanently.” An exhausted Manz flopped into one of the chairs. “But I’ll borrow this one for a bit.”
The inspector glanced briefly at the entrance. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you too, but you’ll understand if I inquire as to the whereabouts of Ms. Kullervo.”
“Be unnatural if you didn’t.” Manz arranged himself more comfortably. “She’s sleeping off a potent intoxicant. Had an extended encounter with a Qaraca in the hotel restaurant last night.”
“You don’t say. She didn’t strike me as the type. More self-possessed, you know.” He frowned uncertainly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever tried that particular drink. Is it made with rum?”
“Not to my knowledge. I don’t think you would’ve cared for it. Too much of a kick for me.”
“Oh. One of those exotic offworld concoctions, hmm?”
“Exactly.” The Minder hovered silently above his shoulder.
Hafas’s expression turned serious. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a casual chat, but I have this feeling you’re not here this early for the pleasure of my company. I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you, Manz. Nothing new on the jackings, but we think we’re making some progress on the murders of those two officers at the Port. Oh, and there was something interesting on the general Call Sheet this morning.”
“We’re all ears,” said Moses.
Manz smiled apologetically. “I had nothing to do with his interactive humor programming, I swear.”
“I believe you.” The inspector fumbled in a drawer and came up with a hardprint. “It seems that the inner office of one Cardinal Monticelli, of Borgia I&E, was forcibly entered late last night. It is assumed that the intent was industrial espionage, as files were scanned. Burglary may have been a secondary motive.”
“That’s interesting.” Manz’s expression was absolutely blank.
“There was some property damage. Also, in the course of attempting to apprehend the intruder, members of the building’s security staff suffered injuries of varying degree.” He looked up from the hardprint. “Any comment?”
“Must’ve been one hard-ice jacker to involve a whole security team.”
“That was my thought when I saw the report. It goes on to say that the intruder was assisted by a large humaniform mechanical which actually participated in the fighting.”
Manz smiled. “Now, Inspector, we both know such a thing’s impossible. Mechanicals are cortex-charged against using physical force on human beings.”
“That was my reaction, too.” Hafas cast ever so brief a glance in Moses’ direction. The mechanical did not stir or otherwise react. Nor did the Minder floating silently above Manz’s shoulder.
“How’s the Department handling it?” Manz inquired casually.
“Filed the item for follow-up, as befits its status. I don’t imagine they’ll devote any exceptional attention to it. No one was critically injured, and nothing besides information was actually taken. Since Borgia declines to disclose the nature of the material scanned, it greatly complicates any follow-up police work.”
“Yeah, it would,” Manz agreed.
Hafas was silent for a moment. “I don’t suppose you know anything about this?” he said finally.
“Inspector!” Manz put a palm to his chest. “I’m astonished you’d even consider such a notion! I’m a tenured adjuster for Braun-Ives. I know my limits and restrictions. I must say that I’m deeply offended by your veiled accusation, deeply.”
Hafas poured himself a glass of fruit juice from the self-chilling beaker on his workstay. He didn’t offer any to his guest. “You’ll get over it,” he said flatly.
Manz waited while his host finished his drink. Hafas licked his lips and looked thoughtful.
“Frankly, we’ve begun to suspect Borgia above the rest, but we haven’t got a shred of hard evidence to charge them with. I wonder if this industrial jacker found anything that could implicate them?”
“I doubt it,” Manz murmured noncommittally.
The inspector grunted. “There are a few minor transgressions we could stick them with. Small stuff. If they are responsible for the jackings or any part thereof, it might frighten them off. Provided a certain noisy intrusion last night already hasn’t. I know you’ve been running your own checks on Borgia and the others. You’re sure you haven’t come up with anything?”
Manz shook his head regretfully. “Nothing more antisocial than the commercial equivalent of an overdue library fine. Business at all three seems to be good as well as clean. If illegal profits are being funneled into any of your favored trio, they’ve been efficiently dispersed.” He jerked a thumb toward Moses. “I’ve had Dumbo here running his own analysis concurrent with mine. He hasn’t sniffed out any worthwhile trails either.”
The humaniform was indignant. “One cannot generate leads from insufficient data. Furthermore, as my aural apparatus is entirely internal, the mildly degrading appellation ‘Dumbo’ is particularly inaccurate, inappropriate, and frivolous.”
“Frivolous is my middle name.” Manz smiled at the mechanical, then turned back to the inspector. “Borgia does deal in the kinds of pharmaceuticals being jacked, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely. They’ve made no attempt to conceal the fact. Unfortunately, as I mentioned to you on your arrival, so do Troy and Fond du Lac as well as several suspected concerns further down our list of suspects. No help there.” He leaned forward, voice and expression full of anxiety.
“Manz, the Urban Commission is riding the Department pretty hard. I know I told you that when you first got here, but this last jacking’s made it a lot worse. So that means I have to ride you. You’ve got to come up with something, or I’ll have to deny you access to Department assistance. The Commission calls that an efficacious allocation of resources. I call it getting screwed for something that’s not your fault.”
“Easy.” Manz didn’t appear upset by the threat to withhold cooperation. “You’ve been great so far. Just give me a chance.”
“That’s about all you’ve got.” Hafas leaned back in his chair, unhappy with the situation and willing to show it.
“What else does Borgia make money on besides drugs?” Manz inquired curiously.
The inspector straightened and accessed another drawer. He handed his visitor a card-sized screen with the controls embedded in the back.
“This is as complete a list as we’ve been able to put together. Most of it is public-knowledge data, available to any other registered business. At the moment it’s considered comprehensive and up-to-date, but there’s always the possibility that some new information will come in and that will change.”
Manz beckoned to the Minder. “Copy.” He slipped the card-screen into a slot that appeared in the sphere’s side. The device vanished, to be regurgitated less than a minute later.
“Copy complete,” the Minder announced.
“That’s quite a gadget,” Hafas said enviously. “What else does it do?”
“Mostly data storage and retrieval. It’s not as intuitive as Moses and it’s not designed for mechanical-human interaction on a social basis, but it’s more analytical. Very sophisticated AI cortex. I find it indispensable but kind of dry. It does have the virtue of keeping track of you so you don’t have to worry about it, and it doesn’t take up much space.”
Everything I do for you; rapidly, efficiently, and without complaint, and you want personality too? Humans are never satisfied. No wonder you have so much trouble sustaining a mating.
Having recovered the card, Manz embarked on a leisurely scroll of the information it contained, passing over the cold statistics in favor of more descriptive passages. “Luxury goods, offworld art and jewelry, gourmet foodstuffs, underwriting of independent deep-space exploration … I didn’t think they were big enough to support that.”
“Takes up most of their corporate R&D budget,” Hafas informed him. “According to our information, Monticelli’s always been in the forefront of the exploration push. Apparently he believes the potential returns are worth the expenditure.”
“I would never have guessed it of him. He didn’t strike me as the gambling type.” The adjuster kept his attention fixed on the tiny screen. “I’m not always right about people.”
He continued to peruse the available information until it began to bore him, then handed the card-screen back to Hafas, who replaced it in his workstay file.
“Anything else?”
The inspector spread his hands. “Until the word comes down that I’m not supposed to waste any more time on you, I stand ready to help. What else would you like to see?”
Manz considered. “How about a list of all personnel, long-term and temp, who’ve been discharged by Borgia within the past year? With the names of those who’ve worked anywhere proximate to Monticelli highlighted.”
Hafas nodded. “I think we can manage that, though several of my people have already pursued that angle.” He swiveled in his chair and nudged a control. The workstay came to life.
