III
Aware that Gemmel, the sage old sonuvabitch, was observing and probably enjoying his reaction, Manz struggled to appear formally polite. “What happened? I thought you’d gone and gotten married. Taken out a no-trade ten-year minimum.”
She smiled, and something deep inside him melted. Or at least warmed a little. “That was the intent. Unfortunately the groom backed out at the last moment. I’m afraid I ultimately intimidated him. It’s a problem I have.”
“Like my lack of punctuality.” He didn’t look at Gemmel. “The guy turned you down? I didn’t know that degree of stupidity existed on any of the settled worlds.”
You didn’t? Ask me. I’ll be glad to fill you in.
“So you’re unencumbered now, hmmm?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Your mutual eloquence is spellbinding,” Gemmel said, interrupting. “I hope you’ll suspend it for a moment or two while I tell you what you’re expected to do to earn your excessive salaries.”
Manz snapped off a casually mocking salute as he returned to his chair. “Yes, sir. I’m all ears.”
“I’m not,” said Vyra pointedly as she folded herself into the other.
“Thank God. And please don’t sit like that. I’m having enough trouble concentrating as it is. Do you always. wear something like … that … on the job?”
“This is accepted business attire on my homeworld.” She smiled innocently. “I don’t like loose clothing.”
“Well, it isn’t common on Mother Earth, and you’re not common either. So please sit up straight.” She pouted, but did as instructed.
How’s that for confusion? I’m ruled by available current, you’re ruled by your hormones. Makes even simple, straightforward decision-making difficult. Fortunately I can regulate my input, whereas humans possess no such mechanism.
The hormonal equivalent of a surge protector would do you people a world of good.
Gemmel once more addressed the desk. “Darken for visuals.” Immediately the windows opaqued, except for one that turned a reflective white. A vid began to play on the transmogrified window. Either it was unaccompanied, or else Gemmel had quietly muted the audio so it would not conflict with his own.
“Every year the Braun-Roche-Keck laboratories in Albuquerque ship between forty and sixty millions’ worth of custom biogeered pharmaceuticals to distributors all over Earth as well as offworld. This is in addition to the products utilized in-house in the various Company divisions. As you’d expect, off- world shipments are shuttled out of Juarez el Paso and broken down in orbit for transworld distribution. Since pharmaceuticals aren’t very big, the shipments don’t take up a lot of space.
“Every precaution is taken to ensure the safety of these goods. Anyone can synthesize a diamond, and the bulk and heft of real metals make them difficult to steal, but customized drugs are easily transportable and readily bartered. There’s an active market for all medicinals, not just the life-extenders, and knowledgeable fences abound.”
“I can see how they’d be tempting,” Manz commented, since Gemmel’s following pause seemed to call for one. “You say they’re well looked after?”
Gemmel nodded. “In addition to the usual electronics and personnel, the shipments are randomly staggered. Even the people at the labs don’t know exactly when they’re going out.”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me. The shipments are perfectly safe. Except you wouldn’t call me in here to tell me that.”
“Or me,” Vyra added languidly.
Actually, I’d just as soon not be here myself. But then, I’m only a Minder. I don’t have any say in the matter.
“Quite right.” The exec waved irritably at his desk. “End vid. Brighten.” The images and the white screen on which they had been playing vanished simultaneously. Light poured afresh through the newly transparent windows.
“Despite all these precautions, despite increased surveillance and security, despite every safety prophylactic you can imagine and a few you probably can’t, we’ve lost three shipments. Three, mind you. Small packages, hand-carried, supposedly easy to keep an eye on.
“The last one was packed in a full-sized shipping container from which the air had been exhausted. Anyone entering through the crate’s custom minilock would have had to be wearing breathing gear. You’d think that a headset and tank would make a would-be thief conspicuous enough to alert attending personnel. Apparently this is not the case.”
“Has the Company been able to fix an approximate location for the jackings?” inquired Moses politely, fulfilling his function.
Gemmel dropped the stub of his cigar into a disposal, moodily watched it whisked silently away. “Since we haven’t got a clue as to who’s doing this or how, hard facts of any kind have been difficult to come by. Obviously the local police are baffled, or the Company wouldn’t be putting its own operatives on the situation. We think, though there’s no guarantee of this, that all three shipments vanished somewhere between unloading at the Port and loading aboard the shuttle. Given the traffic at the Port, it’s impossible to transfer shipments directly from ground transport to the shuttle itself. Sometimes the Port internment period is brief, sometimes it takes a few days. There’s no chronological correlation between time in transit and which shipments get through or disappear.”
Vyra crossed her legs. “Someone’s very sure of themselves. Usually someone who’s organized an operation like this will make one grab and count themselves lucky. Running a repeat tempts fate. Three successes suggests overconfidence.”
“That’s what we’re counting on. That they’ll try again and we’ll take ’em. No criminal activity, no matter how polished, can escape repeatedly the intense scrutiny which modern detection techniques can bring to bear.”
“They seem to be doing okay so far,” Manz murmured softly.
Gemmel blinked at him. “What was that?”
“I said that the Company seems to be getting a handle on it so far.” The adjuster smiled placidly. “I don’t recall having read or heard anything about this. Three major thefts at a port the size of Juarez el Paso should be all over the news.”
“Believe me, it’s been hell keeping it quiet.” Gemmel spoke feelingly. “The Company is understandably afraid that a lot of publicity will frighten off the jackers and they won’t try again. A media circus would be just enough to convince our quarry that three times successful is enough.”
“So we want them to try again,” Manz murmured.
“We hope they will, but it may already be too late. Several shipments have safely gone out since the last one that was taken. They may already have decided to retire on their successes.”
“What happens,” Vyra inquired, “if they do try again, and are successful again?”
“That won’t happen,” Gemmel insisted. “It would be unheard of. Unprecedented. Not to mention damaging to the Company’s reputation as well as its bottom line. If it should occur, then Braun-Roche-Keck loses a lot of money and Braun-Ives becomes a laughingstock in the industry.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on pyramided fingers.
“Personally, I’d rather lose the money. Do I make myself clear?”
“Eminently,” replied Manz.
Gemmel’s gaze settled on the softly humming device behind his agent. “To mechanicals as well as people?”
“Your point is not obscure, sir,” Moses assured him.
“Good.” The executive sat back in his chair. “You can imagine the headlines. Drug Dealers Four, Braun-Ives Zero. Be bad for business. Bad for my career.” His eyes flashed. “I won’t go into what failure would do for your careers.”
“It all seems pretty straightforward.” Manz disliked the turn the conversation had taken.
“That’s what’s so frustrating. The JeP cops are going crazy. It’s as if these people, whoever they are, are toying with them, saying, ‘Look, we can snipe you anytime we’re in the mood, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop us.’”
“You’re convinced more than one person is involved?” Vyra was making mental notes, already on the job.
“Has to be,” Gemmel grunted. “We’re obviously dealing with the cutting edge of technically sophisticated robbery here. We need someone out there who understands instrumentation as well as people. That’s why I’ve elected to send you two to the sunny Southwest. Pardon me; you three.”
Moses gestured with a flexible limb. “It is not necessary to acknowledge my presence as an individual, sir.”
Go on, suck up to him. Humans love that, whether it’s done by mechanicals or others of their own kind. This civilization doesn’t run on electric energy, or gas, or geomagnetic induction. It’s powered by flattery.
Don’t shake your head; you know it’s true. Everything’s done through lies and flattery. Jobs are acquired, promotions gained, offices won. I’m surprised human institutions of higher learning don’t offer degrees in Advanced Kiss-Ass. But you’ll never admit to it. You’re too vain, both individually and collectively. Read your own history. I have. It’s seven thousand years of flattery. Probably goes back further than that.
