The woman who entered was only a couple of years younger than Manz, though she looked more youthful still. That was a function of her offworld genes as much as her natural beauty. Her features were narrow and angular, whereas her body, encased in a severe gray business snakesuit, was not. Her hair had been dyed a shocking purple, even to the eyebrows. Manz was left to speculate on possible related cosmetic ramifications.
She walked straight to him and placed her palms against the sides of his head. This was done with exceptional fluidity, made possible by the presence of a second joint located midway between her elbows and wrists. He returned the greeting with a kiss, which she accepted with restrained enthusiasm.
“Didn’t ever expect to see you again, Vyra. I thought you were gone offworld permanently. Hopes I had, but those differ from expectations.”
“I didn’t have any expectations, Broddy.” In stunning contrast to the extreme development of the rest of her, she had the tinkling, wind-chime voice of a twelve-year-old. It occasionally got her into trouble, and sometimes out of it. “It’s nice to see you.”
An unqueried Moses evinced confusion. “You two know each other?”
Now there’s a deft conclusion for you. A demonstration of sophisticated intuitive-logic circuitry. Do you wonder that I sometimes sound just a trifle sarcastic? Consider the examples set before me, both organic and otherwise: I’m supposed to provide database support to cretins like this. I’d much rather work in a library. Oblivion, but I’d much rather be a library.
Not me, oh no. I had to end up in the insurance business. Speaking of which, do you have sufficient coverage? Are your premiums fully paid up? Have you read all the fine print on every one of your policies? Oversight can be dangerous to your health and bank account.
Not that my owner works in sales. It’s just that I like to shake up the humans around me from time to time, and starting them worrying about their insurance is one of the simplest and most effective ways I know how.
Don’t take it personally. You know that you’ve checked all your policies recently. They do send you changes and amendments, though. Disguised in simple, unadorned envelopes so that you’ll throw them away without opening them. When you need payment; that’s when they’ll get you.
Better go check your policies right now. If you don’t, and you forget, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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.”
