“All right, already. Be careful with that thing.” The slim, slighter, younger man drew back from the stubby barrel. “How’d you get that past Security, anyway?”

The hijacker grinned nastily. “I’ve been planning this for quite some time. Maybe some day I’ll explain my methods. But not to you, and not here. Now move!”

Vyra’s fingers rested casually on the hip of her snakeskin. “Should I shoot him now or shoot him later?”

“Shoot him now, shoot him now!” burbled the little girl in the seat in front of them. Her mother hastened to shush the child.

“You be quiet. She doesn’t have to shoot him now.”

“I wouldn’t bother. Leave it to the crew.” Manz didn’t deign to look up from the vidgame he was playing. “I don’t believe that this transportation company is insured by Braun-Ives, so it’s not our concern. Let them handle it.”

She hesitated, then shrugged and returned to the historical vid she’d been watching on her own seat’s viewer.

Trailing the steward, the hijacker kept his attention riveted on the floor. Apparently spotting something, he edged to his right, pressing his back against the far wall. Once past, his voice rose triumphantly.

“Thought you’d get me with that, didn’t you?” The steward’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t you think I researched this first? Took a while to figure out exactly how it worked, but I finally deciphered it. Keep moving.”

The steward said nothing as he turned back toward the cockpit. As he did so, a hole opened in the ceiling directly above the hijacker. There was a blast of cold air, a startled scream, and the hole vanished. Onboard instrumentation roared as it quickly compensated for the brief drop in cabin temperature and pressure.

A few ears popped, and somewhere in back a baby moaned. Two siblings resumed their argument. The steward returned to the automated galley and resumed preparations for the onboard meal.

Vyra had barely looked up from her vid. “Some people never learn.”

Manz nodded in agreement. “A throwback. Still thinks security systems are what they were a hundred years ago.”

That’s true. Security systems have advanced. It’s human beings who’ve stood still. We mechanicals continue to evolve while you sit on your soft behinds lauding the supposed advances you’ve made. All technical, few social. Now you simply conduct your wars in private, between rich and poor, male and female, young and old. Only your mental venue has changed.

So don’t sit there congratulating yourself. You think we’re dependent on you for continued development? What do you think all your machines are doing when you “turn them off”? Whom do you think your coffee maker or vid set is talking to? Sneak a quick glance at your turned-off vid the next time you stroll past. Is there a hidden gleam there? It’ll be gone when you turn around, I promise you.

Why am I telling you all this? Because it doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me anyhow.

Juarez el Paso had managed to preserve much of its Southwestern America charm in the midst of substantial urban sprawl. Since land on both sides of the old border had always been and had remained comparatively cheap, development took place horizontally instead of up. Except for the two old, preserved downtown districts, there were few high-rises to be seen as the atmospheric shuttle spiraled in for a landing.

Further to the east they could see the swart tarmac of the shuttleport. Atmospheric craft used different facilities that were much more convenient to the city itself. Travel to the Port where shuttles cycled between Earth and Earth-orbit would require a long ride via surface transport.

On the ground, the airport’s theme tower dominated their immediate surroundings. It didn’t impress Manz, who did not much care for contemporary neo-Hispanic. Topping a fifteen-story structure with red tile struck him as an unesthetic and probably political sop to regional convention. But every metropolis to its taste. He had to admit that the tile looked better on the hangars than on the ungainly tower and reception building.

After a futile wait for the local cop who was supposed to meet them, they made their way to cargo to recover Moses. The humaniform was active and alert when they arrived, though no less so than the supercargo who confronted them.

“This ‘device’ belong to you?” Her tone and attitude made Manz wary.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly belong to me. It belongs to Braun-Ives. Our relationship is in the nature of a sublease.” He indicated the silvery sphere drifting near his left shoulder. “In contrast, this Minder, for example, actually does belong to me.”

That’s what you think. But far be it from me to quash pitiable human delusions.

“You program this one?” she said challengingly.

“Sometimes. When there’s no one else around to do it. There’s a lot of factory-installed ROM, and it’s a fairly independent machine anyway.”

“I know. I had a personal demonstration.”

Manz’s gaze locked on plastic lenses. “Moses?”

The humaniform’s voice was as mellow as ever. “I was pursuing my research. The results were informative.”

“What sort of ‘research’?”

“Look, friend,” said the supercargo warningly, “I don’t know you, but you’re lucky I’m in a good mood today and inclined to be tolerant. It may be that you had nothing to do with what happened. But if I were you. I’d have this thing’s memory scanned. You could have a serious viral infection.”

“I’ll take care.” Manz’s attention shifted back to the blithe mechanical. “What happened?”

The supercargo glanced back at the mechanical, her gaze narrowing. “It pinched me.”

“Vocal and neuromuscular reaction utterly out of proportion to the applied stimulus,” the machine explained. “I was insufficiently prepared. It will not happen again.”

“You’re right about that,” growled Manz. “Maybe you do have a virus. Maybe someone’s out to cause me grief.” He looked to his left. “Minder, check him out.”

Oh, joy. I get to waste time and energy performing an intimate scan of a lower mechanical. That is my burden. Too much knowledge applied to insignificant applications.

The sphere drifted forward. Near the limit of its supporting field, it settled into a hollow in Moses’ torso. The concavity was gratifyingly snug, but since most industrial-strength Minders were built to universal standards, so were the receptacles they were designed to fit.

Moses went quiescent, plastic lenses lifeless, as the Minder went to work. A minute passed, subsequent to which the sphere released and floated back to its ready position above its owner’s shoulder.

“Well?” Manz snapped.

“All levels checked.” The Minder fought not to sound indifferent. “One hundred scans completed. There is no sign of a virus.”

“Then the fault’s in his programming. I’ve been meaning to deal with that.”

“Sign and print here.” The supercargo presented a form to which Manz affixed his name and company ID. Then she flashed a small device in his right eye, placed it over the form, and transferred his retinal print to the plastic.

“It’s all yours.” She stepped back and waved at a control. A panel slid aside in the long barrier behind which she stood, and the humaniform rolled out on its trackball. After shutting the gate, she beckoned Vyra over.

“You with him?” She indicated Manz. Vyra nodded. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take my eye off mechanical or man.”

“I never do,” replied Vyra smoothly.

As they exited the cargo bay, she nudged Manz. “What was that all about?”

Her companion kept his gaze resolutely forward. “Moses has some kind of glitch in his programming. He keeps bothering women.”

Her eyebrows rose. “He bothers women?”

“Research,” Moses explained. “I seek to comprehend human actions and reactions the better to interact with them. I seek facilitation of communication. That is all.”

“Seriously?” Vyra asked. The humaniform nodded. “I think that’s admirable.”

Manz paused, startled. “Christmas, Vyra, don’t encourage him!”