“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.
Don’t feel that you’re alone in this. The others apes do it, too. Weak monkeys flatter the strong ones and receive protection in turn, until they can stab their former protectors in the back. Chimps, gorillas, humans … you all work alike. Ever watch a human primatologist cuddle up to a dominant silverback on the Ruwenzori slopes? Take a watchful stroll through any office and you’ll observe the same behavior. I can even demonstrate my thesis, right here and now.
Want a banana?
“How is the government interested?” Vyra was asking. Gemmel made a casual gesture. “What you’d expect. Offworld commerce is involved, so they’re sticking their nose in. So far we’ve convinced them to let us handle it ourselves, and they’ve gone along. They don’t want the publicity either. Bad for exports. But if one more shipment disappears without us or the local cops getting so much as a traceable retinal print out of it, they’re threatening to step in. That means no more operating in peace and quiet, out of the critical public eye.”
“What sort of cooperation can we expect from the local police?” Manz inquired.
“Full, but guarded. They’re watching their own butts. That’s only to be expected. If this gets out, they’re going to look as bad as we do. Of course, if that happens they’ll blame everything on our inadequate preparations and lack of internal security. If the media gets a whiff of this it’ll be every institution for themselves.
“Until then, and in hopes of forestalling it, they’re willing to extend us all the help we want so long as it doesn’t result in their exposure. I’ve got just one caveat from them.”
“Which is?” Moses prompted.
“If you two make a grab or level any accusations, you’d damn sure better have the evidence with which to back it up. A false-arrest charge will leave you looking for new occupations.”
“And not you,” Vyra murmured.
Gemmel favored her with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll naturally deny any involvement. You’ll have been doing the work on your own.”
A resigned Manz straightened in his seat. “Standard modus operandi. Why am I not surprised?”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. Stick these jackers, and you can have a month off. Two months. With pay.” Gemmel’s fingers were working against each other. “We really need to close this one down, people. Not only because of the financial and reputational damage to the Company, but because for every shipment that’s jacked, there are people offworld badly in need of those pharmaceuticals who suffer when they don’t arrive.”
“Yeah, that’s how I’ve always thought of the Company.” Manz speculated on the color of the ceiling. “Concerned and altruistic as hell.”
“The stolen goods don’t vanish into some black hole. The people who need the drugs will get them off the local black market,” Vyra pointed out.
“That’s true enough, but indelicate of you to mention.” Gemmel’s voice grew brisk. “Our concern is to prevent that from happening. To assuage the concerns of valued customers.”
“To save our butts,” declared Moses crisply. “Pity I don’t have one.”
Humor. The human treatment for insanity. Sort of a psycho-topical salve. Mechanicals aren’t in need of it. But it’s part of his programming. Me, I consider it an acquired taste.
“I take it you’d like for us to leave soonest?” Manz worked to conceal his displeasure.
“Yesterday, if not for paradox. That a problem for you? The wife and six kids going to give you trouble?”
Manz looked wounded. “I have fish.”
