“Grandma Pfalzgraf will look after them.” The executive’s gaze swerved to his other operative. “You?”
“Me Jane, him Tarzan. You evil hunter. Why would I want to hang around here? The humidity’s twice what I’m comfortable with.”
Gemmel’s fingers drummed on his desk. “I only tolerate your mutual insubordination because you’re both so good. Don’t make me out to be a liar.”
She rose and smoothed out the insignificant wrinkles in her snakeskin. It was like watching a flower bloom in time-lapse. “Why, Mr. Gemmel, I have no intention of making you out at all.”
He was forced to look away. Such was the kind of physical power she wielded; sometimes unconsciously, more often with knowledge (though rarely malice) aforethought.
“There are reservations in both your names for a trans-Gulf flight out this evening. You’ve got all afternoon to get ready. If you knew the pressure I was under from Up Top, you’d both thank me for my understanding and forbearance instead of trying to give me a hard time.”
Vyra genuflected elaborately. “Slavish offerings be unto you, Oh tobacco-snorting dispenser of largess.”
Manz was considerably less amused. “I’ve got tickets to the women’s Nairobi-Calcutta field hockey championships for tomorrow night. The world quarterfinals. An unmatched exhibition of feminine grace and athletic skill.”
Vyra’s lips twisted. “Nullshit, Broddy. You just like to watch pretty girls whack each other with long, heavy sticks.”
“Life is tough. That’s a ridiculous pastime anyway.” The exec’s grim expression cracked slightly. “Cricket, now. There’s a sport.”
Though he knew he was spitting blind, Manz tried one last time. “It won’t make any difference if we get to JeP tonight or tomorrow night.”
“It will to the Company. It will to me.”
The adjuster wasn’t mollified. “As my first notation in the official record of this investigation, I wish to observe formally and with malice that the Company’s timing sucks.”
“Duly noted,” said Gemmel brusquely. “An Inspector Hafas is supposed to meet your flight.”
Manz made a face. “I’ll be sure to send him your love.”
“Do that. You’ll find your hotel reservations on your flight chit. Try to watch your expense accounts. Braun-Ives isn’t made of money, you know.”
Vyra pursed her lower lip. “That’s funny. And all this time I thought it was.”
“Get out, get going, get to it. And get it done. Now leave me be. I have normal people to deal with.”
Out in the hallway Manz whispered to his lithe, tall companion. “That wasn’t very nice, what you said back in Gemmel’s office.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. To what, specifically, do you refer?”
“Saying that I only enjoyed women’s field hockey because I like seeing girls smack each other.”
“I’m sorry, Broddy. I know you’re not like that.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I know that’s probably not your only reason.” She smiled sweetly.
Moses trailed discreetly behind. He was watching his owner’s new associate’s every move with heightened academic interest.
Except for the attempted hijacking, the flight out to JeP was uneventful. The young man who stepped out into the aisle had a wild look in his eyes and a dart pistol fashioned entirely of organic compounds in his hand. He waved it about with fine disregard for the safety of the passengers around him. For the most part, absorbed as they were in their individual vids or games, they ignored him.
The man thrust the mildly odiferous weapon into the face of the nearest cabin attendant, trying to focus on him while keeping a simultaneous eye on everyone else.
“See this gun? See it?”
“I can hardly avoid it, since you’re waving it right under my nose,” replied the steward with admirable aplomb.
“It fires hypos containing a powerful neurotoxin that kills in less than a minute. If you don’t want to die, take me forward! I have demands to put first to the pilot, then to others.”
“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.
