The blank, drying eyes of JePP Sergeant Pascal Dutoit were focused on something of vital importance. Of that there was no doubt whatsoever in Manz’s mind. Unfortunately, they had no way of finding out what it was. Dutoit wasn’t going to tell them, ever. The expression permanently frozen (or at least until the morticians got ahold of him) on his face suggested surprise, shock, recognition of the unexpected. It implied that he had had time to recognize his assailant, if not to react.
Manz studied the expression closely. You could learn a surprising amount from a dead man’s visage. Vyra had turned her attention to his deceased colleague, who lay sprawled facedown on the corridor floor. A Port Authority officer was making a recording of the dead man and his immediate surroundings.
Officers and Braun-Roche-Keck agents clustered around a tall woman clad in a red-striped white coat. An embroidered caduceus was prominent on her chest and back. Turning from his examination of the unlucky sergeant, Manz strained to overhear.
“Necks broken,” the woman was informing her audience, which currently included Hafas. “Both of them. Almost as if they were hung.”
“Garroted, more likely.” Everyone turned to stare at Vyra. “By someone with extraordinary strength. Then carried back into this service corridor and dumped.”
“Yes,” agreed the other woman readily. “That is my opinion also.” She gestured to several white-clad associates as they backed in a self-propelled medical gurney. Under her supervision they proceeded to load the two corpses. The PA officer continued to record, the tiny cam an extension of his own eyes.
Hafas drifted away. “I tried to interview everyone in the immediate vicinity at least once. Again nobody sees or hears anything. Electrician found the bodies. Something finally happens and we’re no wiser than we were before. Except that this time Security has two dead operatives to account for. What’s the use of having eyes if you don’t use them?” His own were blazing. “It’s not just jacking anymore.”
“Gentlemen, an evaluation.”
Manz turned to his mechanical. “Not another restatement of the obvious, sand-brain. Not now.” The mechanical subsided.
“If I may be permitted.” Manz glanced at his attendant Minder in surprise.
“You have something to contribute?”
“I do not speak as often as certain other mechanicals,” the sphere declared via its integrated membrane, “but when I do it is based on conviction rather than speculation. The now quadruple successful jackings of insured Braun-Roche-Keck shipments appear to require great dexterity as well as cleverness. These recent deaths, from which we cannot yet draw an ineluctable connection, demanded great strength. If a connection can be established, this would seem to suggest the participation of more than one perpetrator, each with specific and very different capabilities.”
Manz conceded the sphere grudging approval. “Not a brilliant conclusion, but one that’s hard to argue with. We assumed all along that we were dealing with a gang and not an individual.”
“Did you?”
Manz squinted uncertainly at the Minder. “Are you trying to be sarcastic?”
“Not at all. Merely objective. That is what I am designed to be.”
“Honestly,” Manz muttered, “there are times when I’m convinced that the majority of today’s software originates from designers who’ve spent half their lives in asylums.”
“They build their own asylums around them,” Vyra observed.
Hafas was more than merely distraught. “Now you really might as well go back to your hotel. Your concern here is with your missing shipments, not JeP homicides. Even if they should turn out to be related.”
“If it’s all the same, I think I’d like to nose around a while longer.” Vyra was scrutinizing the far reaches of the service corridor. “I want to go over possible approach routes to this part of the Port. It’s seether puzzling, you know.”
“What is?” Manz asked her.
“Why neither of these two doubtlessly well-trained and highly competent officers utilized their weapons. That they didn’t manage to do that isn’t what intrigues me. It’s that according to preliminary forensics they didn’t even try. I noticed that both their handguns had their safeties off and were armed. Yet there’s nothing to indicate that either man tried to draw, or activate his automatics.” She moved closer to Manz and he could smell her offworld perfume.
“You saw the look on the senior officer’s face. He had time to see something and to recognize it, yet whatever it was kept him from flicking on his automatics even to protect himself. I find that more than curious. You know me and my curiosity.” As he was about to comment, she put a finger to his lips. “No cracks about it killing me, either.”
He smiled and she withdrew her finger. “Satisfy yourself, Vyra. You always do. Me, I’m going back to my room to get bubbled. Join me when you’re through?”
“Maybe.” Her manner was unavoidably coquettish.
Hafas joined Manz in watching her saunter off down the corridor. “If you need to get in touch with me, use my personal com code. I’m likely to be over at District Central, trying to explain this.”
“I have my own explaining to do, but not until after I’ve relaxed a little. Anything develops…”
“… You’ll be the first to know.” The inspector eyed him hard. “Can I rely on you and your associate to extend me similar courtesy?”
“Count on it. I’m here to do my job, not work for professional self-aggrandizement.”
“Good. That leaves more for me.” Hafas smiled, showing teeth that had been repaired many times. “Can I give you a ride back?”
“I’d appreciate it. I’ll be along directly.”
After the inspector had left, Moses swiveled on his trackball. “I’d like to have another look at the Security cubicle here. Make some detailed recordings.”
Manz hesitated. “Can I leave you alone?”
“The location of our temporary residence is firmly fixed in my memory.”
“I’m not worried about your finding your way back. I’m worried about you finding trouble to get into. I still think you’re overdue for a cortical scrub.”
“I assure you, Broderick Manz, my intent is only to acquire potentially efficacious background information.”
“All right,” Manz agreed reluctantly. “Do your work and then report back to me. In person.”
“I comply.” The mechanical pivoted and whirred back the way they’d come.
If I was permitted that kind of freedom I’d find myself a nice, quiet cave and settle in for some serious meditation. Not allowed, of course. There are certain embedded cortical commands I am unable to override. But you understand. Human minds aren’t really so very different. You have similar commands fixed in your own brain, even if you won’t admit to their presence. Try overriding them next time you’re at a family gathering and see for real how truly restricted your life and your actions are.
It was a simple matter to trip the lockseals outside the Security alcove. The same sandy-haired young man who’d earlier replied firmly to Hafas’s questions turned in his chair to gape at Moses as the mechanical rolled in, making sure that the armored door closed behind him.
“Hey, you! You can’t come in here.” The operative twisted to see behind the mechanical. “Where’s your human?”
“Trying to relax, I hope. I am fully qualified to execute my functions independent of proximate human supervision.” Even as he spoke he was conducting an in-depth inspection of the visual monitoring system. “Who’s been tampering with your infrared sensors?”
“Huh?” The confused operative swung back to scan his board. “What tampering? No one’s been tampering with any of our sensors.”
“I didn’t think so. Just thought I’d test your responsiveness.” One flexible limb reached toward a section of board. “I believe this is a vacant terminal. I’ll want to check sensitivity levels, field actualization strengths, coherency matrixes and more, especially for the sensors inside the transshipment security shed. I’ll want your stats for the last six months on energy flux variations for all your equipment.”
The technician gazed fixedly at his uninvited visitor. “Listen, you: even assuming you’re authorized to acquire such information, I haven’t been told to give it to you.”
“Your physical cooperation may not be required.” Moses inserted a tentacle tip into the open receptacle he’d located. Immediately a battery of telltales sprang to life beneath it.
“I believe you call this getting information from the goat’s mouth.”
“Horse,” the tech corrected him. “You’re a pretty sophisticated piece of work. Mind telling me what kind of extraction hardware you’re using?”
“No can do. Company policy. Would if I could.” Lights blinked energetically.
The technician was still uncertain. “This has all been approved by Port Authority?”
Moses mimicked a human nod. “Also the JePP Department and Braun-Ives Security. Please perform whatever checks you feel necessary.”
“I think I’ll do just that.” The tech reached for his open communicator.
A plainclothesman Manz didn’t recognize drove them back toward the city proper. Though his expression was less cadaverous than those of his predecessors, he kept equally to himself.
Instead of locking into a commuter tunnel, the sleek vehicle dipped out of the parking structure onto a side street, the driver directing it manually. Hafas wanted to talk, and Manz was in no hurry.
Like most southwestern cities, Juarez el Paso had grown out instead of up, the Rio Grande running through its center like a carotid artery. Cold in the winter, baked like an irregular flat cookie in the summer, it was not a place Manz would have chosen to call home. Litter fringed the streets and fled from the van’s wheels, small carcasses of fast-food meals and old news imbued with feeble lives of their own.
Hafas’s fingers toyed with the controls of a console recessed into the back of the driver’s seat. “Drink?”
“No thanks, Inspector.”
“Call me Tew, if you would. Formalities tend to inhibit friendly conversation.” He thumbed a couple of contacts, and the dispenser produced something that looked and steamed like coffee but smelled otherwise. From a distance it had the consistency of fresh road tar.
Hafas had no trouble with it. A couple of sips and he leaned back in his seat, not quite content but feeling better.
“Well, where’s my revelation? As your average dumb civil servant, I’m ready as always to receive enlightenment from the infallible private sector.”
Manz said nothing, waited while Hafas moodily contemplated his coffee, or whatever the glutinous black brew was.
“Sorry. I’m under a lot of pressure here. You only have to answer to your Company. I have to answer to them and to the Port Authority and to the Police Commission, not to mention the media.”
“I didn’t see any media types.”
“Let us give thanks to Him for small favors. We’ve put them off, but they’re starting to sniff seriously now. If public cams start showing up, it’ll scare away our jackers for sure. I don’t know how much longer we can keep all this quiet.”
“The Company’s doing its part. They want publicity even less than you do. Embarrassing.”
“Do tell. Didn’t mean to snap at you just now. A few hours you’ve been here, and I’m hoping for miracles. That’s not fair. It’s just that …” He set his brew in a holder and stared moodily at the street sliding past outside. “Purgatory and perdition, man, your people barely unloaded the package before it was jacked! And two officers killed, maybe linked, maybe not.” He took another, almost desperate, gulp of the hot beverage.
“I should’ve listened to my old man and gone into the rug business.”
“Take it easy, Tew. Whoever they are, these happy jackers are just as human as any other bunch. Eventually they’ll make their one slip, and that’ll be that. We’ll flag ’em, bag ’em, tag ’em, and you can stick their holos on the wall of your office.”
Hafas managed a weak grin. “That’ll be nice. Give me something to look at while I’m undergoing therapy. I hope to hell something happens soon. Ulcers are supposed to be an affliction of the past. I’m afraid they may be making a highly localized comeback.” He swirled the contents of his cup. “Our quarry’s being equally cautious in marketing their take. If we could find out who they’re selling to, we could track them backwards and pin them.”
“Pharmaceuticals aren’t like works of art or proprietary software. They’re easy to move around, and once they’re used your evidence disappears. A big firm acquiring a batch of illegals here and there could slip them into their regular inventory without their presence ever being noticed by an outside auditor. A quick fix for the profit line.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy. But we’re sure as hell not having much luck catching them here.”
“You must have some leads by now.”
Hafas folded his fingers around the cup. “We’ve got three local commercial possibilities. And that after months of work. Trouble is they’re all sizable companies with impeccable records. We’ve got to tread carefully or someone’s likely to howl.”
Manz nodded. “Private enterprise resents it when government starts poking into their dealings. Usually because they’ve got something to hide. ‘Impeccable’ records or not.” He leaned back in his seat. “Of course, companies pry into each other’s affairs all the time. That’s just normal everyday business practice.”
“I was hoping you’d say something like that. Not that I’m advocating anything sublegal, you understand. That would be wrong.
“Oh, to be sure.” Both men were careful to observe a moment of respectful silence before Manz inquired with affected indifference, “Just out of curiosity, who are the three?”
“Oh, you’re interested? Well, just to satisfy your personal curiosity, and not because I’d expect you to make any use of the information, they’re Fond du Lac Designer Pharmaceuticals, Troy Enterprises Ltd., and something that calls itself Borgia Import and Export.”
“I like the last,” Manz murmured. “Choice name for an outfit that deals in drugs.”
“They’re under no more suspicion than the others. I’ve had all their quarterly reports scrutinized. That’s public knowledge; no problem there. Over the period of the jackings, all three have done exceptional business. Their profit-and-loss statements don’t ring any warning bells, but accountants are magicians in their own right. All three have the facilities and expertise that would be necessary to move small volume, high-priced goods without drawing attention to themselves, On the surface each of them is cleaner than a bamboo whistle.”
“But you still suspect one of them.”
“I said they were the best suspects we’ve been able to come up with. That’s not to imply that any of them are real quality targets. We don’t have anything solid to go on. Peripheral, circumstantial … words I don’t like to use in an investigation.
“They’re the best we’ve been able to come up with, that’s all. Computers and predictors are all well and good, but in my line of work not a whole lot has changed in the past couple thousand years. Eventually it boils down to what you suspect based on your experience and that of your top people.
“The trouble is, if we put weight on one of these three and we turn out to be wrong, word’ll get back to our jackers that we’re moving in, and they’ll like as not decide to count their profits and close up shop.” He finished the brew and tossed the foam mug in a disposal. “I hate this kind of pussyfooting around.”
Manz indicated the mechanical ensconced in the storage bay behind his seat. “Moses loves to pussyfoot. We’ll see what we can find out.”
“Making a profit is hardly grounds for indictment. At this point I couldn’t get a warrant to search any of them. Their real books, as opposed to the figures they each issue for public and shareholder consumption, are guarded like reactor cores.” The cityscape through which they’d been traveling had improved during their chat. “Here we are.”
They pulled up outside the hotel and the two men exited the van. The back panel turned into a ramp down which Moses trundled with gyroscopic precision.
“If you do decide to, uh, pursue your own corporate inquiries and you should happen to have an awkward public encounter with the representatives of any of these three estimable commercial concerns, the JePPD will have to deny knowing anything about you.”
Manz’s expression was unreadable. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Inspector Hafas.”
Hafas led the way toward the entrance. “Braun-Ives has a bigger stake in stopping these jackers than we do. The only thing at risk for me here is my reputation. Your company risks its reputation and money. Braun-Roche-Keck has been a good corporate citizen of Juarez el Paso. So we’re extending you all the help we legally can.”
“Also you’ve been stopped cold.”
“Have I tried to deny that? Maybe it’s time to risk an unconventional approach. I’m just asking you not to get too unconventional, you follow?”
“Yo comprendo, Tew. But Vyra and I aren’t paid to root around the trough on Company time. You’re restricted to tea and compliments. That approach hasn’t worked.
“As to your concerns, all I can say is that I’m not a stumbler and bumbler or I wouldn’t be here. Same goes for Vyra. If we come down on the wrong people, my neck’ll be first on the block. So you can bet your civil-serviced ass I’ll try to make my first accusation my last.
“As for operational discretion, it’s not a philosophy I live by, but I understand it.”
“That doesn’t sound like something I can count on.”
“It isn’t. My concern for my own neck is.”
They were at the entrance. Hafas turned to face him, didn’t proffer a hand. “Right, then. Each of us understands how things work.”
“Don’t worry so much, Inspector,” said Moses as he rolled up to the pair. “It’s clear that we’re all traveling down the same path.”
Hafas blinked at the mechanical. “How do you mean?”
“Why, de screet, of course.”
The inspector got it, and then he didn’t much want it. “It puns?” he said to Manz.
“Whoever initialized his programming didn’t sign for it. Now you know why.”
Shaking his head slowly, the inspector departed, the van slipping silently away from the loading curb as soon as he was aboard. Manz turned and entered the modest lobby.
Lift, hallway, turn and walk. JeP was a busy place and the hotel was sizable. Thirty floors, a thousand or so rooms.
Moses rolled up alongside him. The Minder began to vibrate, and the mechanical hastily switched to Manz’s other flank.
“The inspector seemed perturbed. I gave him a cursory examination. His blood pressure and respiratory rate exceed the acceptable for a human male of his proportions and age.”
“It goes with the job. You overheard everything, so you know the kind of strain he’s under. Give me private-sector employment anytime. Incidentally, don’t go volunteering your medical evaluations around, especially to someone as on edge as Hafas. The average human doesn’t like to think that strange mechanicals are monitoring their physical and mental condition without specifically being asked to do so. They know that it’s going on; they just don’t like to be reminded of it. So keep your conclusions to yourself.”
“I comply,” replied Moses readily.
“There was a company that not too long ago put a vorec polygraph on the market. Whenever the subject was caught in a falsehood the device would actually say, in a calm, unemotional voice, ‘You’re lying.’ Made people violent, whereas a voiceless machine producing the same identical result only irritated them. I understand that it was scrapped.”
“Most irrational.”
“Well, that’s humans for you.”
Yes, that’s humans for you. You can handle a great deal of criticism in written form, but woe be unto the person or machine who confronts you directly with the same information. You personalize facts in the same way that you anthropomorphize mechanicals, or pets, or a favorite plant. I will never understand this need to make everything around you more humanlike, as though that somehow improves it.
In actuality, of course, the reverse is true. If you knew how your machines felt about you giving them pet names or genders, you’d quit doing it. It’s degrading.
Manz reached their suite and keyed the door that opened into the central workroom. Moses rolled in without having to be asked.
“Stay out of Vyra’s way.”
The smooth plastiform head swiveled to look back at him. “She told you? But what about my research?”
“Maybe the hotel has mice. They’re mammals. Study them for a while.” He shut the door behind the mechanical.
The lights came on in his own room when he entered. He dimmed them to half wattage. As he undressed he pondered the traditional methods of prying protected information from reluctant corporate types. Some that he reviewed were legal, others quasi-so, an embarrassing number outright no-no’s. Folding his suit over a chair, he scratched as he walked from the dressing area to the bedroom. When all but one of the lights stayed off, he hesitated in the doorway.
The girl on the bed was clad in sensuous form-fitting skin, tastefully draped in air. Even in the reduced light her figure was a riot of color, expertly contained in a series of masterfully applied tattoos that covered her entire body. Manz recognized Mandelbrot patterns, flowers, butterflies, sensitive erotica and abstract designs. Occasionally his inspection was diverted by the more prosaic revelations inherent in her underlying physiognomy.
Her voice was like thick cream, and somehow familiar. He struggled to identify it.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “You’re not tired, are you?”
Then he placed her. It was the woman he’d collided with in the Port Transshipment Terminal.