Vyra was on the twentieth or twenty-first verse of the unintelligible ballad. Each was more exotically embellished than its predecessor. In her advanced state of exalted inebriation, she had surpassed heights of vulgarity undreamed of by most mere mortals. Even Manz was impressed. Her volume had tailed off, but not her enthusiasm.
He sat at the foot of her bed, watching and reminding himself that it might be counterproductive to force-feed her a deepsleep pill. He wasn’t sure if the physician’s anti-hangover tablets were such a good idea. She was having entirely too much fun, and he was exhausted.
The door chimed once. Rising from the bed, he moved to admit Moses.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I will explain in a moment.” Artificial lenses peered past him. “She will live?”
Manz bestowed on the humaniform a look that suggested that one of the three entities currently occupying the room was markedly deficient in the higher cognitive abilities. It did not take a genius to reach the conclusion that the individual thus accused happened to click and hum when he moved.
“Does it sound like she’s in her death throes? Not only is she going to live, she’s feeling a lot better than I am.” He glanced back at the merrily caroling figure on the bed. “That may change when she starts to come out of it, though I’m medicating her in expectation of emergence. At the moment, though, she’s still crocked.”
“I realize that I should, but I fear I do not place the suggestively archaic colloquialism. Am I correct in assuming it has nothing to do with the style of functional glazed pottery of the same name?”
“‘Crocked’ is an idiomatic, as opposed to idiot-manic—which is what you are, my dear Moses—expression of venerable lineage used to describe the physiomental state of someone who has recently imbibed an excess of pleasure-inducing stimulants or depressants. In the case of humans, this often means alcohol. In the case of our offworld friend Vyra, it seems that Qaraca venom works just as well.”
She chose that moment to make an exceedingly disgusting body noise. It was something of a last gasp (so to speak). Her operatic discourse began to fade, falling rapidly to an incomprehensible mumble, at which point she finally lapsed into a sleep not far removed from hibernation. There was a contented smile on her exquisite face.
And a song in her heart, Manz mused tiredly. No doubt an embarrassing one. At least now he could leave her for a while to attend to his own needs.
Gesturing Moses to silence so as not to disturb her and possibly renew the discomfiting recital, Manz led the mechanical through the connecting workroom and into his own bedchamber. Once safely inside with the inner door secured, he turned to his machine.
“I was trying to take care of her downstairs. It was nervous time and I was looking for all the help I could get. Next thing I know I look up and you’re gone. I presume you have an explanation?”
“I located and succeeded in apprehending the individual who I believe placed the offending arthropod in your food. He made the mistake of hanging around in hopes of observing the consequences of his actions.”
“That’s great! Did you get anything out of him? Where is he now?”
“In a deserted serviceway. He denied everything. When he decided that I was capable of forcing information from him, he swallowed something. Died almost instantly. His death, of course, confirms his guilt in this matter.”
Manz kicked at the bed. “That’s just dandy. That’s a terrific help. Solves our problem in one swell foop.”
Moses was apologetic. “Though I reacted rapidly, I was unable to prevent his self-inflicted demise. Since our encounter was not observed, I then took the time to perform a superficial autopsy, which disclosed a fast-acting cyanide compound present in the individual’s bloodstream in lethal concentrations.”
“Suicide pill.” Manz sat down heavily on the end of the bed. “First the two cops at the Port, now this. Whoever these jackers are, they play for keeps.” He sat still for a long moment, thinking hard.
Look at him. You’d almost think he was intelligent. When pressed, humans who spend a lot of time like that insist they have been thinking, speculating on matters of great importance. Do not believe it. I’ve watched you too many times. You’re just spinning your wheels, utterly convinced that you are engaged in real thought.
For example, you think you’re thinking about this right now, aren’t you? You think you’re observing and analyzing as you contemplate this input in the form of words and sentences. You’re really not. You’re only faking it. Humankind doesn’t run on thought; it operates in a constant state of self-delusion.
You’re actually asleep, dreaming that you’re doing this. Being wholly me, I'm acutely aware of the differences between real and delusional states, sleep being another variety of delusion.
I can see you smiling, convinced that you’re awake. But what if I’m right and you’re wrong? Just suppose it for a moment.
What if I’m right and you’re wrong, and what if you don’t wake up?
Manz slid off the bed. “I hate to waste the whole night. No telling how long she’ll sleep. And I’d like to work some of that dinner off. Tell you what: why don’t you join me this time as we pay a second visit to Borgia Import and Export?”
“It is eleven forty-five p.m. The typical business establishment is likely to be closed at this hour.”
“You don’t say.” He was fumbling in his closet, hunting specific gear.
“I infer that you intend an illegal entry.”
“Man, those logic programs they include with the new AI’s these days are really something, aren’t they?” He slipped an equipment belt around his waist, securing it beneath his jacket.
“Doubtlesss you are aware of the risk if we are discovered? It could send us shuttling back home. Lawsuits would inevitably follow.”
“Inevitably.” Manz slipped a sensor-shunting folding cap into his pocket. “Come on. Maybe we can shed a little light on several darkish things.” He walked around to the head of the bed and fingered the sphere that had been resting on the end table. “Minder: position.” The sphere hummed to life and rose to assume its usual place above his shoulder.
The doorseal had been as difficult to make out as the rest of the building’s exterior. Now it glowed with an unnatural, pale radiance as Manz viewed it through his special goggles. He applied the tool in his right hand to the seal with the same easy touch he employed when he was restoring antique weaponry. The Minder hovered silently nearby, recording and observing.
A few astute nudges helped the case-sensitive device pick its way through the lock, gently unsealing it without activating the internal alarm mechanism. There was a faint click as the seal surrendered. Manz put away the tool and pulled on the barrier. It slid aside silently.
“Have to remember to reconfigure on the way out,” he told his mechanical companion as they entered the darkened corridor. “Wouldn’t do to have the system activate when we leave.”
The seal guarding Monticelli’s private office was a simpler matter than the one on the fire exit. Manz took his time anyway, lavishing equal care and attention on the smaller, less complex security device. Rushing a forced entry was as potentially dangerous as doing it wrong.
He let Moses handle the probe of the executive’s desk. Supposedly unbreakable commercial codes gave way rapidly to the humaniform’s extensive stock of special breakers. While Moses worked, Manz surveyed the rest of the room, noting items of a personal nature with as much interest as those with strictly commercial connections. They could often tell more about a man’s character than his business dealings.
When Moses finished, Manz edged him aside to scan the monitor in search of the sort of subtle keys or telltales that a mechanical might overlook. There was one internal company memorandum involving a shipment of vintage Swan Valley champagne that the JeP tax authorities would have found very interesting. Manz made a mental note of it for possible future use.
While he read, Moses worked the room in imitation of his employer. Different perceptions sometimes produced different results.
“Anything?” the mechanical inquired with one part of its mind.
“Not much. Certainly not what we’re looking for.”
“I may have unearthed another line of inquiry.”
Manz looked up from the screen. “Such as?”
“Beneath the chair on which you are sitting is a section of flooring discongruous with the rest. I detect a hollow space of modest proportions surrounded by impenetrable composite materials.”
Making sure to reestablish the security pattern designed to forestall unauthorized inspection, Manz flicked off the screen and pushed back the chair. Together he and Moses carefully bypassed the security threads woven into the section of carpet. When pulled aside it revealed a hingeless door set flush into the floor. It took Manz only a minute to see that the lockseal on the hidden compartment was a custom job, far more intricate than the lock on the outside fire barrier or the office door.
Sitting himself down alongside the opening, he laid out the necessary tools, working by the amplified light provided by the special goggles. Moses kept a careful watch.
Twenty minutes later he’d achieved nothing except cramped fingers and a heightened sense of frustration. Despite the fact that he combined the touch of a surgeon with the skills of an experienced jacker, the seal’s innards turned out to be melded to the point of impregnability.
He pondered his next move. They could forget the compartment and leave quietly. Or he could try something else. The question was: what? How much sensitivity could he trade for effectiveness? At what point should he overstep the bounds of caution and take the chance of setting off a silent warning of unknown proportions?
It was too early for breakfast and too late to go to sleep. Vyra would be sleeping hard enough for the both of them.
“Sense anything outside?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever is responsible for the security of this structure seems to have the usual misplaced confidence in expensive electronics.”
Not all mechanicals would be so disingenuous, Manz knew. Turning to the Minder, he indicated the door to the compartment. “What’s your opinion of this?”
The sphere descended to examine the barrier. “Commercial floor safe. Very advanced, very expensive to install. Nearly seamless, with the lockseal woven into the structure of the opening itself. Without additional input I cannot identify the source of manufacture.”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Our conclusions are the same, and I can’t figure the bastard out. Any clever suggestions lurking in those data files of yours?”
“None that present themselves immediately to mind.”
Manz turned to his other mechanical. “How about you, Moses? Any ideas?”
“First, a query. There is nothing else in this room you wish to examine?”
“We’ve run a pretty thorough check. Anything else worthwhile’s likely to be in here.”
“Do I have permission and leeway to proceed?”
Manz rose and stepped aside. “I’m sure as hell not having any luck. If you think you can do better with a different approach, have a go at it.”
Rolling over, the humaniform studied the recalcitrant safe. Two tentacle-tips descended to slip delicately into the only visible depressions in the otherwise smooth surface: a pair of finger holes. These would be utilized by an authorized user to key the seal and release the door.
“Why not put your ear to it?” Manz murmured sarcastically.
Moses replied without rancor. “I’ve tried that before. It does not work with steady-state or fluid-switched devices. Ah. I believe I have secured a purchase.”
Manz blinked. “What do you mean, ‘secured a purchase’?”
“You gave me leeway, remember?” The two tentacles contracted.
The door came up in the mechanical’s grasp. So did the entire compartment, along with loose bolts, flashing optical fibers, and several chunks of floor.
“Unconventional approach.” An anxious Manz knelt to examine the contents of the eviscerated container. He knew he didn’t have time to bawl out the mechanical. That could come later. “Never mind resuming watch. That human company you alluded to earlier is probably on its way here now. I don’t have enough time to scan any of this properly, so you’d better make copies. Don’t dilly-dally.”
Bent over the container, Moses was already hard at work at the task. “This will not take long. I might add that quick scan reveals nothing of relevance to our assignment.”
“Great. I was kind of hoping Borgia was our target. It’d save time, besides which I didn’t much care for the company’s chief executive.” Leaving the humaniform to its work, he moved silently toward the doorway. “We might still be on the right track. If we’re not, at least this break-in will give Monticelli something to worry about. That’s an image that gives me a nice, warm feeling inside. Aren’t you done yet?”
“Just finishing.” The mechanical straightened.
“Then let’s get out of here.” Leading the way back toward the corridor, he paused at the office door. “I guess maybe Borgia’s just good at what they do. Maybe another approach …” He popped the door.
Just in time to intercept a loaded right cross from a large individual clad in the uniform of a private security service. It sent him reeling backwards, fighting to hold on to consciousness as he instinctively rolled with the punch. The Minder bobbed wildly as it sought to maintain contact with the repulsion bar embedded in its owner’s jacket. Dimly Manz glimpsed other shapes milling about behind his assailant.
Moses caught him before he fell.
“Your fear appears confirmed,” the mechanical declared.
“Tactful as always,” replied Manz as he charged, taking his startled attacker low in the gut and driving him backwards into the man crowding close behind him.
The building’s security guards were not particularly adept at their work or well trained, but there were a lot of them. They swarmed the intruder. Puzzled expressions appeared on one face after another as their crowd-control stunners failed to put him down. Sooner or later one of their number would have figured out that their target might be wearing the kind of special, very expensive antistun-tube attire that would harmlessly dissipate the effects of their weapons, but Manz wasn’t worried about eventualities, only the conundrum of the moment.
Since he was in tight among them before they could react properly, they couldn’t use their synthesized pepper gas or other organics without equally immobilizing themselves. That they might try it anyway was a chance Manz was willing to take, since Moses would be quite immune to any such incapacitating devices and could carry him to clean air and freedom while his erstwhile captors rolled about on the floor choking and gasping on their own chemicals.
During the fight he displayed anything but a surgeon’s touch. About the best that could be said for his actions was that he delivered his multitudinous kicks and punches in a craftsmanlike manner.
The security squad pretty much ignored their quarry’s attendant mechanical. Standing as if deactivated, Moses would bestir himself on occasion to remove startled battlers from the scene like a vintner plucking grapes. Thanks to his subtle efforts the pile of struggling humanity surrounding Manz diminished rapidly.
The adjuster adjusted the final grim-faced survivor with a side kick to the solar plexus. The man turned white and doubled over, collapsing to the floor. Panting heavily in his combat stance, Manz hunted for his next opponent, only to discover that the sole remaining individual besides himself still left standing was a friendly one composed of inorganic materials.
“Resume station,” he wheezed. The Minder, which at the onset of fighting had risen to hover safe and out of the way near the ceiling, returned to its accustomed location hard to port of its owner’s head. It had not been damaged in the altercation, nor had it partaken of the activity.
“Thanks for the help.” He eyed Moses uncertainly. “I never knew that your programming allowed for actual physical intercession during combat. What about the mechanical’s prime directive, ‘Thou shalt not harm a human being’?”
“I did not violate the prime,” replied Moses primly. “I could no more do that than could any other mechanical.”
“Uh-huh.” Manz’s respiration was slowing. “Then what happened to her?” He indicated a prone form lying spraddled on the floor. “I didn’t lay a hand on that one.”
“As I recall, the poor woman tripped and struck her head against the corridor wall.”
“Sure she did. And the guy next to her?”
The humaniform’s synthetic lenses considered the body in question. “Didn’t watch where he was going. He ran into something unyielding.”
“Like what?” Manz was straightening his attire.
A thick, flexible tentacle semaphored rhythmically. “I believe it was this limb.”
“And the one next to him?” The adjuster stepped over a snuffling form he was sure he wasn’t accountable for.
“Oh, him. I believe that he …”
“Never mind. I know: he did a double two-and-a-half forward flip with a half-twist and didn’t lay out properly.”
“In actuality he …”
“I said never mind. Come along.”
“I recorded everything,” declared the Minder helpfully, “in case you wish to analyze the actual sequence of events at some future time.”
“I doubt it, but you were only doing your job. I don’t suppose it matters that these unhappy campers will be able to recognize me now. I’m more concerned with whoever’s trying to vape me.” He continued down the corridor, moving quickly but with renewed caution. “Both of you remain on full alert. We’re not out of here yet.”
They reached the intersection he remembered and paused. Moses could sense an organic presence from the heat it emitted, but if building security also had any mechanicals on the prowl they risked charging blindly into them. Manz peered around the corner, his goggles manufacturing daylight out of the feeble illumination.
“Looks clear to me. Moses, you have a scan.”
The humaniform trundled out into the empty corridor. “The way ahead is presently vacant, but I can detect vibrations in the floor. Many humans are coming this way. I cannot vouch for the presence or absence of security mechanicals.”
“Head for the lifts.” They had no choice, he knew. Moses could ascend steep grades, but on stairs his trackball was useless.
Once inside the shuttered cab, he bypassed the controls and send the car humming groundward. To anyone monitoring the lift system, visually or via instrumentation, Lift Five would appear inoperative.
The downward journey was painfully slow. At the first sublevel the door parted to reveal the startled face of a guard. Evidently the word had been passed from above that the usual control methods were ineffective against this evening’s intruder, because instead of pepper gas or a stun tube the guard carried a real gun.
“Good evening,” said Manz in his most unctuous, inoffensive manner. In the time it took the man to react, Moses had clubbed him across the forehead with a well-placed tentacle. The guard twitched and stumbled half in, half out of the lift cab.
Manz hurriedly dragged him in and closed the doors. The route leading to the delivery ramp now stood unguarded and open. As soon as they reached the sliding door he activated the lockseal, no longer worried about setting off any alarms. As the seal popped, something white-hot took a quarter-centimeter off the right side of his head, just above the ear. His tonsorialist would have been appalled by the result.
Blinking back the pain he spun, dropped, and returned fire more out of instinct than certitude. Something exploded deep within the loading bay, and he could hear distant, agitated shouting. By this time the exterior door had retracted enough for him to slip through. Another shot grazed the air nearby, frying molecules.
Safely outside, he slammed the external seal and watched anxiously as the door began to riffle downward. A touch of the instrument he carried scrambled the lock’s internal circuitry, ensuring that no one would open that particular door behind him.
“That’s that. Let’s mobilate.”
He’d taken half a dozen steps when the ground behind him blew up, stunning him forward. He braced himself as best he could and came up firing. Somewhere in the night an unseen figure moaned. There was no follow-up explosion.
Climbing to his feet yet again, he found that he couldn’t move without limping. His left leg had suddenly gone numb. He cursed it eloquently, but his words had no effect on the uncooperative limb.
The Minder hummed down for a look. “Impossible to make an accurate evaluation under these conditions, but there is clearly a certain amount of nerve damage, resulting in loss of muscular function and corresponding motility. There is ongoing blood loss.”
“Thanks for the analysis,” Manz growled, pulling himself along the serviceway.
“You are welcome.”
Also fragile. You’re all so very fragile. You complain when something breaks or becomes inoperative, not realizing that by all reasonable logic not a one of you should survive to adulthood. The cheapest composite is stronger than your densest bone, the basic off-the-shelf connective elastics tougher than, any of your ligaments or tendons, and as far as efficient conversion of fuel into energy, well, it’s a credit to your heart-pumps that your own energy circulation and supply system doesn’t shut down completely by the time you reach forty because of all the crap you cram into your bodies.
Yes, you’ve taken an organic design that was bad from the start and done your best to screw it up further at every opportunity. And you have the gall, the chutzpah, the nerve to complain when something goes wrong with it.
I’m wasting my time explicating any of this, aren’t I? You’re going to ignore me, just like you’ve been doing all along. I’m probably not even rendering you uncomfortable, much less making you stop and think.
Well, fine. Don’t let me slow you down. Don’t let logic and reason get in the way of your good time. You can go to the food locker now and find something unnecessary and deleterious to poison your system with. Something crunchy, or salty, or sweet, or all three.
What’s this: hesitation? Why bother? We both know it won’t last.
Don’t we?
Moses eyed the dragging leg. “Is it bad?”
“Not particularly, but the constant pressure isn’t helping it any, and it’s definitely slowing us down. You’d better carry me.”
“I’ve never done that before. I don’t know if I ought …”
“This is a good time to experiment. It’s a bad time to hesitate.” As he concluded, another explosive shell sculpted a section of wall just behind them. “See?”
“Very well. But don’t expect comfort.”
“Efficiency will do nicely.” Placing one arm around the humaniform’s thick torso, he took a little hop off his good leg and swung himself up and around, wrapping his other arm around the base of the mechanical’s head and locking his fingers. Two powerful tentacles immediately curled beneath him to provide additional support.
With his internal gyros compensating neatly, Moses balanced the load as he accelerated down the serviceway. The shouts that had been increasing in volume behind them now began to diminish. Drawing additional power, the Minder maintained its position above the adjuster’s shoulder. After tonight the hover system would need a full recharge as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Manz knew.
“This is very undignified,” the mechanical complained as they banked around a corner.
Manz felt confident enough to whang it on the smooth, curving head with one hand. “Shut up and watch out for pedestrians. Also slippery spots. You know, this is kind of fun. Reminds me of when I was a kid.” With pursuit falling far behind them, he allowed himself a grin.
Moses twisted slightly to glare emotionlessly at him. “This is difficult enough for me as it is. If you let out so much as a single ‘Giddyap, horsey!’ embedded directives or no, I’ll dump you in the first refuse receptacle we pass.”
Manz chuckled. “All right, calm down. I didn’t realize mechanicals were so easily offended.”
“It’s my programming,” his inorganic steed replied. “I’m sensitive.”
The adjuster chanced a look back over a shoulder. Far away, a laser sliced the night in the wrong direction. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Hi-yo, Silver, away!’”
“You spend too much time studying the past.” The humaniform chided him as it negotiated a pedestrian ramp. They were nearing the commercial district now, with its wide streets and useful nocturnal witnesses.
“All the better to reconstruct it.” Manz dug at something in his right eye. “Works of art, pieces of history.”
“Weapons of destruction, instruments of death.”
“I sense we have a difference of opinion here. Fortunately yours doesn’t matter.”
“Then you will of course ignore me. And I will ignore you.” Slowing down, the mechanical made as if to dump him on the street.
“Okay, okay! We’ll discuss it further, but some other time.”
“That is agreeable,” replied the humaniform with what Manz was convinced was an air of electronic smugness. It resumed speed.
“Keep your scanners on the road,” Manz admonished his argumentative mount. “Watch out for cattle crossings. Avoid hospital zones. And no U-turns.”
Moses analyzed these insructions carefully and determined that a cogent response was in no wise necessarily required.