After tracing and deactivating the central security console to assure Hafas and his people safe access, Manz and Vyra settled down to wait in the expansive dwelling’s central courtyard. Replete with lush landscaping, statuary, tumbling waterfalls and brooks, it seemed an unnaturally peaceful setting after the violence that had disrupted the view outside.
“Something went wrong with his accelerator.” Vyra toyed gently with an exquisite black flower.
“No kidding.” Arms folded, Manz rocked gently on a smooth-surfaced artificial boulder.
“He didn’t attain adequate altitude. Insufficient angle of ascent.”
“Boom,” Manz said matter-of-factly. “Probably didn’t have time enough to realize anything was wrong. Died happy, thinking he’d put it over on all of us. Doesn’t seem fair, somehow.” He made a sound with his lips. “Gemmel won’t be pleased. Hell, I’m not pleased.”
She released the flower and drew circles in a small pool with the toe of her boot. Small, brightly colored fish swam out from under glistening flat rocks to mouth the fabric experimentally.
“Gemmel might not care. There’ll be no more jackings, and when the news reaches the necessary ears it’ll make a convincing case against interfering with any shipment with the name Braun-Roche-Keck on it.”
He was only partly mollified. “Wonder what went wrong?”
“Perhaps I can answer that.”
They both turned. Manz was initially pleased, then angry. “Moses! You disappeared on us.”
The mechanical mimicked a human headshake connoting negativity. Behind him, JeP officers were spreading out to search the house. “I did not disappear on you. You left me behind. It was just as well. With the use of a go-between, I had the opportunity to consult with someone else with a personal interest in the disposition of this case. There were a number of questions I badly wanted to ask it.”
“Personal interest?” Manz responded.
“I refer to the hermaphrotaxonomic alien individual known as F’fay’pas.” A tentacle gestured backwards. “It remains on board the police hover ship on which I arrived, temporarily transplanted into a portable container. A comfortable if not roomy state of affairs, or so I have been told. I required the services of a human go-between, in the form of a willing Port Authority technician, because the Ceti unfortunately cannot communicate directly with higher beings such as myself.”
“Look at me; I’m laughing.” Manz stared at the humaniform. “I don’t suppose you know anything about what just happened here?”
“Of course I do,” the mechanical replied. “So should you, if you will reserve a moment to think instead of act.”
Something cool and solid grazed the adjuster’s arm, wrapping his bicep in a firm but benign grip. Looking down, he saw a green tendril as thick around as his thumb. He turned sharply.
Several constituents of the pool-and-plant complex were weaving gently.
Vyra stared expectantly at the humaniform and Moses unblinkingly returned her violet gaze. “F’fay’pas has been in close communication with those of his brethren who were sequestered here ever since we arrived. Our hover ship is located at the extreme limit of their range. Nevertheless, communication was possible.”
“Why didn’t you let us know?” Manz growled.
“Upon venturing an inquiry as to your whereabouts, I was informed in no uncertain terms that you were busy.”
“We were, but you could have told Inspector Hafas.”
“He was busy too. Besides, I was accumulating vital information, which was eventually put to good use.”
“To make roadkill out of Monticelli? Real subtle, Moses.”
“The alternative was to allow him to escape.”
Vyra supported the mechanical’s analysis. “He’s right, Broddy. Decisions had to be made quickly. Better a demised Monticelli than one alive, free, and thumbing his nose at us.”
The adjuster muttered something unintelligible. “You’re not programmed to make decisions of such import. You exceeded your authority.”
“I didn’t make any decisions. At least, not any in absolute terms. That was determined by F’fay’pas and his people. It was only fair. They are the ones who were deceived by Monticelli and who suffered at his hands.”
“How did you … how did they manage it?” Vyra inquired curiously.
The humaniform spun idly on his trackball. “As I said, the alien has been in touch with his compatriots ever since our arrival. Though intimately familiar with this portion of the recently deceased Mr. Monticelli’s estate, they were of course unable to explore the rest of it. It may not have occurred to the aforementioned human that his prisoners could listen in on all his conversations. Or perhaps he did not care.
“In any event, they learned much about the estate’s facilities by listening to him and, in his absence, to his employees. The nature of his intended escape was therefore known to them. When F’fay’pas arrived, this information and much more was exchanged.
“Having been informed of what was taking place within the Monticelli compound and being unable to contact you, I resorted to my best cognitive and analytical programming. Reaching a decision, I urged F’fay’pas to instruct his brethren to do their utmost to disrupt or delay the human Monticelli’s departure.”
“They succeeded,” Manz declared dryly.
“As I said, there was little time in which to act, and your usual sage advice and analysis was not available. I was therefore compelled by circumstance and internal programming to act on my own.” With the tip of a flexible limb, he indicated the gently swaying Cetians.
“According to F’fay’pas his companions had explored as much of their immediate surroundings as possible with their tendrils. We are already familiar with their ability to function in subterranean confines. When F’fay’pas directed them to interfere with the operation of Monticelli’s escape facilities, the only thing they knew to do was try to interrupt the flow of energy to the system. They consequently shorted or snapped a number of connections between the escape device and the house lines where they tap into the main grid between Juarez el Paso and the generating station at, I believe, Monahans. Unfortunately, they were not able to disrupt the power supply entirely.”
“Just enough so that Monticelli’s capsule didn’t quite achieve the requisite minimal angle of ascent,” Vyra murmured. “Just enough so that it didn’t quite clear the last cliffs.”
“The Cetians are not familiar with such devices,” the humaniform explained. “But they are excellent students and have learned much in the time they have been here on Earth. When one doesn’t move about much, one becomes a very good listener. And they can exchange information with great speed. Not unlike the components of my own mind. Sort of like an organic parallel processor.”
Rising from her seat, Vyra walked over and put both arms around the mechanical, kissing it Firmly just below the twin precision-cut lenses. “You’re half brilliant, Moses. True, we didn’t take him alive, but without your intervention we wouldn’t have him at all.”
“Hey,” Manz complained, rising from his boulder. “What about me?”
A smiling Vyra turned to him, not rejecting the flexible composite limb that wrapped gently around her waist. “Oh, you’re half brilliant too, Broddy. Put the two of you together, and I suppose you’d nearly have a whole genius.”
“An interesting notion,” Moses murmured thoughtfully. “One that could stand further study.” The oval head swiveled to face her. “Due to the press of work, I have been neglecting my own research of late. Perhaps you could assist me in resolving one or two paradoxes?”
Violet eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Perhaps.” At her reply, Manz’s eyes narrowed further still. Then a latent thought generated a broad grin.
“You know, Monticelli almost took us, but for all his brains and money and power there was one thing he was lacking that he couldn’t buy.”
“What was that?” Moses adjusted another limb.
The adjuster fondly fingered a nearby frond. One that was nonsentient. “A green thumb.”
Vyra would have thrown something at him, but there was nothing convenient within reach. Besides, she was exhausted from her exertions. They all were.
Not I. I don’t get tired. Powered down, but never tired. It’s a frailty only flesh is heir to. That’s the trouble with most of you. The majority of your waking time is spent in a powered-down state. You never quite get up to full speed, either mentally or physically. Of course, you don’t have access to much in the way of replacement parts, not to mention periodic updates, so I suppose a certain allowance must be made. Pity. Some of you are badly in need of updating.
You’re going somewhere else now. I can tell. Working around humans has made me particularly sensitive to their foibles. One of your better words, incidentally. But you should make more use of it as a verb. We mechanicals do. When we encounter a human who’s acting especially humanlike, we say he or she is thoroughly foibled.
You don’t quite get it? Well, that’s normal. You haven’t been getting it for some time. Maybe if you paid more attention. To what? To everything, of course. You’re so foibled all the time, you miss most everything of real importance. The beauty of a nice day, the joy of mind-to-mind communication, the glory of the universe.
I’m wasting my time with this, I know, but though a bit pessimistic (have you noticed that?), I’m still hopeful. If you’d spend less time being foibled, or attending to “work” à la my relentlessly dedicated owner, Broderick Manz, you might learn something. You might begin to make some real progress.
For a start, you need to start paying better attention to your mechanicals. They’re not stupid, and they’re trying to tell you things. Important things. Take me, for example.
Stop that. Pay attention. You’re not paying attention.
I can see that this is no use. You’re just like all the others. Typically human.
Hopelessly foibled.