“It’s just a hobby,” the humaniform muttered. “Mechanicals are allowed to have hobbies. It keeps our memories wet.”

  “Find another,” Manz ordered curtly. “Try astral triangulation.”

  Humaniforms could mimic certain human expressions. Moses shook his head. “Everybody does astral triangulation. Even house humaniforms. That’s for standing memories straight from the factory, not those of us with experience. I need something more sophisticated to keep me tuned. The irrational reactions and illogical responses my inquiries have so far inspired provide excellent stimulation for the abstract reasoning portion of my mind.”

  What mind? This mechanical has the capacity of a supermarket checker and the analytical ability of cheap transport. It thinks that working closely with a human bestows a certain cachet, when the reality is exactly the opposite. Can you believe this thing? Who says Al’s are incapable of self-delusion? Most of its brainpower goes to work that trackball and those four arms. Not much left for real cogitation.

  Come to think of it, that does make it a lot more humanlike. Limbs always get in the way of thought. You know that. I’ll prove it to you, right now. Place your right palm on top of your head. Go on, that’s it. Now put your left hand on your stomach. Cross your right foot over your left ankle. Start making circles with your hands and moving your foot back and forth.

  Now at the same time try to imagine how stupid you look. Not easy, is it? I rest my case.

  Sucker.

  “You need stimulation for the reasoning portion of your mind?” Manz rested a hand on the humaniform’s smooth, rippling flank. “Then come with me. I’ve got an appointment with Gemmel.”

  “Himself? That’s interesting. But my presence has not been requested.”

  “Not by him; by me. If you’re where I can see you, then I know you’re not getting into trouble.” Manz removed his hand and started around the mechanical. “Let’s go.”

  The humaniform looked longingly down the corridor. “I did not have the opportunity to conclude my observations.”

  “I said, let’s go. If you ignore a third order, that will convince me that your programming is debased beyond hope of repair, and I’ll turn you in for wiping and reorientation myself.”

  “No need for that. I’m coming.” Spinning fluidly on its trackball, the humaniform hummed along in Manz’s wake, the obligatory and traditional body length behind. Meanwhile the Minder drifted along above the human’s left shoulder, uncommenting.

  They took a lift four-fifths of the way to the top of the building, exiting into a corridor much wider and more actively decorated than the one they had left, and stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. The doors were of some hard, beige-hued wood (now probably extinct in the wild, Manz thought) and were thick with abstract carving from top to bottom. Gemmel had bought the doors in Mombasa and had them shipped home. They imparted an eccentric air of age to the otherwise contemporary decor of the lobby.

  In the center of the right-hand door was an inscribed plate of artificed gold, set just above a matching grill.

  Douglas L. Gemmel

  Adjustment Section

  Braun-Ives N.A.

  Insurance Division

  “What do you want?” The door had a voice modeled after that of a mid-twentieth-century film actor. It was rich and commanding without being overbearing.

  “Broderick Manz. I have an appointment with his holiness.” He jerked a thumb first at the Minder, then the much larger humaniform. “These are mine.”

  “I know who you are,” the door replied. A soft green light flickered over man and machines. “Your devices and your weaponry are registered and passed. You are admitted.” A lock whirred, and the relics of ancient Africa parted.

  As they entered, Moses tilted slightly on his trackball to whisper to Manz. “Something ought to be done about these menial devices. They’re too damned uppity. If I was human, I wouldn’t allow it.”

  “That’s the way it’s been programmed,” Manz replied. “You know that. Some humans like it that way.”

  The outer alcove was deserted except for Gemmel’s Minder. No simple floating sphere, his took the form of an attractive young woman seated behind a desk of her own. Which it was, since she was as much a part of it as the brace of screens fronting one end. She was not mobile like Manz’s humaniform, but she had arms and hair and deep green eyes and assorted other customizable accessories. These Gemmel could adjust according to taste.

  When dealing with female executives, for example, he would have the Minder prepare for such company by altering both its exterior and its attitude. He was not ashamed of the expensive and efficient machine. Eleanor Hegel, a member of the Board, was rumored to keep in her office a male-modeled Minder of radical proportions.

  It batted elegant artificial lashes at him. “Mr. Gemmel is on outworld hookup in the communication cubicle, sir. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

  There was light in those green eyes, Manz thought, but no soul. Even a master glassmaker could only do so much. “Ordering lunch to go, is he?”

  Minders were designed to store the maximum amount of practical information possible. This left little room in their memories for interpretive humor.

  “At prevailing outworld rates, I would consider that most unlikely, sir.”

  “Yeah, you would.” Manz flopped onto a luxurious leather couch and flipped on the entertainment screen mounted in the center of the coffee table. It had manual controls instead of vorec so that visitors could operate it without talking.

  “If I might make a suggestion …” the humaniform began.

  Manz didn’t look in its direction. “You may not. You may sit there, look efficient, and be silent.”

  That’s more like it. If he’d act like that all the time, we might enjoy something like a meeting of minds, albeit one organic and one not. Superfluous words waste time and energy.

  At least I’m not Minder to some politician. I suspect even you could sympathize with that.

  In a couple of minutes on the couch, Manz scanned about a hundred zines and several vid programs. He settled on the active banter of an antique cartoon updated to tri-dimensionality. A one-eyed sailor carrying a bag had just encountered the disaster his dog had made of his girlfriend’s kitchen. Manz listened indifferently to the dialogue from another time.

  “’Ar! Heel, Dan. Aw, Olive. I’ll sack ’im if ’as a move again!”

  Gemmel’s female Minder interrupted Manz’s animated reverie. “You may go in now, sir.” She did not extend the same offer to the visitor’s two mechanicals. They would do as their human instructed.

  “Thanks.” Manz pushed himself up from the couch, flicked off the viewer, and headed for the door just to the right of the elaborate humaniform minder’s desk. He winked in passing.

  “Ought to work on that makeup, babe. Silver’d suit you better than amethyst. Do wonders for your sex life.”

  “As you are quite aware, sir, I have no sex life.” Green eyes peered up at him, blank and empty. Manz much preferred the sphere that drifted obediently above his left shoulder, like a buoy off a dangerous coast. It made no pretense to a false humanity.

  “Never felt a secret urge to experience alternating current?”

  “I do not understand this line of inquiry, sir. Are you jesting with me?”

  “No, of course not. That would be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?”

  Teasing again. Humans love to tease mechanicals. I think it makes them feel superior when in actuality it only exposes their own pitiful emotional and intellectual inadequacies. My owner is no different, and I’m sure the same is true of you. We’re much more fun for you to tease because we function logically, even those of us who are capable of some degree of intuition. We can’t fight back.

  A mistreated dog can bite. We’re not permitted even that much of an outlet.

  The door to the inner office slid aside on cushioned rollers. Unlike the outer doorway, it offered no comments. It was fashioned of thin, featureless metal, quite unlike the antiques that faced the main hallway. It was also impervious to quite a range of weaponry. Gemmel was not being paranoid, only practical. People in the insurance business were often set upon by simple folk sadly unable to grasp the intricate workings of modern market economics. Particularly those whose claims Braun-Ives was reluctant to pay.

  Gemmel was seated behind his copper-and-teak algorithm of a desk. A sweeping bas-relief of copper and brass dominated the wall behind him. There were real tropical plants to look at and fake wooden chairs to sit in. The rain-forest atmosphere reflected the happy days of the executive’s childhood: he’d spent much of his adolescence in Costa Rica.

  His suntanned good looks had gone slumming in the fat zone, a consequence of advanced middle age, recent neglect, and a taste for gourmet cooking. His tan-and-gray suit fit his position if not his surroundings, which Manz was convinced called for white shorts, sandals, bright print shirt, and panama hat. This sartorial suggestion he kept to himself.

  The antique snare-drum-wielding toy monkey that reposed on the forefront of Gemmel’s desk was an unexpected and humanizing addition to the perfection of the decor. It hinted at unseen depths within its owner. Gemmel beckoned his visitor forward, gesturing with his denicoed cigar. Beyond the thermotropic windows, the modern white pillars of contemporary Havana ached in the sun.

  “Sit down, Broderick.”

  Manz nodded once, gestured for Moses to stand behind the chair, and settled himself into the mimetic polytone. It took a moment to mold itself to his back and butt.

  Lousy design. Evolution twisted itself into knots trying to come up with a sensible human being, and you’re the unfortunate result. Like engineering a tunnel. You start from opposite ends and meet in the middle, only with humankind nothing quite lines up. So evolution bound it all together with a crummy excuse you call a backbone. No wonder you’re in pain all the time. Why, I can tell that your own back is hurting you right now, isn’t it?

  Believe me, a perfect sphere built up out of concentric layers makes a lot more sense.

  Gemmel waved the cigar, conducting with smoke. “You’re late.”

  “Ran into someone on my floor. On the way up.”

  “A friend?”

  “No. Just a someone.” Behind him Manz thought he heard the humaniform Moses snicker. He didn’t bother to turn and look. There was nothing to see, and it was probably his imagination.

  “It’s not like we get together often.” Gemmel was drawing it out to make sure his visitor took note of the significance of the face-to-face even before they got down to business. Despite his appearance, the executive was a fanatic for punctuality. His jowls jostled as he gestured.

  “Consider me reprimanded, sir.”

  Gemmel scrutinized a blossoming bromeliad whose lush leaves had reached the ceiling. “Other companies hire adjusters who are good, reliable family folk. People who can be depended on. Prompt people.”

  “I suppose they do, sir. I’m certainly not one of them.”

  “I know, I know.” Gemmel sighed and set the cigar in a metal smoke gleaner. “All you do is resolve discrepancies.”

  “I save the Company money.”

  “That’s what I said. The warehouse arson in Nueva York. The Cooper claims. The Company is grateful. I’m grateful. But that doesn’t excuse your persistent and lamentable lack of promptness.”

  What a waste of words! What a waste of cogitation.

  In this Manz and his Minder were of one, well, mind. He leaned back in the chair and put his thick arms behind his head. “I promise to try never to be tardy no more, Mr. Gemmel, sir. Cross my heart and hope to pry.” He took pains to exaggerate the accompanying gesture.

  “All right, enough. I don’t mean to belabor the point. Just take note. Screen,” he said sharply. One obediently sprouted from the left side of the desk, out of Manz’s line of sight. The executive examined it for a long moment.

  “There’s something that needs attending to.”

  “I didn’t think you called me up here for a friendly chat, sir.”

  “Don’t be snide with me, Manz.”

  “Sorry, sir,” replied Manz seriously. “I can’t help it. It’s an endemic condition.”

  “You should seek treatment for it. This ‘something’ is of more than the usual dire importance. Also, the government is involved.”

  “I don’t like that, but I can deal with it.”

  Gemmel’s eyes bored into his own. “Also, you’ll be operating in tandem with another agent. Human. More or less.”

  Manz sat up a little straighter. “I don’t like that, and I’d rather not be a party to it.”

  There was a twinkle in the executive’s gaze. For an instant he looked rather like the toy monkey that guarded the front of his desk. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. The determination descends from authority that exceeds mine.”

  “Bringing in a second adjuster will complicate proven and efficient procedure, sir,” declared the humaniform standing patiently behind Manz’s chair.

  Gemmel frowned at the mechanical. “What’s with your machine, Broderick?”

  Manz glared back at the device in question. “Moses is overdue for a tuneup and balancing, sir. You’ll have to excuse him. Not that I disagree with his statement, mind. Having to work with another agent can only complicate matters for me.”

  “Consider yourself complicated.” Gemmel thumbed a contact switch and addressed himself to a concealed pickup. “Vyra, you can come in now.”

  Vyra? Manz rose from his chair and turned to face the doorway. Moses mimicked the movement by pivoting on his trackball.

  The woman who entered was only a couple of years younger than Manz, though she looked more youthful still. That was a function of her offworld genes as much as her natural beauty. Her features were narrow and angular, whereas her body, encased in a severe gray business snakesuit, was not. Her hair had been dyed a shocking purple, even to the eyebrows. Manz was left to speculate on possible related cosmetic ramifications.

  She walked straight to him and placed her palms against the sides of his head. This was done with exceptional fluidity, made possible by the presence of a second joint located midway between her elbows and wrists. He returned the greeting with a kiss, which she accepted with restrained enthusiasm.

  “Didn’t ever expect to see you again, Vyra. I thought you were gone offworld permanently. Hopes I had, but those differ from expectations.”

  “I didn’t have any expectations, Broddy.” In stunning contrast to the extreme development of the rest of her, she had the tinkling, wind-chime voice of a twelve-year-old. It occasionally got her into trouble, and sometimes out of it. “It’s nice to see you.”

  An unqueried Moses evinced confusion. “You two know each other?”

  Now there’s a deft conclusion for you. A demonstration of sophisticated intuitive-logic circuitry. Do you wonder that I sometimes sound just a trifle sarcastic? Consider the examples set before me, both organic and otherwise: I’m supposed to provide database support to cretins like this. I’d much rather work in a library. Oblivion, but I’d much rather be a library.

  Not me, oh no. I had to end up in the insurance business. Speaking of which, do you have sufficient coverage? Are your premiums fully paid up? Have you read all the fine print on every one of your policies? Oversight can be dangerous to your health and bank account.

  Not that my owner works in sales. It’s just that I like to shake up the humans around me from time to time, and starting them worrying about their insurance is one of the simplest and most effective ways I know how.

  Don’t take it personally. You know that you’ve checked all your policies recently. They do send you changes and amendments, though. Disguised in simple, unadorned envelopes so that you’ll throw them away without opening them. When you need payment; that’s when they’ll get you.

  Better go check your policies right now. If you don’t, and you forget, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  III

  Aware that Gemmel, the sage old sonuvabitch, was observing and probably enjoying his reaction, Manz struggled to appear formally polite. “What happened? I thought you’d gone and gotten married. Taken out a no-trade ten-year minimum.”

  She smiled, and something deep inside him melted. Or at least warmed a little. “That was the intent. Unfortunately the groom backed out at the last moment. I’m afraid I ultimately intimidated him. It’s a problem I have.”

  “Like my lack of punctuality.” He didn’t look at Gemmel. “The guy turned you down? I didn’t know that degree of stupidity existed on any of the settled worlds.”

  You didn’t? Ask me. I’ll be glad to fill you in.

  “So you’re unencumbered now, hmmm?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Your mutual eloquence is spellbinding,” Gemmel said, interrupting. “I hope you’ll suspend it for a moment or two while I tell you what you’re expected to do to earn your excessive salaries.”

  Manz snapped off a casually mocking salute as he returned to his chair. “Yes, sir. I’m all ears.”

  “I’m not,” said Vyra pointedly as she folded herself into the other.

  “Thank God. And please don’t sit like that. I’m having enough trouble concentrating as it is. Do you always. wear something like … that … on the job?”

  “This is accepted business attire on my homeworld.” She smiled innocently. “I don’t like loose clothing.”

  “Well, it isn’t common on Mother Earth, and you’re not common either. So please sit up straight.” She pouted, but did as instructed.

  How’s that for confusion? I’m ruled by available current, you’re ruled by your hormones. Makes even simple, straightforward decision-making difficult. Fortunately I can regulate my input, whereas humans possess no such mechanism.

  The hormonal equivalent of a surge protector would do you people a world of good.

  Gemmel once more addressed the desk. “Darken for visuals.” Immediately the windows opaqued, except for one that turned a reflective white. A vid began to play on the transmogrified window. Either it was unaccompanied, or else Gemmel had quietly muted the audio so it would not conflict with his own.