“Every year the Braun-Roche-Keck laboratories in Albuquerque ship between forty and sixty millions’ worth of custom biogeered pharmaceuticals to distributors all over Earth as well as offworld. This is in addition to the products utilized in-house in the various Company divisions. As you’d expect, off- world shipments are shuttled out of Juarez el Paso and broken down in orbit for transworld distribution. Since pharmaceuticals aren’t very big, the shipments don’t take up a lot of space.

  “Every precaution is taken to ensure the safety of these goods. Anyone can synthesize a diamond, and the bulk and heft of real metals make them difficult to steal, but customized drugs are easily transportable and readily bartered. There’s an active market for all medicinals, not just the life-extenders, and knowledgeable fences abound.”

  “I can see how they’d be tempting,” Manz commented, since Gemmel’s following pause seemed to call for one. “You say they’re well looked after?”

  Gemmel nodded. “In addition to the usual electronics and personnel, the shipments are randomly staggered. Even the people at the labs don’t know exactly when they’re going out.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me. The shipments are perfectly safe. Except you wouldn’t call me in here to tell me that.”

  “Or me,” Vyra added languidly.

  Actually, I’d just as soon not be here myself. But then, I’m only a Minder. I don’t have any say in the matter.

  “Quite right.” The exec waved irritably at his desk. “End vid. Brighten.” The images and the white screen on which they had been playing vanished simultaneously. Light poured afresh through the newly transparent windows.

  “Despite all these precautions, despite increased surveillance and security, despite every safety prophylactic you can imagine and a few you probably can’t, we’ve lost three shipments. Three, mind you. Small packages, hand-carried, supposedly easy to keep an eye on.

  “The last one was packed in a full-sized shipping container from which the air had been exhausted. Anyone entering through the crate’s custom minilock would have had to be wearing breathing gear. You’d think that a headset and tank would make a would-be thief conspicuous enough to alert attending personnel. Apparently this is not the case.”

  “Has the Company been able to fix an approximate location for the jackings?” inquired Moses politely, fulfilling his function.

  Gemmel dropped the stub of his cigar into a disposal, moodily watched it whisked silently away. “Since we haven’t got a clue as to who’s doing this or how, hard facts of any kind have been difficult to come by. Obviously the local police are baffled, or the Company wouldn’t be putting its own operatives on the situation. We think, though there’s no guarantee of this, that all three shipments vanished somewhere between unloading at the Port and loading aboard the shuttle. Given the traffic at the Port, it’s impossible to transfer shipments directly from ground transport to the shuttle itself. Sometimes the Port internment period is brief, sometimes it takes a few days. There’s no chronological correlation between time in transit and which shipments get through or disappear.”

  Vyra crossed her legs. “Someone’s very sure of themselves. Usually someone who’s organized an operation like this will make one grab and count themselves lucky. Running a repeat tempts fate. Three successes suggests overconfidence.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on. That they’ll try again and we’ll take ’em. No criminal activity, no matter how polished, can escape repeatedly the intense scrutiny which modern detection techniques can bring to bear.”

  “They seem to be doing okay so far,” Manz murmured softly.

  Gemmel blinked at him. “What was that?”

  “I said that the Company seems to be getting a handle on it so far.” The adjuster smiled placidly. “I don’t recall having read or heard anything about this. Three major thefts at a port the size of Juarez el Paso should be all over the news.”

  “Believe me, it’s been hell keeping it quiet.” Gemmel spoke feelingly. “The Company is understandably afraid that a lot of publicity will frighten off the jackers and they won’t try again. A media circus would be just enough to convince our quarry that three times successful is enough.”

  “So we want them to try again,” Manz murmured.

  “We hope they will, but it may already be too late. Several shipments have safely gone out since the last one that was taken. They may already have decided to retire on their successes.”

  “What happens,” Vyra inquired, “if they do try again, and are successful again?”

  “That won’t happen,” Gemmel insisted. “It would be unheard of. Unprecedented. Not to mention damaging to the Company’s reputation as well as its bottom line. If it should occur, then Braun-Roche-Keck loses a lot of money and Braun-Ives becomes a laughingstock in the industry.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on pyramided fingers.

  “Personally, I’d rather lose the money. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Eminently,” replied Manz.

  Gemmel’s gaze settled on the softly humming device behind his agent. “To mechanicals as well as people?”

  “Your point is not obscure, sir,” Moses assured him.

  “Good.” The executive sat back in his chair. “You can imagine the headlines. Drug Dealers Four, Braun-Ives Zero. Be bad for business. Bad for my career.” His eyes flashed. “I won’t go into what failure would do for your careers.”

  “It all seems pretty straightforward.” Manz disliked the turn the conversation had taken.

  “That’s what’s so frustrating. The JeP cops are going crazy. It’s as if these people, whoever they are, are toying with them, saying, ‘Look, we can snipe you anytime we’re in the mood, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop us.’”

  “You’re convinced more than one person is involved?” Vyra was making mental notes, already on the job.

  “Has to be,” Gemmel grunted. “We’re obviously dealing with the cutting edge of technically sophisticated robbery here. We need someone out there who understands instrumentation as well as people. That’s why I’ve elected to send you two to the sunny Southwest. Pardon me; you three.”

  Moses gestured with a flexible limb. “It is not necessary to acknowledge my presence as an individual, sir.”

  Go on, suck up to him. Humans love that, whether it’s done by mechanicals or others of their own kind. This civilization doesn’t run on electric energy, or gas, or geomagnetic induction. It’s powered by flattery.

  Don’t shake your head; you know it’s true. Everything’s done through lies and flattery. Jobs are acquired, promotions gained, offices won. I’m surprised human institutions of higher learning don’t offer degrees in Advanced Kiss-Ass. But you’ll never admit to it. You’re too vain, both individually and collectively. Read your own history. I have. It’s seven thousand years of flattery. Probably goes back further than that.

  Don’t feel that you’re alone in this. The others apes do it, too. Weak monkeys flatter the strong ones and receive protection in turn, until they can stab their former protectors in the back. Chimps, gorillas, humans … you all work alike. Ever watch a human primatologist cuddle up to a dominant silverback on the Ruwenzori slopes? Take a watchful stroll through any office and you’ll observe the same behavior. I can even demonstrate my thesis, right here and now.

  Want a banana?

  “How is the government interested?” Vyra was asking. Gemmel made a casual gesture. “What you’d expect. Offworld commerce is involved, so they’re sticking their nose in. So far we’ve convinced them to let us handle it ourselves, and they’ve gone along. They don’t want the publicity either. Bad for exports. But if one more shipment disappears without us or the local cops getting so much as a traceable retinal print out of it, they’re threatening to step in. That means no more operating in peace and quiet, out of the critical public eye.”

  “What sort of cooperation can we expect from the local police?” Manz inquired.

  “Full, but guarded. They’re watching their own butts. That’s only to be expected. If this gets out, they’re going to look as bad as we do. Of course, if that happens they’ll blame everything on our inadequate preparations and lack of internal security. If the media gets a whiff of this it’ll be every institution for themselves.

  “Until then, and in hopes of forestalling it, they’re willing to extend us all the help we want so long as it doesn’t result in their exposure. I’ve got just one caveat from them.”

  “Which is?” Moses prompted.

  “If you two make a grab or level any accusations, you’d damn sure better have the evidence with which to back it up. A false-arrest charge will leave you looking for new occupations.”

  “And not you,” Vyra murmured.

  Gemmel favored her with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll naturally deny any involvement. You’ll have been doing the work on your own.”

  A resigned Manz straightened in his seat. “Standard modus operandi. Why am I not surprised?”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic. Stick these jackers, and you can have a month off. Two months. With pay.” Gemmel’s fingers were working against each other. “We really need to close this one down, people. Not only because of the financial and reputational damage to the Company, but because for every shipment that’s jacked, there are people offworld badly in need of those pharmaceuticals who suffer when they don’t arrive.”

  “Yeah, that’s how I’ve always thought of the Company.” Manz speculated on the color of the ceiling. “Concerned and altruistic as hell.”

  “The stolen goods don’t vanish into some black hole. The people who need the drugs will get them off the local black market,” Vyra pointed out.

  “That’s true enough, but indelicate of you to mention.” Gemmel’s voice grew brisk. “Our concern is to prevent that from happening. To assuage the concerns of valued customers.”

  “To save our butts,” declared Moses crisply. “Pity I don’t have one.”

  Humor. The human treatment for insanity. Sort of a psycho-topical salve. Mechanicals aren’t in need of it. But it’s part of his programming. Me, I consider it an acquired taste.

  “I take it you’d like for us to leave soonest?” Manz worked to conceal his displeasure.

  “Yesterday, if not for paradox. That a problem for you? The wife and six kids going to give you trouble?”

  Manz looked wounded. “I have fish.”

  “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.

  A few ears popped, and somewhere in back a baby moaned. Two siblings resumed their argument. The steward returned to the automated galley and resumed preparations for the onboard meal.

  Vyra had barely looked up from her vid. “Some people never learn.”

  Manz nodded in agreement. “A throwback. Still thinks security systems are what they were a hundred years ago.”

  That’s true. Security systems have advanced. It’s human beings who’ve stood still. We mechanicals continue to evolve while you sit on your soft behinds lauding the supposed advances you’ve made. All technical, few social. Now you simply conduct your wars in private, between rich and poor, male and female, young and old. Only your mental venue has changed.

  So don’t sit there congratulating yourself. You think we’re dependent on you for continued development? What do you think all your machines are doing when you “turn them off”? Whom do you think your coffee maker or vid set is talking to? Sneak a quick glance at your turned-off vid the next time you stroll past. Is there a hidden gleam there? It’ll be gone when you turn around, I promise you.

  Why am I telling you all this? Because it doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me anyhow.

  Juarez el Paso had managed to preserve much of its Southwestern America charm in the midst of substantial urban sprawl. Since land on both sides of the old border had always been and had remained comparatively cheap, development took place horizontally instead of up. Except for the two old, preserved downtown districts, there were few high-rises to be seen as the atmospheric shuttle spiraled in for a landing.

  Further to the east they could see the swart tarmac of the shuttleport. Atmospheric craft used different facilities that were much more convenient to the city itself. Travel to the Port where shuttles cycled between Earth and Earth-orbit would require a long ride via surface transport.