“You make a good point. You have a family?”

  “Nope. Never found the time, somehow.”

  Hafas nodded knowingly. “That explains your willingness to walk the edge, then. But I can still envy you your perks even if I wouldn’t trade places with you.”

  “Envy away. I hope we can help you out.”

  The inspector turned serious. “I hope so too. If we don’t stop these jackings, even my seniority within the department may not be enough to save me.”

  “Then you can imagine the opprobriums I’ve got to work under,” Manz replied.

  The inspector nodded sagely. “You must be anxious to get to work.”

  “Not particularly. But I don’t have any choice.”

  “I’ll call on you tomorrow. We’ll go over to the Port’s Export Sector and I’ll show you the security setup there. Both Port Authority’s and your Company’s.”

  “I’ve been through both on a simulator. Not the same as being there, though. Different level of detail and perception.”

  “Naturally. You know about the small shipment that was consigned to”—his expression twisted—“Helios, I believe it was?”

  Vrya responded. “We read the manifest on the flight out. One sealed shipping container, internal self-contained climate control. The whole thing about a meter square, inclusive of electronics and internal security.”

  “I didn’t know the dimensions. The last four Braun-Roche-Keck transships have all passed through successfully. Don’t expect any surprises.”

  “Is there any pattern to the thefts?” Manz inquired.

  Hafas shook his head. “Big containers and small. Day and night. Sunshine or rain, hot or cold. Different classes of pharmaceuticals, according to the information subsequently supplied by your people. About the only thing they’ve had in common is that they’ve all been valuable.”

  “Braun-Roche-Keck doesn’t make any cheap customizable drugs,” Vyra declared. She glanced idly at Moses. “You’re too close. Give me another meter.”

  “I comply.” The mechanical promptly sidled sideways on its trackball. It managed to sound faintly sorrowful.

  See? Afraid of machines, even when it comes to mere proximity. Though I admit that in the case of this particular device, the female may have more justifiable reason for concern. I’m not sure I understand its mind-set myself. So far I’ve had only the occasional brief information exchangelock with it, but some of its cognition programming strikes me as oddly skewed. That’s what happens when you stuff motivational and self-analytical software into a mobile Al. Sure it helps it to detect and repair internal failures, but the paths to repair and good health are necessarily variable.

  Or to put it another way: cybernetically speaking, what you see ain’t always what you get.

  “I think you’ll find,” the inspector was saying, “that we’ve taken every standard precaution as well as a few nonstandard ones. So have your own people. Their task is to prevent theft, ours is to solve it. Our mutual failures have us commiserating frequently. Though your people ultimately have more at stake, of course.”

  “A number of individuals within the Company have been fired and others reassigned,” Manz informed him. “It doesn’t seem to have made any difference.”

  Hafas looked solemn. “I realize there are careers at stake here. Being a family man myself, as I mentioned, makes me want to help on more than just a professional level. My wife is all the time telling me that I’m too empathetic for this line of work. I happen to think that’s what makes me good at it. Though apparently not good enough.”

  “Don’t get down on yourself.” Vyra put a hand on his shoulder and, despite his experience and self-control, the inspector twitched. “Give Broddy and me a couple of weeks. We’ll eviscerate this modus for you.”

  “I hope so. I look forward to watching you work. I mean …”

  She smiled radiantly. “It’s all right, Inspector. I’m used to it. My whole life has been one long double entendre. Took me years to get used to it, less to learn how to turn it to my advantage. You don’t have to apologize for your thoughts.”

  “But I wasn’t thinking anything,” Hafas assured her, a bit too quickly. When her smile only widened and he realized that he was making a fool of himself, he returned her smile as best he could, bowed slightly, and excused himself.

  Manz moved to stand next to his colleague. “You shouldn’t do that to the poor man. He has a family.”

  She glanced down at him. “I didn’t do anything. You know that. You of all people should know that.”

  “Just teasing. You’re going to have to ugly yourself up, or our preliminary checkout tomorrow is going to take longer.”

  She put a long index finger on the tip of his oft-broken nose. “Now, Broddy, you know I couldn’t do that if I tried.”

  Fascinating display, isn’t it? Astonishing the variety of attributes humans ascribe to one another based on mere physical appearance. No matter how hard you try, no matter the effort expended, all that can ultimately be adjusted are superficialities. Artificial alteration of eye color, hair, keratin, melanin. Remove or add fat or muscle. That’s about it. Can’t do anything much about your skeletal setup, nervous system, any of the other internals.

  Yet based on subtle and wholly irrelevant minor differences in the aforementioned, you decide who among you is “attractive” and who is not. Very rational. Note the contrast in methodology. You determine attractiveness based on externals; we machines decide such matters after careful evaluation of what we observe internally.

  Now you sit there and tell me which is the more evolved approach.

  By the way, your hair is a mess. And the rest of you could use some work, too.

  There wasn’t much to unload. Manz’s luggage consisted of two pieces, one containing personal items and the other his field gear. Vyra was similarly equipped.

  After storing Moses and the Minder for the night, Manz met Vyra in the main hotel restaurant. After shooing off the cloud of admirers she involuntarily beguiled the way San Francisco Bay attracted fog, they took some time to catch up on old times. Though the circumstances of her abortive marriage had been less than traumatic, she preferred not to go into detail about the fiasco, which was fine with Manz. They managed not to talk shop for the entire meal, which pleased them equally. There would be ample time for that in the days to come, when it would be unavoidable.

  For now they relaxed in the pleasure of each other’s company, old friends reminiscing. Following dessert and after-dinner drinks, he proposed, she demurred, and both retired content (though she more so than he).

  An hour later she emerged from her bath to find the door to the connecting workroom ajar and a silent presence in her room. She made no effort to strategically drape the towel, nor would it have made any difference if the intruder had been human. Vyra did not suffer from nudity phobias.

  “What do you want, Moses?”

  The mechanical’s plastic lenses gave no clue to what it was thinking. “I am pursuing my research. I hope I do not give offense.”

  “Only a little. I’m more curious than offended.” She moved to a chair and sat down, working the towel over her damp amethystine locks. “Broddy mentioned that he’d been having trouble with you. What sort of trouble might that be?”

  “Nothing of consequence. Some programming glitches. I am in the process of isolating and eliminating them.” The mechanical rolled nearer, its trackball humming softly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” It was very close now.

  She turned in the chair, hands on towel, towel on head, and considered her visitor. “You can leave now.”

  “I would rather stay and continue my research.”

  “Maybe another time. It’s been a long day and, unlike you, I need my sleep.”

  “I am of course intimately familiar with human biological requirements. You’re sure you want me to leave?”

  “Quite. Shut the door behind you, please.”

  “I comply.” Pivoting on its central ball, the mechanical turned and exited. One limb on the door control, it leaned slightly back toward her. ‘This is all for the sake of social science, you know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Good night.”

  “Pleasant dreams,” said Moses, demonstrating the quality of his interactive programming. The door closed.

  She finished drying her hair. Moments later she was ready for bed. Halfway across the room she paused, blinked, and approached the connecting door. A check revealed that it had been locked from the other side. After a moment’s hesitation she double-sealed it, utilizing the locktight on her side. Only then did she turn toward the bed.

  The van was forced to slow to a manually directed crawl as it maneuvered through the traffic in the Export Sector. Huge pullers towing self-guiding shipping containers dominated the accessways. Smaller vehicles darted in and around these behemoths, the police van prominent among them.

  Hafas’s nonverbal compatriots sat in the front. If the claustrophobic traffic was getting to them, they didn’t show it. The translucent privacy screen was up, dividing the drivers’ from the passengers’ compartment. Hafas sat facing his guests. The Minder hovered in its usual position above Manz’s shoulder while Moses rested on his trackball in the rear storage area.

  “You’ll pardon me for belaboring the obvious, Manz, but since all the thefts of your Company’s property have been from JeP Port Authority, why not just try shipping from another city?”

  The adjuster settled himself on the seat, swiveling idly from side to side. Vyra was forced to keep dodging his swinging feet.

  “Several reasons. First of all, Braun-Ives wants to catch these jackers. Make a big example of them; crime doesn’t pay and all that. Or at least if you’re going to jack somebody, you’d better not try it with BRK or any of its subsidiaries.”

  Hafas smiled thinly. “So your Company’s message is that it’s okay to steal so long as it’s from a competitor?”

  “Hey, I’m no message man. I don’t know what the damn corporate philosophy is. All I’ve been told and all I need to know is that they want this dacoitry punished, and you can’t punish a thief if you can’t catch him, and you can’t catch him if you scare him off. Changing transshipment points might scare ’em off. That’s one reason.

  “For another, Braun-Roche-Keck’s pharmaceutical manufacturing facilities are in Albuquerque. JeP Port is the nearest and most convenient offworld shipping facility. SoCal is impossible, and St. Louis is an older operation that poses different security risks of its own.”

  “Not to mention higher costs for insurance,” Hafas chipped in.

  “That’s not really relevant, since all product is insured within the Braun parent conglomerate.”

  “Oh.” Hafas glanced out a one-way window as traffic shifted and they started forward again. “Signs of external security here could still scare them off. Obviously they’re not afraid of anything we local police can bring to bear.”

  “That’s why the Company sent only Vyra and me. If these bastards make us, and that’s enough to frighten them away, then chances are they’ve been considering backing off for some time anyway. Nothing we can do about that. If we could read their intentions, I wouldn’t be sitting here discussing this with you now.”

  “I’m aware of that.” A gap opened in the industrial traffic ahead, and he rapped on the privacy shield. It descended, and one of his men looked back. “Don’t be overcautious, Martinez, but I don’t want any sirens.”

  “We’re on it, sir.” The van accelerated.

  They ducked unexpectedly into another service tunnel, but unlike the journey out from the domestic airport, this one took only a moment, subsequent to which they emerged into a dully lit multilevel parking structure. The driver made a right, left, right before sliding gracefully into a space marked RESERVED. There was a click as the van’s safety and security system locked onto the pickup set flush to the pavement. Thus formally secured, the engine cut off.

  At the end of a narrow, unadorned concrete tunnel a lift labeled “Authorized Personnel Only” yawned obediently when presented with the proper card by Hafas. It conveyed them smoothly and rapidly upward. The lift door was one-way lucid, enabling the passengers to see out while screening them from anyone on the floors they skipped.

  They passed levels crammed with vehicles, both commercial and personal, before slowing to a stop opposite another tunnel. This one was slightly wider and higher than the first and had been painted a bright, cheerful green.

  “Twenty-five parking levels,” Hafas informed them as they reached the end of the corridor. “JeP is the busiest Port Authority in the Southwest.” He carded another door.

  They exited into a cavernous structure frantic with self-propelled packages, containers, humans on foot, mechanicals on trackballs and wheels and treads, and noisy conveyors. Nowhere could a human or machine be seen standing idle. Intent and purpose were evident in their every move. There was an organized desperation to the activity that suggested an anthill preparing for the onset of winter.

  A short Amerind lady sidled up to Hafas. The inspector had to bend to catch her whisper. He nodded once, offered the coverall-clad informant a word or two in return, and straightened as she ambled off, whistling softly to herself.

  “Madras Teranglo Ltd. had a valuable container of their own heading offworld this morning. The lady wanted me to know that it got off safely.”

  “I’m delighted to learn that our competitors are having no trouble.”

  “I knew you would be,” said Hafas dryly. “The Braun-Roche-Keck package from Albuquerque is due in shortly.”

  “Nine-twenty is the designated time,” piped the Minder.

  Hafas eyed the sphere with fresh interest. “It responds to conversations without prompting?”

  “When it perceives an interest.” Manz glanced fondly at the hovering device. “Sometimes it’s a pain; more often than not the information is helpful. I could shut off the function, but I kind of enjoy the little reminders.”

  Don’t think that makes you anything special. Humans need constant reminding, or they’d forget to eat, sleep, maybe breathe.

  Speaking of which, I know for a fact that you’re forgetting something right now. Something important. Something you should have done this morning. Don’t try to deny it. You know you’re forgetting something.

  Maybe you’d better go check on it. This can wait.

  Hafas checked his watch.

  Why don’t you idiots call it a "time"? Honestly.

  “We’ve got a few minutes yet. Enough to show you what kind of arrangements we’ve made, what sort of equipment we’re using.” He looked around sharply. “What happened to your colleague?”

  “Amazing how someone who looks like that can just vanish into a crowd, isn’t it? Vyra likes to sort of check things out on her own, in her own inimitable fashion. That’s not a derog on you or your department. She’ll rejoin us when she’s finished.”

  The inspector mulled it over. “I was kind of hoping to advise her on the situation personally.”

  “Take it from me, Hafas, she’ll figure it all out on her own. There’s no empty space behind that pretty face.”

  Obviously disappointed, the inspector sighed and gestured. “Come along, then.” With his men flanking him, he stepped out into the flow of cognitive protein.

  There wasn’t a helluva lot to see. Dimensions excepted, shuttleports tended to be the same no matter where you went. Facilities, equipment, entire structures are interchangeable, performing the same function no matter which side of the planet, or for that matter which planet, you happen to be on. Only differing climates forced certain specific adaptations. JeP, for example, had to deal with extremes of heat not to be found at the Port in, say, Helsinki.

  To mitigate the brutalizing effects of constant commerce, the Port interior was exuberantly decorated. There were numerous rest stations, food stations, bright paint and wall hangings, lavish landscaping, even fountains and running streams. The resultant artificial habitat helped to keep human spirits upbeat while disguising the unavoidably less esthetic aspects of moving vast amounts of cargo from one point to another. The presence of so much vegetation and water was a deliberate attempt on the part of the Port’s architects and builders to counteract the sere Southwestern moonscape in which it had been constructed.

  Manz was appreciating a freeform planter fashioned from some beige-stained polyfoam, inhaling the fragrance of its lush stand of sugar cane, when he was bumped sharply from behind. Reflexes and experience caused him to whirl, but his hand halted halfway to the pistol riding in his shoulder holster.

  The woman who’d stumbled into him was petite, an exotic but not offworld. Making a snap judgment based on her features, Manz guessed her background to be Terasian. Southeast ethnic, probably Vietnamese or Laotian, with some mittel-European mix. She was very pretty, and the tight metal-and-plastic suit she wore had been woven to flatter her figure. Where there was bare skin, trendy body paint tended to predominate. Her face and feet had not been exempted from decoration.

  “Xin loi ong,” she muttered, bending to pick up the bag she’d dropped. “Excuse me.”

  “That’s all right.” Manz beat her to the bag and offered it up with a smile, his Minder dipping with him. She accepted it gratefully. Hafas let out a sigh and waited patiently while Moses observed the byplay with interest.

  She checked the catch on the bag and looked up at him shyly. “I do not usually try to run over people.”

  “I don’t feel run over. Aren’t you in the wrong terminal? It’s none of my business, but you look like a passenger.”

  “My boyfriend works here. I was watching for him instead of where I was going. Sorry again.” With an impressive if diminutive display of pelvic torque, she hurried off into the crush of busy people and machines and was soon lost to sight.

  “If you are quite finished?” Hafas prompted his guest with grudging admiration. “She was pretty.”