Partly concealed by the vegetation, they halted outside the shed. The other agent spoke into his communicator, whereupon all three of them advanced.

  The door slid aside, and even halfway across the courtyard Manz heard the muted whoosh as air rushed to fill the vacuum within. The three men entered in single file; guard, rep, guard. They emerged soon thereafter in identical order and the door shut behind them. Somewhere, he knew, a compression unit was silently sucking the air back out of the shed via a tube concealed in one of the building’s supporting pillars.

  The three exited the raised, landscaped platform and disappeared through a waiting door on the far side of the courtyard.

  “Want to watch while they pass checkout?” Hafas offered.

  Manz shook his head. He already knew every detail of the procedure. Under constant surveillance from the moment they’d arrived, the three men would now enter a large cubicle. There they would remove their clothes, which would be separately scanned and checked. Naked, the two guards and the rep would step into an examination room where medical techs would read every part of their bodies. Anything they might have swallowed or otherwise inserted internally would show up instantly on the Company’s sensors.

  “This isn’t so complicated,” he muttered. “We’re dealing with a klepto poltergeist.”

  “Go ahead and make fun,” said Hafas seriously. “Me, I’m not ruling anything out. Not at this point.”

  “I’ve got an idea. As opposed to a conclusion.”

  Manz threw the inspector a look before turning to the mechanical. “So, give.”

  “You won’t like it,” said Moses warningly, “but at least it doesn’t involve disproved psychic phenomena.”

  “That’s encouraging. Go on.”

  “Insects. Ants would be a logical candidate for the hypothesis. The jackers have trained or somehow learned how to direct ants. They slip in through an almost invisible crack or hole in the bottom of the shed, somehow manage to open up the case containing the shipment, and haul it out a tiny bit at a time. The material is transported through the ground to a prearranged collection point.”

  “You’re right,” Manz confessed. “I don’t like it. But it’s better than anything I’ve come up with.”

  “Same here.” Hafas eyed the mechanical with new respect.

  “Analyze,” Manz said curtly, all business now. “Drawbacks. Air rushing through even a small hole into the vacuum of the shed would be quickly detected by monitors.”

  “Well, a small portable airlock could be utilized. It would be difficult to build and install, but not impossible. Ants could survive in the vacuum for long enough to do the necessary work.”

  “Maybe”, Manz conceded. “Continue.”

  “The main difficulty as I see it is that it would take eighty million very clever ants working very rapidly and in perfect unison.”

  “There’s another problem.” Mechanical and master both turned to the inspector. He indicated the large, free-form planter that contained both landscaping and shed. “That all sits on a solid, impermeable base. Excess water is removed by means of several drains, to prevent the plants from becoming waterlogged.”

  “Ants can find cracks anywhere,” Moses pointed out. “Even in drainpipes or surfaces designated as impermeable.”

  “I won’t argue with that. There’s one more drawback to your thesis. That landscaping includes some pretty expensive exotics. They’re sprayed and treated regularly to keep them pest-free. Unless your eighty million trained ants are individually equipped with environment suits, I’m afraid they’d succumb pretty quickly.”

  “Nice try, Moses,” said Manz. “Stretching it a bit, though.”

  Plastic lenses turned to face him. “It appears we are going to have to do a great deal of stretching if we are to find a solution to this problem.”

  Manz grunted. “I won’t argue with you there.” He turned back to the inspector. “You might as well know that the Company’s trying something new with this shipment. It isn’t something visible to the naked eye.”

  Hafas’s thick eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t informed in advance?”

  “Sorry. Company policy. Trying to restrict access to new developments. Not that we don’t trust you, or your people, but …”

  “You don’t trust me, or my people,” Hafas finished for him. “That’s all right. I’m not offended. In fact, I approve.”

  “I thought you might.” Nice to be working with a real pro, Manz mused, even if he was only municipal civil service.

  “In addition to the usual internal security systems, the case containing this particular shipment should now be emitting a faint photonimbus about a meter in diameter. Anything larger than the case itself enters that field, it’ll trigger a host of internal alarms. So will any attempt to move the case from its present position. Should either type of interference take place, the container will go berserk with lights, sound, and motion. That should set off every telltale in the place. The whole system is self-contained within the case, and only the Company rep who placed it in the shed can deactivate it.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  They turned as Vyra materialized behind them.

  “Find anything?” Manz asked her.

  She sounded discouraged. “Standard Earthside shuttleport. Nothing unique about the security arrangements.” Catching sight of Hafas’s expression, she added, “Everything seems tight and optimally run. I didn’t see any obvious gaps. The few unobvious ones don’t appear to be any source for concern.”

  “As opposed to the situation in here,” he told her. “Moses has theorized that ants are responsible.”

  “It was merely a preliminary suggestion,” the mechanical reminded him.

  “Inspector Hafas here is convinced that the various bug sprays the Port gardeners use render that hypothesis untenable. I’m inclined to agree with him, but we can check for evidence of bug-work anyway.” Hafas nodded agreement.

  “Why don’t you two … three … go back to your hotel? If this shipment proceeds like the last few, nothing’s going to happen. By tomorrow morning it’ll be safely out of here. You can’t concentrate here, with all the conspicuous distractions. We need whatever ideas and suggestions your brains can come up with, and those might function better in more congenial surroundings. If it looks like anything’s brewing, I’ll get in touch with you immediately.”

  “Nothing’s going to brew,” Moses commented.

  Manz considered briefly. He knew the layout by heart now, and it wasn’t his job to actually keep watch over the shipment. He wasn’t a gunny; he was an adjuster, and he could adjust just as well from the comfort of a Jacuzzi.

  “Okay, we’ll take you up on that. Thanks for the tour. Enlightening, but depressing. I’ve got one or two notions percolating that might lead to some …”

  WRRRAAANGGGG!

  Alarms multiplied like protons cast off fissioning atoms. Half a dozen Company agents came stumbling out of opposite doors, weapons in hand, looking for someone to nerve-fry. Hafas and his remaining plainclothesman drew their own guns, as did Manz and Vyra. Administration workers who had been strolling the courtyard or walking blissfully from one office to another stopped in their tracks, paralyzed and bewildered. A couple who had been seated on a bench next to the landscaped planter found themselves unceremoniously hustled off for a security check, uneaten sandwiches still in hand.

  Someone finally shut off the bells and sirens, which made the inspector audible. His expression was agonized as he lurched toward the center of the courtyard, its elegant flora, and the enigmatic but now somehow ominous bulk of the security shed.

  “Not now,” he was muttering to himself. “Not already.”

  Manz didn’t wait for an invitation. He and Vyra followed as Company agents and JeP police converged on the shed.

  They were soon joined by the slightly overweight Company rep. Out of breath, he waited with the rest of them for Security to unseal the door. The rush of air that accompanied their entrance suggested that the shed’s integrity had not been violated.

  There was barely enough room inside for the rep, Hafas, Manz, and Vyra. Several shipping containers of varying size and composition rested on the shelves where they’d been placed. So did the gleaming titanium case that not so very much earlier had been banded to the rep’s wrist. Squinting uncertainly, he picked it up.

  A neat, fist-sized hole in the bottom showed where it had been pierced.

  They waited impatiently for him to produce the wand that would banish the alarm nimbus. He pointed it at the case and thumbed the necessary combination. Then he extracted a small metal stylus from a security pack of its own and inserted it into a hole in the side of the case. There was a delay while the container’s lock cycled, then a soft click. The rep removed the key and inserted it in a matching hole on the other side, repeating the procedure. Only then was he able to open the case without setting off its internal alarms.

  The padded foam cutouts that lined both sides of the case were empty, their contents gone missing. Manz wasn’t surprised.

  The rep blinked back at him, utterly baffled. “I don’t understand. We just put this in here a little while ago.”

  “We don’t understand either,” growled Hafas, “but we’re going to. By God, we’re going to.”

  That’s it, make positive-sounding mouth noises. Gets the adrenaline rushing, makes you feel better. Humans are unsurpassed at their ability to fool themselves into thinking things are going to get better.

  Manz rubbed the back of his neck and eyed the inspector. “You want to make the announcement or should I”

  “I’ll split it with you. I’ll tell my people, and you inform yours.”

  “That means I get to tell Gemmel. Lucky me.”

  “Lucky him,” murmured Vyra. She was conducting a minute inspection of the seam where the metal walls met the ceiling. “He’s the one who has to notify the Board.”

  Revelation of the unprecedented fourth successful jacking at the Port’s maximum-security transshipment facility placed those responsible for its security even more on edge. The uneasy conversation and nervous speculation that the previous heists had engendered resumed unabated.

  “Would you be believing in black magic, Michele?” one of the Company’s own agents said to his partner later that evening. “Or for that matter, any kind o’ magic?”

  “Not a chance, Ryan,” she replied from behind her desk. She rapped firmly on the half-filled coffee mug that had been a gift from her younger sister. “The Little People aren’t behind this. Knock on wood.”

  In the techno-crammed, claustrophobic cubicle that served as the nerve center for Administration Security, a frustrated Hafas was alternately berating and empathizing with the Port Authority technician in charge.

  “… And you saw nothing?”

  The man winced but didn’t back down. He was very pale, with hair blonded to match, skinny but not nervous. When he responded, his voice did not shake.

  “I’ve been here since the shed was sealed, sir. I may have looked away from the monitor for a few seconds every now and again, but the recorder was on and I’ve reviewed everything. There’s no indication anywhere that anything went amiss.”

  Hafas turned, running his fingers through his thick black curls. “There are no monitors in the shed mounted on the floor and looking upward. I guess that’s our next adjustment. These bastards always seem to be one step ahead of us. I’m puking sick of going in circles.”

  “You’re not going in circles, Inspector.” Vyra was studying the images on the multiple screens. They displayed the interior of the atrium, the shed itself, and precious little that was of any use. “You’re on a Möbius strip. We all are.”

  “What finally set the alarm off?” Manz asked quietly.

  The technician turned to him thankfully. “A minute amount of smoke from the hole the intruder cut in the bottom of the titanium case. It took too long to disperse and register. Since there was no air in the shed, combustion by-products were minimal.”

  “If there was any combustion at all,” Moses added.

  Manz glanced at the mechanical. “Explain yourself.”

  “I’m envisioning a small, very precise, high-frequency acoustic cutter. Wouldn’t activate most alarms and doesn’t require oxygen for operation.”

  The door to the cubicle burst open and a uniformed JePPO stood in the portal, breathing hard. His gaze traveled from the inspector to Manz and Moses before eventually settling on Vyra. She smiled at him and he blinked, as though forgetting what he’d come for.

  “Yes, Officer?” Hafas had to prompt him.

  The man tore his gaze away from Vyra. “Sir, they just found Officer Dominguez and Sergeant Dutoit.”

  “I wasn’t aware they were lost,” the inspector replied coolly.

  The officer glanced again at the visitors, continuing when his superior raised no objection. “Sir, they’re both dead.”

  Manz peered hard at Hafas, his voice taut. “This is unprecedented, isn’t it?”

  Hafas looked dazed. “It might be unrelated. A Port Authority this size deals with trouble on a daily basis.” He started for the doorway. “I have to look in on this, jacking or no jacking.”

  “I know,” said Manz. “It could be related, too. Mind if we tag along?”

  “No. My brain's already operating at capacity. I can use the extra storage.”

  They followed him out. Moses, for once, offered no comment.

  More killing. You do that all the time. Sometimes for a recognizable motive, just as often not. I tend to think of it as an inherent form of postadolescent population control. It’s in your genes. As medical science extends your organic lifespans, the murder gene becomes more dominant within the population. As infant mortality declines and individuals live longer, nature finds other ways to limit your numbers. Good thing, too. There are far too many of you on the settled worlds as it is.

  VI

  The blank, drying eyes of JePP Sergeant Pascal Dutoit were focused on something of vital importance. Of that there was no doubt whatsoever in Manz’s mind. Unfortunately, they had no way of finding out what it was. Dutoit wasn’t going to tell them, ever. The expression permanently frozen (or at least until the morticians got ahold of him) on his face suggested surprise, shock, recognition of the unexpected. It implied that he had had time to recognize his assailant, if not to react.

  Manz studied the expression closely. You could learn a surprising amount from a dead man’s visage. Vyra had turned her attention to his deceased colleague, who lay sprawled facedown on the corridor floor. A Port Authority officer was making a recording of the dead man and his immediate surroundings.

  Officers and Braun-Roche-Keck agents clustered around a tall woman clad in a red-striped white coat. An embroidered caduceus was prominent on her chest and back. Turning from his examination of the unlucky sergeant, Manz strained to overhear.

  “Necks broken,” the woman was informing her audience, which currently included Hafas. “Both of them. Almost as if they were hung.”

  “Garroted, more likely.” Everyone turned to stare at Vyra. “By someone with extraordinary strength. Then carried back into this service corridor and dumped.”

  “Yes,” agreed the other woman readily. “That is my opinion also.” She gestured to several white-clad associates as they backed in a self-propelled medical gurney. Under her supervision they proceeded to load the two corpses. The PA officer continued to record, the tiny cam an extension of his own eyes.

  Hafas drifted away. “I tried to interview everyone in the immediate vicinity at least once. Again nobody sees or hears anything. Electrician found the bodies. Something finally happens and we’re no wiser than we were before. Except that this time Security has two dead operatives to account for. What’s the use of having eyes if you don’t use them?” His own were blazing. “It’s not just jacking anymore.”

  “Gentlemen, an evaluation.”

  Manz turned to his mechanical. “Not another restatement of the obvious, sand-brain. Not now.” The mechanical subsided.

  “If I may be permitted.” Manz glanced at his attendant Minder in surprise.

  “You have something to contribute?”

  “I do not speak as often as certain other mechanicals,” the sphere declared via its integrated membrane, “but when I do it is based on conviction rather than speculation. The now quadruple successful jackings of insured Braun-Roche-Keck shipments appear to require great dexterity as well as cleverness. These recent deaths, from which we cannot yet draw an ineluctable connection, demanded great strength. If a connection can be established, this would seem to suggest the participation of more than one perpetrator, each with specific and very different capabilities.”

  Manz conceded the sphere grudging approval. “Not a brilliant conclusion, but one that’s hard to argue with. We assumed all along that we were dealing with a gang and not an individual.”

  “Did you?”

  Manz squinted uncertainly at the Minder. “Are you trying to be sarcastic?”

  “Not at all. Merely objective. That is what I am designed to be.”

  “Honestly,” Manz muttered, “there are times when I’m convinced that the majority of today’s software originates from designers who’ve spent half their lives in asylums.”

  “They build their own asylums around them,” Vyra observed.

  Hafas was more than merely distraught. “Now you really might as well go back to your hotel. Your concern here is with your missing shipments, not JeP homicides. Even if they should turn out to be related.”

  “If it’s all the same, I think I’d like to nose around a while longer.” Vyra was scrutinizing the far reaches of the service corridor. “I want to go over possible approach routes to this part of the Port. It’s seether puzzling, you know.”