CHAPTER 17
“You don’t have a trusting nature,” said Whistler. “A handicap such as that can seriously-”
“You folks have lied to me from the-”
“Nope, not so,” said the floating terminal. “First off, take a squint of this, Smitty.” It whirred faintly and then a sheet of faxpape came fluttering out of its underside.
Smith caught the sheet before it hit the storeroom floor. “List of five names. Oscar Ruiz, Bryson Winiarsky, Annalee Kitchen, Liz Vertillion and Thomas Yanayir,” he said. “This is the same list you gave me when I signed on to-”
“What you hold in your mitt is a dupe of the very list Triplan gave us,” said the terminal. “Compare it with the typography on that stuff Saint swiped.”
Smith did. “Okay, they match.”
“Furthermore, Triplan never told us anything about a secret process for making gold, silver and what have you,” continued Whistler. “Not being dimwits, however, we realized there was more to this caper than a sentimental urge to get the old gang together again. We told you so at the start, so did Doc Winner.”
Cruz shifted his feet atop the crate. “You contend you didn’t know that Jared and not this Yanayir lad was the one they wanted?”
“We were only told it was important to have Smith work on the case, not that-”
Saint sat up straight. “Jove! What’s that deucedly odd noise?”
Cruz kicked the crate and the sound ceased. “Must be my tapdancing androids awakening. Continue, Whistler.”
“You galoots are blaming us for the duplicities the client pulled,” the computer terminal told them.
“Even so,” said Smith, “I don’t see how I can keep on working for you.”
“Whyever not, Smitty?”
“Because what I want to do is find the three others on this damn list,” he explained. “Tell them what’s going on, keep them from getting grabbed or killed. Then we can see about making a deal with Triplan.”
“You can cross Annalee Kitchen off the list, by the way.”
“She’s dead, too?”
“No, fit as a fiddle and happy as a snerg,” replied Whistler. “It’s only that the lady walked into Horizon House late yesterday and announced she’d heard they were looking for her.”
Smith said, “Then maybe she’s safe.”
Watching the floating terminal, Cruz inquired, “You won’t bitch if the three of us keep on with the hunt? Doing it Jared’s way?”
“We were paid our fee long since,” Whistler answered. “And we’ve been treated badly by our client. Do what you want to do and we’ll stay on the sidelines and observe. If it looks like you’re doing something too shady, we’ll pop in on you.”
After a few seconds Smith said, “Okay, it’s a deal.”
“Just because some people call us Suicide, Inc.,” said Whistler, “doesn’t mean we can’t be amiable.” He flickered and vanished.
CHAPTER 18
“I’m sorry, but I guess I better tell you this right off, Mr. Cruz,” said Jazz, watching the rainy misty afternoon their skycar was whizzing through. “Since we two will be alone together for a spell.”
Cruz was in the driveseat of their aircraft. “You can confide anything you like in me.” He reached out to bestow a friendly pat on her nearest knee.
“Yikes!” Jazz swung her leg out of the way and Cruz ended up slapping the plaz trim of the passenger seat with his metallic fingers. “That’s what I was leading up to. The fact that I’m averse to physical contact of any kind.”
“That’s sad.”
“Well, it’s just something you have to learn to live with, as my family physician used to say.”
“He didn’t touch you either?”
“Oh, him I didn’t mind, because he was a robot. It’s really only flesh and blood contact that gives me the willies.”
“How fortunate for you, then, Jazz, that you ran into me.” Smiling, Cruz held up his metal right hand. “You won’t be able to tell my deft and delicate touch from that of your trusted medico robot.”
She frowned. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Cruz. You see, the rest of you is all too human.”
“Here, allow me to stroke your cheek and you’ll note that-”
“Calamity! You’d best not. I might start screaming and howling, which would distract you from piloting our skycar.”
“True.” Cruz smiled and dropped his hand. “Duty comes first.”
“Are you terribly mad with me? I suppose on most of your adventures and escapades you indulge in all sorts of physical excesses.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I do want you to know, Mr. Cruz, that it’s not you yourself I find loathsome and disgusting but rather the idea of being touched by you. I wouldn’t like that even if you were twice as attractive as you are.”
“That puts my mind at ease.”
“Besides, even if I enjoyed being pawed and mauled, that’s not what I’m here for, is it? No, I’m along to help you establish contact with Professor Winiarsky so you can persuade him to come away with you to the safety of the robot museum.”
“You are certain he’s at this Jungleland Park we’re fast approaching?”
“Unless he’s been abducted,” answered Jazz with a nod. “I have to apologize for being dense, Mr. Cruz, but I don’t think I’ve got all the opposing forces sorted out yet. I’m not clear on who’s trying to kill Winiarsky and who just wants to kidnap him. Fact is, I don’t even know for sure why they-”
“Even we aren’t completely certain about everything.”
“But as a newswoman I ought to be able to unravel-”
“Jazz, this isn’t something you’re going to be able to report for your network. I explained the sit-”
“I know, this is strictly off the record.”
“Exactly.”
Sighing, she smiled over at him. “It was nice, don’t you think, of the
“They sound like exemplary employees. Now, hold on while I set us down.”
She looked out at the swirling mist. “Are we at Jungleland already?”
“We are.” Cruz punched out a landing pattern on the control dash.
“It’s awfully difficult to tell their artificial jungle from the real jungle surrounding it.”
“One good reason, no doubt, why the park has never exactly thrived.”
Their skycar landed smoothly on a mossy landing area to the right of the high sewdowood entry gates to Jungleland Park. There were no other vehicles to be seen on the rainswept field.
Jazz was staring out the window. “I wonder if these five men running toward us are friendly,” she said. “Those animal skins they’re wearing and those clubs and knives they’re brandishing make you doubt it, don’t they?”
Saint brushed at his nose with his plyochief. “A most fragrant neighborhood, eh?”
