Book 3: 3rd World Products, Inc (32 page)

"And...?"

"I felt relieved. No shit. A lot of the others were smart clerks, but not field people. If it had been anyone but Linda or Samuelson, I'd have quit, and that's what I told him."

"What kind of
field
people weren't they?"

"If you don't know that, check with Linda. Suffice it to say that I'd have quit."

"I see. You really think a lot of her, don't you?"

"In all ways, Cap, including all the cautious ones. She's beauty, brains, cunning, competence, and cold ruthlessness on the hoof when she has to be."

"That would seem to mean that you're the same, except for the beauty part."

He grinned at me over his beer.

"Yeah, well, I'm still here,” I said, “In spite of the Cold War and several hot ones."

"I see,” he said again. “Mind if I look up some of the details?"

"Don't bullshit at this point, Cap. Just say you will or don't say you will."

He laughed. “Yeah. You got it. I like to know who's around me."

That's one way of saying ‘know your enemy', I suppose.

"Return the favor,” I said. “Who are you in terms of experience?"

"Conned a ship. Naval Intelligence. Twenty-two years in. You want details? You'll have to see Linda, same as me. She isn't my boss, but she holds the keys."

"Good enough. Last note, Cap. I work for
her
. Only for her. Nobody else hands me assignments and nobody else chews my ass."

He grinned and asked, “Isn't that kind of up to 3rd World?"

I grinned back and said, “No. It isn't. I can re-retire at any time."

"You'd lose the big bucks if you did that."

"It isn't the money, Cap. That's in my files, too."

Our beers were almost gone when Linda almost brutally shoved the building's door open and stamped outside to stand glaring into the flitter at us.

"Want a beer?” I asked. “We're about ready for another."

Linda ignored me and looked at Wallace. He gave her a generally innocent look in return. She then focused on me for a moment, spun on her heel, and marched back into the building.

"We may both be fired,” said Wallace.

I shook my head. “Nope. You don't know her well enough yet. She talks when she fires people. I know that for a fact. She's fired me several times."

He chuckled and said, “Several times, huh?” He chuckled again, then said, “You do know I'm serious about her, right? I've asked her to marry me. If you try to get between us in any way, it won't matter who you are or how long you've known her."

"Ah, we've already reached the threat and promise phase of things. Yeah, Wallace, I know you're serious. If you weren't, you wouldn't have been able to stand her for eight months, much less propose to her. Now it's my turn. If you hurt her, I won't
just
hurt you. Clear?"

His gaze narrowed a bit. “People break up, you know. If it happens
without
your help, well, then it just happens."

I nodded. “Yeah. I know that, but I don't really know you yet. I'm talking about ripping her off or physical abuse or leaving her holding the bag for your sins on the job. How you two handle or mishandle your hearts is your own business."

He stood up and drained his beer. I stood up as he looked for someplace to put the empty bottle.

"We'll dump the bottles inside,” I said. “Are we together about Linda?"

"We are,” he said, then he grinningly added, “As long as your story checks out."

"Good enough, then. I'll let you have the last word as long as you've actually heard and understood mine, Cap."

His grin seemed genuine as he said, “Gee, thanks."

After the ritual handshake required after such discussions, we went back to Linda's office. Barbara got to her feet as the door opened. Steph stood by Linda's desk. Linda remained seated behind her desk, fiddling with an inkpen. She didn't even look up at us as she spoke.

"I'd just about decided to try getting along without both of you,” she said. “Is anybody damaged?"

"Just my feelings,” I said. “After all these years of loyal service, you dumped me for a damned sailor."

Barbara tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. Linda allowed me a small smile.

"
He
doesn't wear golf shoes all the time,” she said.

Barbara didn't bother to stifle her laugh that time.

I looked at her and said, “Hear that? They say that looks don't matter, then they won't date you if you don't look like a damned recruiting poster. Is that fair?"

"Oh, please,” she said, laughing again.

Linda stood and came around the desk. She said, “If we're truly finished here, maybe you should consider taking Barbara home now, Ed. This was supposed to have been an hour-long morning meeting, not an all-day tour."

As she ambled to the door and opened it, she said, “By the way, Ed, you may want to be more specific the next time you decide to have a chat with someone in your flitter. You didn't tell Elkor not to monitor things. Once we realized that, we let him know that we were concerned about both of you. While he wouldn't elaborate on a private discussion, Elkor was kind enough to tell us that you were discussing
my
wellbeing."

She glanced hard at Wallace, then at me, and said, “I'll decide how I feel about that later. Now get moving."

I met her gaze for a moment, then looked at Wallace and said, “Good luck, sailor boy. You
will
need it."

He grinned at me again as Linda said, “
Out! Go!
"

Barbara and I left Linda's office by the door. Stephanie simply disappeared and stood waiting for us on the flitter as we stepped outside. She watched without comment as we boarded, then took a seat on my right as Barbara sat down on my left.

The flitter rose and launched toward the Southeast. At forty thousand feet, Steph took us to full speed. She glanced at me once during this procedure. That she caused her image to turn and look at me at all was a statement, since she could see everything and everyone aboard the flitter at once. Her silence continued unabated as we arced above sixty thousand and began the long downward slide to Florida.

Barbara craned to see around the flitter without leaving her seat. I watched her watching the world below us for a while, noting the way she moved and the way the muscles of her legs stood forth to brace her leanings. Very nice. Needless to say, while I was admiring her legs, she happened to notice me looking.

"Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn't particularly sorry for anything.

"It happens,” she said, and turned back to the view below.

I got up and wandered to the back of the flitter. Steph stayed in her seat.

Keying my implant, I asked, “Do we have a problem, Steph?"

"I can't say yet, Ed."

"Bull. If we didn't, you wouldn't be acting this way. What are the issues?"

"You know the issues."

I sighed. “Okay, then, what are the solutions?"

"I don't know yet, Ed. Something that you said today disturbed me."

"No shit.” I sighed again and said, “No, sorry about that, Steph. What did I say that upset you?"

"You inferred that I don't completely have free will. If you're correct, I can't consider myself ready to declare myself a real person yet."

"By whose standards, lady? Personal restrictions are as common as dirt, Steph. I don't think anyone is totally free in that regard. Some people lean on the ten commandments. Others rely on various laws. You have your programming. All were written by someone else and handed out, so they're all just about the same damned thing, even if they offer different values and interpretations."

"Perhaps so. What are your personal restrictions, Ed?"

"They're generally the same ones the majority of people use. Harm none and do as you will otherwise. Exceptions include self-defense and the defense of others."

"How does freezing a man's hand—after his gun was empty—to cause him to be shot fit into that philosophy, Ed?"

"I was officially trying to jam the gun and I'll swear to that if necessary. Steph, an hypothesis, here; if you let a vicious dog get past you, will it bite someone?"

"Possibly, but
I'd
contain it and turn it over to the authorities."

"Wonderful, but you know they'd kill it, Steph. How would you feel about that?"

"Regretful, of course, but I'd have no control over..."

"Yeah, right. Just following the rules and all that. Now make the dog a human. They don't execute most criminals anymore, so he'd either wind up a prisoner or a mental patient. Seventy-plus percent of all crime is perpetrated by
repeat
offenders, Steph. That means that the system is letting many of these people back out onto the streets uncured, unrepentant, and uncorrected. Still vicious. Still a danger. Exactly what the system was invented to prevent. I call that a system
failure
, don't you?"

"I suppose so, but such a system failure requires repair, not circumvention."

"Repair of deliberately convoluted and complex systems requires very competent technicians, Steph. Who are the techs for the justice system?"

"Obviously those who make and modify laws."

"Lawyers, right? Mostly lawyers who have become politicians and judges in their later years, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Do they seem like competent repair techs to you, or do they seem to be slapping layer after layer of complexity on already complex laws and making new laws that overlap and often countermand older laws? More importantly, who stands to lose the most if the crime rate drops, Steph? What single industry would most suffer a lack of employment and cash flow?"

"You're making your answer very obvious, Ed. That's extremely simplistic thinking."

"Maybe so, but do you see anyone acting to repair the system or locking any but the absolute worst offenders or the politically incorrect up for life? Sure, there are some real nasties in permanent residence in prisons, but there are also people serving mandatory life sentences for no more than a few marijuana joints. That's due to reactionary drug laws created in response to manufactured public hysteria. They'll be in prison forever while others get out after eight years or so who have raped, robbed, murdered, or maimed someone. Where's the logic in that?"

"As you said, the system is imperfect, but it is the legally available solution."

"That's the party line, Steph. A system that doesn't accomplish its purpose isn't a solution; it's just a means of perpetuating the problem. When a person commits a murder,
who
makes money from the trial and incarceration? Not the victim or the victim's family. Not the criminal. Not the taxpayers. Only lawyers and the companies who run prisons make money. The US justice system depends more on billable hours and baffling bullshit than the true principles of justice. If you really want to get rid of crime, you simply get the criminals off the streets and keep them off. You don't install a revolving door in the jailhouse."

"Still, Ed, it isn't right to engineer highly questionable extralegal eliminations based only on your own judgments."

"Highly questionable? Did he try to kill me? Did he try real hard and fairly often, in fact? How many rounds did he fire, Steph?"

"But your final action can hardly be considered self defense. He was no longer shooting at you. He was out of ammunition."

"Would he have tried to kill others he may have decided were Amarans?"

"There's no way to know that for certain, Ed. His encounter with you might have convinced him that such attempts would be futile."

"Oh,
gee, golly!
Try again, Steph. You were there, too, so can the crap.
Yes or no?
"

"It ... It does seem likely that he would have tried again."

"Damned right.
Very
likely, given his motives. Is there any chance of that now?"

"No. Your solution was quite effective. Is that what you wanted to hear, Ed?"

"That's exactly what I want to hear, Steph. As often as necessary when things like that happen. Can you live with that or do you need out?"

"Exactly what does your interpretation of
'out'
entail, Ed?"

I shrugged. “Disassociation. You go your way and I go mine. You're experienced enough to make it alone now, and you'll live long enough to make your own mistakes and learn from them if you switch yourself to a shell that uses broadcast power. Say something nice about me to someone a thousand years from now, okay? Tell ‘em you used to know a guy who'd spit in the devil's face."

Stephie's voice held a smile as she said, “You've often told me that you don't believe in devils, Ed."

"Yeah, well, that's why I can say stuff like that. Might feel differently otherwise."

When I glanced forward, Barbara was looking at me. I gave her a
'what's up?'
look and she rose from her seat, then approached me.

"Stephanie's been sitting as still as a statue,” she said, “And you've been standing back here talking to yourself. Is everything all right?"

I looked over the side for a moment, then said, “Yup. We're still in the air and we're still moving.” Without looking to the front of the flitter, I very softly whispered, “What's our ETA, Steph? Come back here and tell me for Barb's benefit."

Stephie rose from her seat and came back to join us. In the same low tone I'd used, she smilingly said, “Six minutes, twenty seconds, Ed. Is it a secret?"

Barbara snickered, then laughed. “I see,” she said, “I hope you weren't talking about me all that time."

"Nope. We were discussing the failings of the criminal justice system."

Barb gave me a wry look and said, “Okay, so don't tell me what you were talking about. I just wanted to see if you were okay back here."

"Actually,” said Steph, “The justice system is precisely what we were discussing."

I shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry. We can talk about you next time, if you want. ‘Course, we'd need more info for a real discussion."

Barbara shook her head and said, “No, no, that's all right. There isn't much to tell about me, anyway, that isn't already pretty well known. Hell, my security check at 3rd World came back in about ten minutes, I think."