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mechanical companion and that you were going to brief us before we got
down to--"
"Okay, enough." Bascom consulted his handful of printout memos.
"Dunkirk and the got are reposing down in Interrogation Suite 3 at the
moment. Soon as our medics bring the guy out of his stun gun swoon,
we'll troop down there and ask him some pertinent questions."
"He knows where Jill is," said Gomez.
"He at least knows where they delivered her," observed Jake.
"What's the robot's name?"
Bascom's frown deepened. "What the hell has that got to do with
anything?"
"I'm curious."
The chief riffled the memos. "Turns out the damn thing doesn't have a
name. Satisfied?" "You can tell a lot about people from what they
name things."
Jake grinned.
"We're already scanning the hot's brain to see what he knows."
"Timecheck told me there was a SoCal Teklord involved in this," he told
his partner. "Johnny Trocadero must be the one."
"S; but I'm still not clear as to why he's risking going up against the
overseas Tek hombres."
Bascom said, "My prospective DC customer will want to know about that.
So find out, fellas."
"First," put in Gomez, "we have to talk to this Dunkirk cabrdn and find
out where Jill is."
The vidphone on Bascom's desk suddenly started talking.
"Lieutenant Drexler of the SoCal State Police is out here in the
reception area, Mr. Bascom. He has five officers with him and a
warrant. He says he's going to see you at once." There were
exactly forty-two vidscreens built into the walls of the mansion's main
ballroom. Each one was displaying a different Martinet Media
vidshow.
Sitting in the large room's only chair, thin fingers steepled beneath
his chin, was a lanky black man in a grey suit. He was a year away
from thirty, his hair was close-cropped. Two men and an android stood
just to the rear of his high-back wicker chair. "Screen 8," he said in
his whisper)' voice.
The heavyset bearded man at the right of the standing trio said,
"That's our Moon Cops show, Mr. Marriner."
Marriner's lips puckered as though he were tasting something extremely
sour. "Kill it."
The thin blond man said, "But we guaranteed Selkirk at least a year
of--"
"It's dead."
"I agree with you on that one," said the pink-checked andy. "Moon Cops
is a dismal show, sir."
"Sure you agree with me, putz," the black man said. "That's how you
were constructed."
"No, I assure you, this is an honest opinion of my own."
Marriner gave a quick whisper of a chuckle. "Screen 27," he said.
The thin blond man said, "That's Underwater Fiesta. This episode was
filmed off the coast of---"
"Reshoot the damn thing."
The heavyset bearded man suggested, "It would be much more economical
if we had the people in Enhancement punch up the existing--"
i iI "Yes, sir," said the thin blond man.
"Exactly what I was about to suggest," said the android.
The room's door whirred quietly open. Thelma Glanzman appeared. "He's
here."
"Keep him out there for a while, Thel," instructed Marriner. ';
"Screen 19."
The secondary ballroom was not quite as large as the main one. There
were only thirty vidscreens in the walls and they displayed not
Marriner Media shows but variable views of what was going on inside the
major Marriner offices and facilities around the world.
Marriner had a small real wood desk in the center of this ballroom and
he was sitting behind it, hunched forward. Spread out atop the desk
was the front page of the top-selling e-newspaper in America. "What do
you think of the headline, Ernie?"
Shiboo ran his tongue over his lips. "Very colorful, sir." The
Japanese was standing to the right of the desk. There were no other
chairs in the big room.
"Not the typography, putz, the content."
Shiboo cleared his throat, craned his head. ""Thousands Die in Tunnel
Tragedy." Very catchy, sir."
"No, hell, it's nowhere near specific enough," countered the media
tycoon. "Thousands of what--people, kangaroos, nasturtiums? If it's
human beings--what kind? Where?"
"Putting it that way, Mr. Marriner, the line is a bit lacking in
detail, yes." Marriner picked up a palm phone "Bockman, we want
a new head for the Times-Post. Specifics on that tunnel thing."
Shiboo coughed into his hand.
Marriner glanced up at him. "How many maid an dies did you deliver for
my upcoming bash, Ernie?"
"Twenty-one, sir."
"I understand one of them has blue spots on her ass."
"No, that's been taken care of.... How did you know that?"
"Ernie, there isn't one damn thing about you that I don't know or can't
find out," Marriner informed him. "I even know what goes on in the hay
between you and that mechanized lummox of yours. Herky. Jesus."
"My relationship with him is perfectly--" "Tell me about Jill
Bernardino." "Who?"
A whispery chuckle. "Ernie, you're not following this discussion at
all as closely as you ought to be," Marriner said, pushing back a few
inches in his chair. "I had hoped I'd impressed you by this time with
the fact that bullshit will get you nowhere when talking to me. How
much did you tell her?"
Shiboo shook his head negatively, getting the shaking all tangled up
with the uncontrolled shivering that had begun. "Not a thing, Mr.
Martinet," he insisted. "I mean, yes, as you seem to know, I have been
providing her with information for a vidwall film she's scripting. It's
about Sonny Hokori. I'm not sure if you knew him, but--"
"I knew Sonny quite well."
"Well, sir, then you know that he's dead and done for. So are most of
his relatives and the top people in his Tek cartel," continued the
uneasy Japanese. "Therefore, you see, I didn't think providing her
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