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has to do something."
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"Most of the people involved in Eve's death are dead themselves."
"Not all of them, though. Not McCracklin, for instance."
Her eyes widened. "He wouldn't try to get at the vice president?"
"I really don't know."
"The people you have watching him will see that nothing serious happens."
Bascom stood. "Okay, I just wanted to fill you in on the current situation.
I'll--"
"I was about to have some lunch," Kay said, standing. "Got time to join me?"
"I'll dampen your feast."
She smiled at him. "You can't be as bad as these robots." Bascom hesitated
before answering, "Okay."
Gotvmz's LATEST RENIED sky car came without intrusive commercials.
Whistling "Cielito Lindo" with his tongue pressed against his upper
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teeth, the curly haired detective was piloting it over the hills surrounding
Chattanooga. Spotting his destination, he tapped out a landing pattern.
The sky blue cruiser dropped gracefully down through the sunny afternoon,
settling to a gentle landing in a woodland clearing. At the far side of the
glade stood a parked two-story mobile home. It was painted in camouflage
colors.
When Gomez tried to disembark, he discovered his doors wouldn't open.
"Hey, quepaxa?"
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The dash voxbox spoke. "Who the frak are you?" "This is my own rental asking
me that?" "C'mon, c'mon, dim bulb answer up."
"I'm Sid Gomez of the Cosmos Detective Agency. Is this Arlo Harmon?"
"Would Arlo Harmon go around with a voice like an aluminum cockatoo?
Stop gabbing and answer the questions, huh? What's your business here?"
"I arranged a meeting with Harmon. I want to hire Cyber-wacky
Services, Ltd."
"What was the agreed on fee?"
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"Two thousand dollars, which is a hell of a--"
"No, nope. You got that wrong, fella."
"I never get a fee wrong. I agreed to pay Cyberwacky the sum of--"
"It's 2,500 dollars in front," said the voxbox. "Otherwise; junior, you can
fly your woebegone butt right on out of this sylvan setting."
Gomez leaned back in his seat, poking his tongue into his cheek.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked out at the trees surrounding him. Most of them
were real, mixed with only a few holoprojections. Finally he said, "Two
thousand five hundred dollars it is. Provided Cyberwacky can do exactly what I
have in mind."
"Cyberwacky Services, Ltd." can do any darn thing you can think of, dimwit.
C'mon in, kiddo. And wipe your feet on the doormat." The car let him get out.
DR. VINCENr CmN said, "I suppose I do owe you a small favor, Jake."
His private office was large, with a wide window giving a view of a bright,
secure section of the Miami Enclave. There was no desk and
Jake was in an armchair facing the psychiatrist's armchair. "I need a fairly
large one, ince."
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"When we were both cops in SoCal, you did... Excuse me a second." He picked up
the lap phone from the floor beside him. "Yes? Dr. Chen here."
The phone had an ear bug so Jake didn't hear the other side of the
conversation. He turned to watch a row of shimmering palm trees out on the
street.
"His brain implant monitor ought to be functioning perfectly by now, Mrs.
Henzler .... Suicidal? No, that's not a common side effect ....
Yes, of course. Talk to Nurse Gallardo about getting him in to see me early
next week .... I understand, yes, but we don't have a thing earlier .... Fine,
goodbye." He dropped the phone to the floor. "Now, Jake, explain this to me."
"I have to get in and out of the Bergstrom Clinic," he said.
"Safely.". "Very exclusive place, all kinds of tough security." Chen rubbed
his palm down across his face. "They run a... Excuse me a second. Hello? Dr.
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Chen here .... Moodjax should be helping you already, sir .... Suicidal? Well,
maybe I better switch you to
Calmtex No, I don't think you need an implanted monitor just yet I'll contact
your drugbot. Better talk to Nurse Gallardo about coming in for a visit early
next month. Right, bye." He frowned across at Jake.
"Is this a criminal case you're working on?" "In a way, yeah," he
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answered. "I also have to spring a patient out of there." "Jesus, Jake--that's
mighty near impossible." "But not completely so, Vince."
"Give me some details, will you?" "Sure," said Jake. "The President of the
United States is being held there against his will while an android dupe of
him is running the country."
Chen picked up the phone once more. "Nurse Gallardo," he requested, "hold all
my calls."
ARLO HMIMON WAS short, had crinkly brown hair and was forty-one. The parlor of
his mobile home was a maze of gadgets, large and small, winking, blinking and
humming. One wall was jammed with twenty-three small television screens, each
tuned to a different channel.
Standing wide-legged, hands behind his back, the proprietor of
Cyberwacky Services, Ltd." was scanning the screens. "You came while three of
my favorite soaps are airing," he mentioned in his deep, chesty voice.
"Marriage on the Moon, Microsurgery Center and Love
Among the Robots. You follow any of 'emT'
"Not lately," admitted Gomez, who was leaning against the detached torso of a
silvery robot. "Before I hand over this outrageous amount of dough, suppose--"
"I'm not in the mood for flapdoodle, Gomez," said Harmon, perching on
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the edge of a dicta desk "Twenty-five hundred smackers is a mere spit in the
deep blue sea to a top seed private eye outfit like yours. I'm fully aware of
what a Cosmos expense account reads like, so--"
"Can you tear yourself away from this romantic gunk long enough to"
"A guy who, according the the personality review I ran on you, watches air
hockey games when he's--"
"Suppose we concentrate, the both of us, on the job at hand?"
Harmon pointed at the wall of screens. "There's your boy--third row, second
screen from the left."
President Brookmeyer, or rather the Brookmeyer simulacrum, was up there
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