Tek Secret

by William Shatner

  Barry said, “She has no idea what the name means—whether it’s a machine or a person or something else. But, being Alicia, she made up her mind she was going to find out.”

  “She hasn’t, though?” asked Bascom.

  “Not as far as I’m aware,” Barry told him. “One reason I couldn’t persuade her to quit Moreno and his Oceanfront People’s Clinic is because she felt she was getting closer to an answer.”

  Jake stood and started pacing amidst the assorted clutter on the office floor. “Have you talked to Dr. Moreno since she disappeared?”

  “I’ve spoken to him, yes, and to dozens of others,” he said forlornly. “I’ve also talked to the police and Mechanix security people and anybody else I thought might know something. I haven’t learned much of anything, except that I seem to be the only one who suspects something serious has happened to her.”

  “Maybe because she found out who Tin Lizzie is?”

  “It might be that, it might be something else,” said Barry. “The point is, I know her better than anyone else does. Maybe she did see a lot of men once, but that is just not true any longer. I trust her and I’m certain she hasn’t run off with someone.”

  Bascom said, “She was supposed to have been on her way to visit her dear old dad at the Salkin Private Hospital the day she disappeared. Did you see her before she left?”

  “We were together that morning. It was a teaching day for me, though, and so I left hours before she did. If I hadn’t, then maybe—”

  “Did anyone see her leave your place?”

  “Yes, about midday.”

  “She never made the hospital?”

  “So they say.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  “In a way I don’t really believe anybody.” He leaned back against his pillows. “They all seem to be talking about an Alicia that I don’t know. She isn’t like that at all. Not crazy and hardly likely to have run off with some guy.”

  Jake leaned against a desk. “But she does know other guys, doesn’t she?”

  “What do you mean, Cardigan? I just told you that she would never—”

  “Does she have other male friends?”

  “Yes, a few. None, though, that she’s that close to. Don’t you take my word that—”

  “Have you talked to them?”

  “Yes, sure, of course. No one knows anything.”

  “And there’s nobody on the list who might’ve wanted to hurt her?”

  “Kidnap her or kill her? No, none of them.”

  Gomez requested, “Can you, por favor, tells us a bit more about how come you walked into that stomping last night?”

  “I received a call at my office at SoCal Tech,” he said. “The screen remained blank, so I never saw who was calling. Sounded to me like a young woman, a teenage girl I’d bet. She told me she had information about Alicia Bower. No, actually she said Miss Bower. ‘I know where Miss Bower is.’ Then she instructed me to be at the Arcade in the Ocean Park Sector that night. Somebody would meet me at a place called Gypsy’s on Level 3. I had to be there no later than 10:15, come alone and bring $2000 in cash.”

  “You brought the money?”

  “Yes. And, no, they didn’t rob me. When I woke up here in the hospital, I still had the cash.”

  Bascom asked, “Who else did you tell about the meet?”

  “Nobody,” Barry said. “Well, I told Roger. My brother and I don’t get along all that well. But still, there are times when you feel like talking things over with your brother.”

  Nodding, Bascom said, “According to the police report, three gents worked you over.”

  “Two men and a robot. The bot did most of it.”

  “You didn’t provide a very detailed description of any of them.”

  “Because I never got a good look at any of the bunch.”

  “If I sent somebody over there with a portable ID Simulator, could you come up with a picture of any of these goons?”

  “The robot maybe, but not either of the men.”

  “Was it a Mechanix bot?” asked Gomez.

  After frowning, Barry said, “I think so. Why?”

  “Merely curious.”

  Barry sat up. “Can your agency get to work on this?”

  “We’ve already started,” Bascom assured him.

  5

  THE SLIM, BLACK WOMAN came walking briskly across the mosaic tile floor. She halted, hands on hips, beside the table where Gomez was seated. “I hate Mexican food,” she informed him.

  The day had brightened and sunlight was showing at the windows of the Kaliente Kafe. Some of it was spilling in on the detective. “But you have a sincere, and justifiable, fondness for me, Sarge.”

  She sat suddenly down opposite him, warning in a whisper, “Don’t use my rank, Sid.”

  “Sorry, Onita.”

  Onita Quillian took a careful look around the small, robot-staffed restaurant. “At least no cops ever dine in this hole.”

  “Actually the food isn’t too terrible,” he said. “Not authentic, but—”

  “I’ll just have a cup of nearcaf,” she told the robot waiter, who’d come lumbering over.

  “Si, señorita,” it rumbled before lurching off.

  Onita rested her folded hands on the tabletop. “I shouldn’t, if I wasn’t loony, be here with you at all.”

  “Chiquita, we were once minions of the law together. Side by side we fought crime and chicanery in the canyons of—”

  “Quit babbling, Sid, and let me pass on what I can about this Bower case,” she interrupted. “Then I’ll go sneaking back to my desk at the SoCal State Police office.”

  Gomez smiled broadly. “I was hoping we could turn this into a festive social occasion, but if you insist on making it all business—”

  “You risk phoning me. You wheedle and cajole me for information on Alicia Bower. You practically sob into the vidphone. It’s the first time, by the by, I’ve even heard from you in over a year. And now you want to pretend this is a date?”

  “Forgive me. It was the sight of you after all these many months that made me giddy,” he said. “I do, Onita, appreciate your help. Can you tell me what you folks are doing about the missing young lady?”

  “We don’t think she’s missing.”

  “Eh? You know where she is then?”

  The police sergeant answered, “Not exactly, but the theory is—and keep in mind that I’m not working directly on this one—the theory is that Alicia Bower has simply run off with one of her gentlemen friends.”

  “Nobody thinks she’s been murdered or kidnapped?”

  Onita shook her head. “The odds, judging from her record, are against her having been killed,” she said. “And if it’s been a kidnapping, there’d have been a ransom demand by now.”

  “Nobody’s done that?”

  “Nary a soul.”

  “What record are you alluding to?”

  “Alicia’s run off before, dropped from sight for a few days. Usually with fellows considerably older than she.”

  “When?”

  “Mostly when she was in her teens.”

  “Hey, she’s way up in her twenties now. Has she done it lately?”

  “Not very often, but we—”

  “Has anybody from Mechanix International talked to you about this?”

  “Naturally. Her father is in a private hospital just now. But his security people have been in touch with our office here in the Long Beach Sector from the start. They’ve provided considerable background information.”

  “Info that Alicia is simply up to her old tricks?”

  “They know her, Sid. Especially does Myra Ettinger know her.”

  “Who might she be?”

  “The acting CEO of Mechanix. She’s very close to old Bower and, according to her, practically a second mother to Alicia.”

  “Some mom.”

  “She’s just being truthful,” said Onita. “Your client is Barry Zangerly, right?”

  “
Your nearcaf, señorita.” With a lurch, the robot waiter placed a cup on the table.

  “Thanks.”

  Gomez said, “We’re working for Barry, si.”

  “He’s a very emotional fellow. He’s come barging into our offices more than once to yell at everybody.”

  “He maintains she’s mended her ways.”

  “So she told him.”

  “Proof to the contrary?” inquired Gomez.

  “No, we don’t have concrete proof that she’s been sleeping with all and sundry. But a lot of people who know her well say that it’s likely.”

  “Hearsay.”

  Onita sighed. “You’ve met her, have you, at some point?”

  “Nope, merely viewed a projection of her.”

  “She’s young and pretty and you’re smitten. You’ve vowed to protect her, rescue her, defend her reput—”

  “What I want to protect her from is tangible threats. Like murderers, rapists and kidnappers,” he told the police sergeant. “Sounds to me like you’ve allowed the Mechanix gang, especially this Ettinger mujer, to point you in the direction they want you to—”

  “Look, do you want to come back to the office and talk directly to Lt. Verbeck? I’m simply passing on what I’ve been able to dig up.”

  “Your loyalty to me is admirable and won’t go unrewarded,” he assured her. “If not in this world then more than likely in the next. Did anybody spot her leaving her apartment on the day she disappeared?”

  “Yes, a woman across the way and the robot gardener.”

  “How’d she intend to travel to the hospital to visit her ailing pop?”

  “Zangerly says she usually took a skycab. As yet we haven’t found any cabbie with a record of having picked her up.”

  “You don’t think Alicia ever reached the place?”

  “There’s nothing to indicate that she did.”

  “What time did she depart from her digs?”

  “About 12:40 P.M.”

  “No trace of her since?”

  Onita hesitated, then answered, “No.”

  Gomez leaned forward. “Cara, are you holding back some vital fact?”

  “I’m not.” She pushed back from the table. “I’d better be going.”

  “I appreciate your help,” Gomez told her. “And your undying devotion.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that last one.”

  Jake had remained at the detective agency. He was in Tower 1 now, holed up in one of the office cubicles of the Info Center.

  “Darn,” said the computer terminal that sat on the desk Jake was using.

  “Something wrong, Rozko?”

  Rozko-227N/FS answered, “I’m having a little trouble accessing the security system cameras at the Salkin Hospital. These not-exactly-legal jobs, you know, can be buggers sometimes. Meanwhile, while we’re waiting, here’s a shot of a couple of the Salkin nurses sunbathing up on the roof of the joint. Redhead’s sort of cute, huh?”

  On the three-foot-square screen appeared a long shot of two naked young women lying facedown on a floating sunmat.

  “I’m not especially interested in—”

  “You’ve been in mourning long enough, Jake, if you ask me.”

  “Rozko, there are several flaws in your character.”

  “Exactly. They were built in to humanize me. Do you want me to zoom in on the redhaired one?”

  “No need.”

  Rozko blanked the screen, commenced whistling a Mexican folk tune that Gomez had recently taught him. “Bingo,” he exclaimed after a moment.

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve made it around the roadblocks. I’m scanning, even as we speak, the vidcam footage for the day in question.”

  “Getting anything?”

  “It’ll take a couple more minutes.” The computer went back to whistling. “Gomez working with you on this one?”

  “As usual, yeah.”

  “How come he isn’t here?”

  “Out in the field, checking with a SoCal police contact.”

  “That’s right, you couldn’t handle that. Lots of cops continue to believe that you sold out to the Teklords. Despite the fact that eventually you were completely cleared of all charges, they—Okay, Jake, I’ve gone through all the footage that pertains. There isn’t a sign of Alicia Bower’s having visited the hospital that day.”

  Jake leaned back in his chair, contemplating the grey ceiling. “Make me copies of all the vidfilm.”

  “You think it was diddled with?”

  “I’d like to have somebody check,” he answered. “While you’re doing that, can we look in on Owen Bower?”

  “You got it.”

  The screen went blank and remained that way.

  Jake asked, “Don’t they have a monitoring camera in his room?”

  “They do, sure. Trouble is, it’s blanked for some reason. Seems they don’t want anybody getting a look at our tycoon.”

  Jake said, “There’s something else I want.”

  “The redhead’s home address?”

  “I wish one and all would quit trying to match me up,” he said. “What do you have on Antonio Corte, a Brazilian politician who died a couple months back?”

  “Hang on.”

  A painting of a plump woman in a white gown appeared on the screen.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just something for you to look at while I’m digging. I painted it myself. In the style of Renoir. Not bad, huh?”

  “Lovely. Now can we—”

  “Here we go.” A photo of a thickset, darkhaired man replaced the plump woman’s portrait. “Antonio Corte, age fifty-two at time of death. This is a publicity shot used by his campaign office. The next one’s a trifle more grisly, Jake. This is after the fall.”

  “What’d Corte fall from?”

  “The balcony of his suite on the fifteenth floor of the Hotel Maravilha down in Rio de Janeiro. He lived there.”

  “What did the police say about his fatal descent?”

  “That it was purely accidental. Senhor Corte had been using a new medication to stimulate the action of his faulty plastic heart. The stuff made him woozy, say medical experts, and he took the long tumble. Thirteen stories to the nearest pedramp.”

  “What was his political persuasion?”

  “Liberal. He was an opponent of General Silveira, who runs the country.”

  Placing both elbows on the desk top, Jake asked, “Any similar cases?”

  “You don’t want all the accidental falls?”

  “Accidental deaths involving politicians or related types.”

  “Have you hit some kind of insight?”

  “More like a very small hunch.”

  After nearly sixty seconds Rozko said, “Huh. That’s funny.”

  “Share it.”

  “Turns out Senhor Corte was the fifth political figure to die in an accident in the past year.” A succession of photos and copy blocks started to appear. “All of them liberals of one sort or another, all opponents of the Tek trade, all residing in Central or South America.”

  “They didn’t all fall?”

  “Nope, but each suffered an accident in the home or office, always while alone.”

  “Any link between the five?”

  “Nothing that’s showing, except that Tek opposition.”

  “Connections with Alicia Bower, her father or Mechanix International?”

  Rozko answered, “Not a single one, Jake.”

  “Then why the hell did Corte’s death upset her?” he wondered. “What would her reaction have been to the other deaths?”

  “Tough one to answer.”

  Standing up, Jake moved away from the desk. “Print me up whatever you have on these five deceased gents,” he instructed the computer. “Even though I still don’t quite see how the hell any of this ties in with her disappearance.”

  6

  UP ON THE ROOF OF THE landing area Jake was settling into the driveseat of an agency skycar when the vidpho
ne on the dash-panel buzzed. “Yeah?” he said, tapping the answer key.

  “Greetings, amigo,” said Gomez from the phonescreen. “Are you ready to divide up the chores of the day?”

  “Was just on my way to the Kaliente Kafe to discuss agendas with you, Sid.”

  “Let me share what I’ve learned thus far, then you can do similarly,” offered Gomez.

  He filled his partner in on what he’d picked up from his police contact. Jake then told Gomez what he’d come up with in the agency Info Center.

  Gomez said, “We have to talk to Dr. Moreno and Myra Ettinger, among others. Any preferences?”

  Grinning, Jake said, “From the way you said her name, you’re not too anxious about encountering the acting CEO.”

  “Executive ladies rarely charm me.”

  “Okay, I’ll take her.”

  “Bueno, down to the Vencie Sector for me then. I’ll be in touch with you.”

  Jake asked, “You think she’s still alive?”

  Gomez shrugged. “It’s too soon to tell, amigo.”

  “She’s about the same age Beth was.”

  Nodding, saying nothing, Gomez broke the connection.

  The afternoon had grown grey again. Outside the vast reception room in the Executive Wing of the Mechanix International plant in the Hawthorne Sector of GLA, a dozen sooty gulls were circling in the overcast sky.

  Jake sat in a hard metal and plastiglass chair. He was the only human in the large metal and plastiglass room. Arranged around the place were samples of twenty five of the bestselling Mechanix products. There were robots, androids, servomechs. Nearest Jake’s chair loomed a white-enameled nursebot. A small plaque pointed out that this model, MNSN/RT/39, had received seventeen awards of excellence from the medical profession and allied industries since it had been introduced by Mechanix International eleven years ago.

  On a pedestal directly across from him stood the company’s popular housekeeper android. Built to resemble a plump, matronly woman, HK/LN-232 had sold over 1,000,000 copies since Owen Bower had invented it five years ago.

  After Jake had been sitting there among the mechanisms for roughly ten minutes, he rose up and stretched. He went wandering over to the viewindow to gaze out into the grey afternoon. There were only ten circling gulls now.