not drinking enough gin," Goodnight said. "But just the presence of a shadow is enough to inhibit my style."
He drank, then looked at his partners.
"You know who's behind all of this crap."
Before anyone else could answer, Grok said, most positively, "Cerberus Systems, of course."
There was not a shadow of disagreement or of other candidacy.
"Just frigging wonderful," Riss said. "They've got how many operatives�five thousand?"
"Double that," said King, who kept track of such things.
"I don't want to think about how many people subverted, how many ships, how many millions of credits," Riss went on. "So what are we gonna do about it?"
Silence, then Goodnight tried, "Hope they get tired of teaching us moral lessons?"
Jasmine snorted disbelief.
"All we can do," she said, "is hang on until they run out of ideas and find someone else to screw."
"This is not a cheerful conversation," von Baldur said. He signaled for another round.
The next morning, his mood hadn't improved, even seen through the lens of a hangover.
He took M'chel into his office.
"I think," he said, "since you and I are original partners, that we had best be preparing for a doomsday plan, before someone gets killed."
"like what?" Riss asked, knowing the answer full well.
Von Baldur just looked at her.
She nodded, went back to her office, began figuring.
That night, while von Baldur and Riss were separately glooming over how far Star Risk might be forced to cut and run�and coming up with worst-case scenarios�an industrial accident occurred.
In spite of statistical improbability, the antigravity generators that made the Star Risk building so architecturally stylish and improbable-looking failed momentarily. Worse, the backup and emergency generators cut out just on the forty-third floor for a few seconds.
The building didn't topple, but the forty-fourth floor dropped one story before the backups came on and lifted things to where they should have remained.
Holos were already screaming about the catastrophe that had been predicted, which was why the tower had relatively few tenants. Star Risk considered the damage from a lifter hovering just off the building.
"The offices are pretty well squashed." Goodnight said. "Naturally, nobody's talking sabotage yet."
"And probably they won't," King said. "Cerberus's Industrial Section is a lot better than most arson/accident teams."
"What about our insurance?" Goodnight asked.
"What insurance?" Jasmine King said. "We were canceled, remember? And I haven't gotten an approval from the companies I've been getting quotes from."
"Wonderfuller and wonderfuller," Riss said. "So what have we lost?"
"Totally? Not all that much, really," King said. "We're backed up, twice, in offsite locations. We'll come back up all right, but it'll be the devil's own time putting things in operating order."
"During which time, we won't be getting any jobs," Goodnight said. "I just hope the building management's coverage is nice and covered."
King nodded, didn't answer.
"Talking will not solve our problem," Grok said, trying to sound cheery and undisturbed. "So let's set to work."
Von Baldur looked at Riss. He didn't need to say anything. What would happen if the next "accident" happened during working hours?
Five versus ten thousand?
They set to work.
What came next should have been a joke, but no one considered it funny.
Star Risk had been working almost around the clock, on rented furniture with rented computers.
They were very proud of themselves that they'd almost put Humpty Dumpty together again, and figured they'd reopen for business in a week, no longer.
Trimalchio IV's Animal Cruelty Society showed up with a list of questions. Was this strange creature they called Grok really sentient? If not, was he there of his own free will? Did he need liberation? If so, what zoological gardens might accept him? Was he to be considered nonhostile to humans? If not, were there proper security precautions to prevent
He drank, then looked at his partners.
"You know who's behind all of this crap."
Before anyone else could answer, Grok said, most positively, "Cerberus Systems, of course."
There was not a shadow of disagreement or of other candidacy.
"Just frigging wonderful," Riss said. "They've got how many operatives�five thousand?"
"Double that," said King, who kept track of such things.
"I don't want to think about how many people subverted, how many ships, how many millions of credits," Riss went on. "So what are we gonna do about it?"
Silence, then Goodnight tried, "Hope they get tired of teaching us moral lessons?"
Jasmine snorted disbelief.
"All we can do," she said, "is hang on until they run out of ideas and find someone else to screw."
"This is not a cheerful conversation," von Baldur said. He signaled for another round.
The next morning, his mood hadn't improved, even seen through the lens of a hangover.
He took M'chel into his office.
"I think," he said, "since you and I are original partners, that we had best be preparing for a doomsday plan, before someone gets killed."
"like what?" Riss asked, knowing the answer full well.
Von Baldur just looked at her.
She nodded, went back to her office, began figuring.
That night, while von Baldur and Riss were separately glooming over how far Star Risk might be forced to cut and run�and coming up with worst-case scenarios�an industrial accident occurred.
In spite of statistical improbability, the antigravity generators that made the Star Risk building so architecturally stylish and improbable-looking failed momentarily. Worse, the backup and emergency generators cut out just on the forty-third floor for a few seconds.
The building didn't topple, but the forty-fourth floor dropped one story before the backups came on and lifted things to where they should have remained.
Holos were already screaming about the catastrophe that had been predicted, which was why the tower had relatively few tenants. Star Risk considered the damage from a lifter hovering just off the building.
"The offices are pretty well squashed." Goodnight said. "Naturally, nobody's talking sabotage yet."
"And probably they won't," King said. "Cerberus's Industrial Section is a lot better than most arson/accident teams."
"What about our insurance?" Goodnight asked.
"What insurance?" Jasmine King said. "We were canceled, remember? And I haven't gotten an approval from the companies I've been getting quotes from."
"Wonderfuller and wonderfuller," Riss said. "So what have we lost?"
"Totally? Not all that much, really," King said. "We're backed up, twice, in offsite locations. We'll come back up all right, but it'll be the devil's own time putting things in operating order."
"During which time, we won't be getting any jobs," Goodnight said. "I just hope the building management's coverage is nice and covered."
King nodded, didn't answer.
"Talking will not solve our problem," Grok said, trying to sound cheery and undisturbed. "So let's set to work."
Von Baldur looked at Riss. He didn't need to say anything. What would happen if the next "accident" happened during working hours?
Five versus ten thousand?
They set to work.
What came next should have been a joke, but no one considered it funny.
Star Risk had been working almost around the clock, on rented furniture with rented computers.
They were very proud of themselves that they'd almost put Humpty Dumpty together again, and figured they'd reopen for business in a week, no longer.
Trimalchio IV's Animal Cruelty Society showed up with a list of questions. Was this strange creature they called Grok really sentient? If not, was he there of his own free will? Did he need liberation? If so, what zoological gardens might accept him? Was he to be considered nonhostile to humans? If not, were there proper security precautions to prevent
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