"My coat."
The chef glanced over at him. "Ah, oui. So
it is. The garment appears to be smoldering."
"Does that at highest setting."
"Next time you purchase a thermocoat in
Paris, monsieur, ask me first. I can send you
to a shop where you'll get But here comes
your landcab."
~ 70

T ~ k L a b
A maroon vehicle was pulling up at the
curb. When it halted, a chrome-plated robot
in a long tan overcoat stepped out. "You
order the Vite Cab?"
"Yeah," admitted Gomez.
The chef stepped forward to turn Gomez's
suitcase over to the cabbie for stowing. His
foot hit a patch of snow-covered ice and he
went sliding uncontrollably ahead.
His cap fell off and he stumbled into the
robot driver. The suitcase swung up, slamming
the cabbie in the groin.
"Yow," yelled the robot, hopping back, bumping into his parked cab, bringing both
hands up to his crotch.
"Robots don't have balls," realized Gomez.
He sent a hand burrowing into his thermocoat
and yanked out his stungun.
The spurious robot was turning toward him,
one hand abandoning his crotch to slip into
an overcoat pocket for a gun.
Gomez fired.
The beam of the stungun took the driver in
the left ribs. He gasped, staggered, and
fell. His metal head popped off as he hit the
paving, revealing the face of a Parisian goon
beneath it.
"Something's very much amiss," commented the chef as he struggled to get up.
''Si," agreed Gomez.
From down the dawn street two other louts
were running.
Pausing only to grab his suitcase, Gomez
jumped into the driveseat of the landcab.
Doors flapping, he drove it away down the
snowy thoroughfare.
Jake awakened suddenly.
The night was gone and gray daybreak was
showing at the one-way plastiglass wall of
the bedroom.
Yawning once, he turned to look at Marj.
She was no longer there beside him.
He reached over, touching the place where
she'd been lying. It was cold.
~ 7 ~

W I I I I n m S h n t n ~ r
Jake sat up, glancing around the room.
Then he became aware of a faint murmuring.
It sounded like two people in conversation
somewhere in the cottage.
Very quietly Jake left the bed. He walked
to the partially open doorway. One of the
voices was Marj's, the other was that of a
young man. Jake couldn't make out any actual
words.
They sounded as though they were in the
kitchen.
Slowly and silently, Jake dressed. When he
picked up his shoulder holster to strap it
on, he discovered that his stungun was
missing.
He took time to search the bedroom for it,
even though he didn't expect to find the
weapon there.
Easing out into the early morning hallway,
Jake stood listening.
The murmured conversation was still going
on. The young man sounded angry.
Jake walked to the kitchen and pushed the
door open.
The yellow room was empty.
But he could still hear the voices.
He crossed to the open pantry door and
looked in. At the back of it a wide panel
stood open.
". . . and the best news is, after all,
that you'll be able to kill Bennett Sands,"
Marj was saying.
"That's great, but did you have to sleep
with that damned cop to find out?"
"Listen, nothing happened . . . really. But I did have to get close to him," she
answered. "I knew he'd probably find out where Sands was hiding and he did."
"Hell, you could've located Bennett without the help of some over-the-hill gumshoe," said the young man. "You found all the others for me."
Moving to the opening, Jake looked in.
A short ramp led down to a brightly lit
electronics laboratory. Marj, wearing a lab
coat, was perched on one of the workbenches.
Leaning against the opposite bench was a
young man with a bushy moustache. His hair
was short-cropped and he wore an earring made
of a Brazilian coin.
1 72

T ~ k L a b
"The important thing is that we've located
Sands," Marjpersisted. "Now you have to get up to the Caribbean Colony and "
"Good morning." Jake entered the lab.
"Hello, Jake, I figured you'd find your way down here sooner or later," said Marj,
smiling. "I'd like you to meet my brother."
Singing enthusiastically and banging on a
drum, Gomez entered the Central Paris
Subtrain Depot. He was clad in a long dark
overcoat, a pulled-down cap, and a muffler
that covered a good portion of his face. Two
caroling androids, similarly attired, were
marching in front of him and three followed
behind.
The group halted on the platform for the
Paris-London tunnel train. The first android,
after adjusting his cap, set up a large
glosign that proclaimed they were collecting
funds for the International Salvation Army.
Gomez, as he whapped the drum, scanned the
figures that were scattered along the
platform. Passengers were boarding the com-
partment cars, friends, some of them yawning
drowsily, were seeing them off.
Standing over near a lopsided soycaf kiosk
was Timecheck. He was nibbling a croissant
while consulting several of his built-in
watches.
Gomez, moving away from his fellow
carolers, sidled over to the young Chinese.
"Spare a few francs for a worthy cause?" he inquired, holding out his palm.
"Do a swift scramola, buddy," advised the informant.
"I'm glad my disguise is foolproof." Gomez set down the drum. "Pretend to be forking
over a charitable contribution."
"Shit, Gomez, you're seven minutes and
thirteen seconds late."
"Is Dr. Danenberg on board the train?"
"Yeah, the quiff got here, alone, twelve
minutes ago." Rolling down his sleeve,
Timecheck began pretending to search his
pock
~ 73

W I I I I a m S h a t n ~ r
ets. "Always glad to help a wonderful
organization like yours, chum," he said in a louder voice.
"That didn't ring especially sincere. No
matter." Gomez looked around. "Have you spotted any goons or louts hereabouts?"