spoke a few short phrases. "What else, Superintendent?"
"Some information, please. How many convict laborers have we at this station?"
"One hundred forty-three, of whom twenty are in close confinement," Ortega answered immediately.
"And the total value owing by all of them?"
Ortega spoke with a distinct change in the pitch and timbre of his voice. "Dolores. Information. Convict labor. Total current value of contracts at Malvinas station."
"EIGHTY-SEVEN THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND NINE FRANCS THIRTY-FOUR CENTIMES, DARLING," a wall panel said. The voice was a rich contralto, totally unlike the impersonal tones Doyle had heard. Ortega looked embarrassed.
"I will change the voice, Superintendent. When I am alone I prefer—"
"No, no, make no changes," Enoch insisted. He grinned. "What crimes have we here?"
Ortega spoke to the computer again. The contralto voice replied, "THREE MURDERS. TWENTY-FOUR GRAND THEFT. ONE HUNDRED AND THREE PROPERTY DESTRUCTION DUE TO CARELESS OPERATION OF MACHINERY. TWENTY-THREE INJURY TO FELLOW WORKMEN. OF THE LATTER TWO CATEGORIES, EIGHTY-SIX ARE DUE TO ABUSE OF ALCOHOL OR DRUGS. DETAIL. SEVEN—"
"Sufficient. Thank you," Doyle said.
"YES, DEAR."
Ortega looked up, surprised. "I had not known Dolores was keyed to your voice—Ah." He looked closely at Doyle. "Implant."
"Of course. If you are ever promoted to Superintendent, you will have one also. Not that they are as useful as is thought, but sometimes it is a great convenience. How many convict laborers on the mainland?" he asked in the tones recognized by office computers. There was no answer.
"Dolores does not have the key-word program," Ortega explained. He translated: "Information. Santa Rosa. Convict labor. Total number and value of contracts."
"TWO HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN CONVICTS. VALUE OF CONTRACTS SEVENTY THOUSAND FRANCS NINETY CENTIMES. ADDITIONAL. TOTAL VALUE OF CONTRACTS ON MAINLAND PROBABLE VALUE ZERO. SOMEBODY BLEW IT, DARLING."
"Your accountant has a sense of humor," Doyle said dryly. "It may get him in trouble someday."
"But a good man," Ortega said. "Are you ordering me to discipline him?"
"Good Lord, no! How you run this station is your business, and Chief Inspector Menderez's business, and perhaps Zurich's business, but it's certainly not mine." Enoch lifted his beer and drank deeply. There was a low buzz.
"ZURICH ON THE LINE, DARLING," the computer announced.
"SPEAKER," Enoch ordered. "Herr Hartmann? Superintendent Doyle here."
"Ja. Have you more information, Superintendent?"
"No. Have you information for me? We're secure here."
"There are strange developments, Superintendent. The Argentine junta is coming to terms with other companies. It is only with OCEANIQUE that they threaten total confiscation."
"Hmm." Enoch slugged back more beer and thought about that. "Does INTERSECS have contracts with other Argentine based companies?"
"Only minor ventures, and none with enforcement clauses. They are not threatened, in any event."
"Curiouser and curiouser. So why OCEANIQUE?"
"We do not know."
"I see. What have you got for me on the rebel government, then?"
There was a pause and a rustle of printout papers, then Van Hartmann's voice again. "The junta is composed of seven officers who have agreed to ignore their differences in rank. They have informed the Zurich office that all contracts with INTERSECS are void, and there are no negotiations required. They will release our people when they please."
"Damned nice of them," Enoch said. Ortega muttered inaudible curses.
"Of the junta, two are vulnerable. A Colonel Mendoza has gambling debts and owes much money to Recreacion, S.A., as well as to others. The other, a General Rasmussen, has sexual appetites which would not appeal to his military associates. Colonel Mendoza is aware that we know of his problems and has privately assured us that he would be pleased to cooperate but cannot. The General does not know that we have any suspicions. On the others we have nothing of
"Some information, please. How many convict laborers have we at this station?"
"One hundred forty-three, of whom twenty are in close confinement," Ortega answered immediately.
"And the total value owing by all of them?"
Ortega spoke with a distinct change in the pitch and timbre of his voice. "Dolores. Information. Convict labor. Total current value of contracts at Malvinas station."
"EIGHTY-SEVEN THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND NINE FRANCS THIRTY-FOUR CENTIMES, DARLING," a wall panel said. The voice was a rich contralto, totally unlike the impersonal tones Doyle had heard. Ortega looked embarrassed.
"I will change the voice, Superintendent. When I am alone I prefer—"
"No, no, make no changes," Enoch insisted. He grinned. "What crimes have we here?"
Ortega spoke to the computer again. The contralto voice replied, "THREE MURDERS. TWENTY-FOUR GRAND THEFT. ONE HUNDRED AND THREE PROPERTY DESTRUCTION DUE TO CARELESS OPERATION OF MACHINERY. TWENTY-THREE INJURY TO FELLOW WORKMEN. OF THE LATTER TWO CATEGORIES, EIGHTY-SIX ARE DUE TO ABUSE OF ALCOHOL OR DRUGS. DETAIL. SEVEN—"
"Sufficient. Thank you," Doyle said.
"YES, DEAR."
Ortega looked up, surprised. "I had not known Dolores was keyed to your voice—Ah." He looked closely at Doyle. "Implant."
"Of course. If you are ever promoted to Superintendent, you will have one also. Not that they are as useful as is thought, but sometimes it is a great convenience. How many convict laborers on the mainland?" he asked in the tones recognized by office computers. There was no answer.
"Dolores does not have the key-word program," Ortega explained. He translated: "Information. Santa Rosa. Convict labor. Total number and value of contracts."
"TWO HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN CONVICTS. VALUE OF CONTRACTS SEVENTY THOUSAND FRANCS NINETY CENTIMES. ADDITIONAL. TOTAL VALUE OF CONTRACTS ON MAINLAND PROBABLE VALUE ZERO. SOMEBODY BLEW IT, DARLING."
"Your accountant has a sense of humor," Doyle said dryly. "It may get him in trouble someday."
"But a good man," Ortega said. "Are you ordering me to discipline him?"
"Good Lord, no! How you run this station is your business, and Chief Inspector Menderez's business, and perhaps Zurich's business, but it's certainly not mine." Enoch lifted his beer and drank deeply. There was a low buzz.
"ZURICH ON THE LINE, DARLING," the computer announced.
"SPEAKER," Enoch ordered. "Herr Hartmann? Superintendent Doyle here."
"Ja. Have you more information, Superintendent?"
"No. Have you information for me? We're secure here."
"There are strange developments, Superintendent. The Argentine junta is coming to terms with other companies. It is only with OCEANIQUE that they threaten total confiscation."
"Hmm." Enoch slugged back more beer and thought about that. "Does INTERSECS have contracts with other Argentine based companies?"
"Only minor ventures, and none with enforcement clauses. They are not threatened, in any event."
"Curiouser and curiouser. So why OCEANIQUE?"
"We do not know."
"I see. What have you got for me on the rebel government, then?"
There was a pause and a rustle of printout papers, then Van Hartmann's voice again. "The junta is composed of seven officers who have agreed to ignore their differences in rank. They have informed the Zurich office that all contracts with INTERSECS are void, and there are no negotiations required. They will release our people when they please."
"Damned nice of them," Enoch said. Ortega muttered inaudible curses.
"Of the junta, two are vulnerable. A Colonel Mendoza has gambling debts and owes much money to Recreacion, S.A., as well as to others. The other, a General Rasmussen, has sexual appetites which would not appeal to his military associates. Colonel Mendoza is aware that we know of his problems and has privately assured us that he would be pleased to cooperate but cannot. The General does not know that we have any suspicions. On the others we have nothing of
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