Montezuma Strip by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

chair and rubbed his eyes.
    “Fordmatsu is out millions and they don’t even know it. Somebody was running one gigabox of a sequence.”
    “Noschek?”
    “Not just Noschek. Maybe he designed the sponge schematic, but they were both into it.”
    “Damn,” she muttered. “What for?”
    “Aye, there’s the rub. That we don’t know yet.”
    “But it doesn’t make any sense. Why would a GenDyne Designer co-opt with somebody out of Parabas? You think maybe they were
     going to fracture and set up their own firm?”
    “I don’t think so. If that was their intent they could havedone it by entrepreneuring. Easier and cheaper.” He leaned back in the chair and ran a hand down Charliebo’s neck. “Besides,
     it doesn’t fit their profiles. Crescent was pure company man, GenDyne do or die. Noschek was too unstable to survive outside
     the corporate womb.”
    “Then why?”
    “I thought they might’ve been doing some work for somebody else but there’s no indication of that anywhere. They did a hell
     of a job of hiding what they were up to, but no way could they hide all that crunch. You know what I think?” He gave Charliebo
     a pat and swiveled around to face her. “I think there’s a box in here that doesn’t belong to GenDyne.”
    “And Noschek?”
    “Maybe there’s one in Parabas, too. Or maybe the same box floating between both locations. With that much crunch you could
     do just about anything.
Quien sabe
what they were into?”
    “So you’re thinking maybe whoever they were working for vacuumed them for the crunch?”
    “Not the crunch, no. Whatever our boys were using it for. Haven’t got a clue to that yet.” He found himself rubbing his eyes
     again.
    She rose and walked over to stand behind his chair. Her hands dug into his shoulders, kneading, releasing the accumulated
     tension. “Let’s get out of here for a while. You’re spending too much time sponging. You try doing that and playing the analytical
     cop simultaneously, you’re going to turn your brain to mush.”
    He hardly heard her. “I’ve got to figure the why before we can figure the how.”
    “Later. No more figuring for today.” She leaned forward. He was enveloped by the folds of her jumpsuit and the heavy, warm
     curves it enclosed. “Even a sponge needs to rest.”
    It came to him when he wasn’t thinking about it, which is often the path taken by revelation. He was lying prone on the oversized
     hybred, feeling the preprogrammed wave motionstroking his back like extruded lanolin. Hypatia lay nearby, her body pale arcs and valleys like sand dunes lit by moonlight.
     The ceaseless murmur of the Strip seeped through the down-polarized windows, a susurration speaking of people and electronics,
     industry and brief flaring sparks of pleasure.
    He ran a hand along her side, starting at her shoulder and accelerating down her ribs, slowing as it ascended the curve of
     her hip. Her skin was cool, unwrinkled. Her mind wasn’t the only thing that had been well taken care of. She rolled over to
     face him. Next to the bed Charliebo stirred in his sleep, chasing ghost rabbits that stayed always just ahead of his teeth.
    “What is it?” She blinked sleepily at him, then made a face. “God, don’t you
ever
sleep? I thought I wore you out enough for that, anyways.”
    He smiled absently. “You did. I just woke up. Funny. You spend all your waking hours working a problem and all you get for
     your efforts is garbage. Then when you’re not concentrating on it—there it is. Set out like cake at a wedding. I just sorted
     it out.”
    She sat up on the hybred. Not all the lingering motion was in the mattress. He luxuriated in the sight of her.
    “Sorted what out?”
    “What Crescent and Noschek were doing together. It wasn’t in the boxes and it wasn’t in their files. No wonder corporate Security
     couldn’t find anything. They never would have. The answer wasn’t in their work. It was in them. In their voices, their