Free Tek Money by William Shatner

that?”
    â€œNothing, a little android humor.”
    â€œI’m human, I assure you, although some of the staff think I’ve got gears inside me instead of organs.” He gestured at a chair and sat down again. “I was having a little lunch. Too busy to get out today. Join me?”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œWe have an excellent galley on this floor, I saw to that. I can have them send in some enchiladas or tamales.”
    â€œActually, I eat only Hungarian food.” He settled into the indicated chair.
    â€œHow’s that? Oh, I see—more humor.”
    Gomez smiled, then asked, “You and Peter Traynor were friends?”
    Barragray set down the fork he’d picked up. “I certainly tried to be Pete’s friend,” he answered. “As I’m sure you know already, Amy St. Mars and I have been good friends since college days over in Europe. Pete, though—I made a real effort to get close to the guy, but without much luck, I’m afraid.”
    â€œYou were aware he was addicted to Tek?”
    â€œYes, it was obvious.” He paused to eat some of his brown rice. “There are, I’m afraid, a few other employees in this division who use the stuff regularly. But if they do their work—most of them are exceptionally bright, by the way—it’s my policy to let them stay on.” He set the fork to one side again and leaned back in his chair. “Pete had just about reached, I have to admit, the limits of toleration around here. I was trying to stay on his side and keep him on our payroll—he was a very gifted technician in spite of his habit—but I’ve been under increasing pressure of late to sever him.” He looked directly at Gomez. “There’s no possibility, I suppose, that his death was a suicide?”
    â€œNone. Why?”
    â€œPete had been getting worse lately. Jumpy, depressed, suspicious,” said the Gunsmiths, Ltd., First Vice President. “You’ve heard, I’m sure, of his completely unfounded suspicions about weapons being smuggled out of our San Andreas Arsenal facility?”
    â€œ Sí. Unfounded, huh?”
    Barragray ate again. Eventually he said, “There is absolutely nothing going on at Gunsmiths—at any of our locations—that I don’t know about. That’s why I’ve been able to keep the position of First Vice President of the whole organization for over five years. And, I might add, why I’ll be President when Cullen Brozlin decides to step down.” He took up the fork and pointed it at the detective. “No, Mr. Gomez, if there were anything missing from the warehouse there, I’d be fully aware of it.”
    â€œDid you go there and check?”
    â€œOf course. Even though all our people there and the computers confirmed there had been no thefts of any sort.” He spread his hands wide. “There is nothing— nada , Mr. Gomez—that is missing.”
    â€œNot even a batch of the Devlin Guns?”
    â€œNot even one of them.”
    Gomez rubbed at his moustache. “What exactly is the Devlin Gun?”
    â€œA remarkable weapon. A pity it was outlawed.” He dropped the fork, undid the napkin and left his desk.
    There was a large holo platform in front of the lefthand wall of his large office.
    Crouching, Barragray punched out something on a keypad at the edge of the platform. “This is a demo we produced some years ago,” he explained. “At the time, of course, we had no idea that the UN was going to be so conservative about the Devlin Gun and forbid its use.” He chuckled. “A lot of them, the UN people, nicknamed it the Devil Gun.”
    A field of grass came to bright life on the platform. Standing in the knee-high grass was a young man wearing only a pair of shorts. He was about two feet high.
    â€œOh, keep in mind that this is all simulation stuff, no matter how real it looks,” said