Free Tek Power by William Shatner Page A

you know, I ought to at least give the poor guy a hint. Let him know it was bullshit about her being in an accident.”
    â€œHow’d you know Eve was dead before her husband did?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou phoned Richard, told him she’d been murdered,” said Jake. “That was before the police had contacted him to tell him about the accident.”
    â€œThat’s because I heard it on the vidnews,” Seagrove told him, sniffling. “Listen, Cardigan, I’m not that big a shitcase. If I’d known in advance that they were going to kill her, I’d have gotten her a warning somehow.”
    â€œI’ll take your word.”
    â€œI loved her,” he said quietly. “More than that anemic husband of hers, more than Arnie—more than any of them. The trouble is, she quit loving me.”
    â€œWhere’s the cassette?”
    â€œHere. Up in the bedroom I’m using,” answered Seagrove.
    â€œLet’s,” suggested Jake, “go get it.”

11
    T HE LARGE COPPERY robot was wearing a star-dotted robe and a turban of similar material. He shut the door, activated the electronic safety barrier and shook his head at Gomez. “Why’d you rile those lunkheads?”
    The detective found himself in a small reception parlor. A computer terminal, decorated with the signs of the zodiac, sat on a small round table in the center of the room and there were four straightback chairs lined up against the lefthand wall. At the back of the room velvety black drapes masked a doorway.
    Outside in the street he could hear the Axis Brotherhood troopers go stomping by, shouting threats. They’d apparently lost his trail.
    â€œSomething about my impressive Latino heritage seems to have set them off,” he explained to the robot. “Outside of that, and shooting one of them down, I really didn’t do anything to annoy the lads.”
    â€œThe Street Commandos will take care of them.”
    â€œStreet Commandos?”
    â€œThat’s a local group dedicated to keeping them on their side of the border.”
    â€œDo people get killed during these skirmishes?”
    â€œSometimes a few.”
    The drapes parted to admit a thin young woman of about eighteen. She, too, wore a black robe. “You don’t seem to be, if you’ll excuse my pointing this out, very bright,” she observed. “The sensible thing to do when these rowdies make one of their propaganda raids is to get the heck off the street. Shooting them willy-nilly, to my way of thinking, isn’t the best course of action at all.”
    â€œI only felled one.” He held up a forefinger. “Who are you, by the way, and why did you haul me in here?”
    â€œI’m Princess Carmelita, the well-known mystic and fortune-teller,” the girl answered. “This is Professor Zingaro, my business associate.”
    â€œDid the stars foretell I’d come racing by your doorstep in need of help, Princess?”
    â€œI have a monitoring system that’s extremely effective, Señor Gomez.”
    His eyebrows rose. “Ah, you know me, huh?”
    â€œI learned you’d be dropping in on that old rascal, Charley Charla, and I got curious,” she said. “I’ve heard about you before, that you were an exceptional detective and something of a womanizer.” Her small nose wrinkled and she gave a quick dismissive shrug. “You’re nowhere near as impressive as your reputation led me to expect.”
    â€œWell, my appeal is to more mature minds, cara ,” he informed her. “Tots, suckling babies and those with the brain capacity of an onion, don’t cotton to me as well as do—”
    â€œYou’re also hotheaded and impetuous. You shouldn’t have stungunned Otto out in—”
    â€œPalavering with goons carrying lazrifles, Princess, and calling me names isn’t too bright.”
    She smiled at the big