Dori and the Master Criminal

Jason Beck was nervous, irritable. It was almost time to pick up the ransom for the kitten they had kidnapped—okay, catnapped—last night. The proud owners, among the wealthiest people in Paradigm City, were desperate to get their rare, almost extinct pet back unharmed. Price was no object. They had stopped haggling when they'd talked Beck down to a quarter of a million dollars. He'd expected to settle for less. A lot less.

That part was all right. The problem was Dori, his girlfriend. R. Dori Wayneright was an android. Yes, her body was a mechanical marvel, part of same batch that had produced her sisters R. Dorothy Wayneright and the now-dead R.D., and yes, she had an electronic brain. But her brain was based on a 41-year-old mind recording of a girl named Dorothy Wayneright, who had been just eighteen at the time. Dori was as human as anybody. Never mind all the titanium and electronics inside her. She had real emotions.

And Beck was breaking her heart right now, he just knew it. She'd fallen desperately in love with the little gray kitten they'd stolen last night. She had named the kitten "Pero" and spent the intervening hours either playing with him or petting him as he slept in her lap. And now she had to give him up.

Beck was a career criminal. In many ways he was callous, hardened, and uncompromising, but not where Dori was concerned. If you scratched Dori, Beck bled. And in her brief career as an android—he'd only activated her a few weeks ago—most of her painful experiences were his fault. This wasn't surprising. In addition to his unsuitable background, even Beck's friends agreed that he was most aggravating man alive. He was high-strung to the point of twitchiness, self-aggrandizing, vain, touchy, and obsessive.

He didn't deserve Dori. That he had her at all was a miracle—a series of miracles, really. Just stealing her unactivated body and the lab notes to bring her fully to life was a miracle. Acquiring his Megadeus, Big B, was another. Was this the hand of fate? Or was it just a cruel delusion, with his plans likely to come crashing down at any moment?

No, he didn't deserve Dori. Not yet. But Beck had a plan. Beck always had a plan. He'd redeem himself; then he'd deserve her. He was almost certain of it. Soon. But not if he kept screwing up!

Pero was asleep in her lap now. She was petting him gently and humming a tune to herself. Interrupting this scene of innocent happiness was going to be hard. Beck hesitated. He could crack a safe in the middle of the night or rob a bank by day without a flicker of anxiety. This was just as well, since he planned on doing both in the next twenty-four hours. But this was different. Summoning his nerve, he walked over to where she was sitting. He said gently, "Dori, honey, it's time to leave."

Without looking at him, she said quietly, "It's interesting. I didn't know him for very long at all, but I'm glad I met him."

"I'm sorry, Dori."

She nodded. After a moment she stood up slowly, cradling the kitten in her arms. She turned to face him. She looked unhappy, but said only, "Let's get Pero back to his owners. He misses them."

"He does?"

"Yes. He told me." She started walking towards the car. "Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're giving up your life of crime."

Beck felt a flash of anger at this indirect criticism, followed by relief. "Me, too," he said. It was about the mildest thing she could have said, under the circumstances. "Soon. Real soon."

They got into the car, a nondescript sedan, neither new nor old, with heavily tinted glass.

Roger Smith, Beck's nemesis, had the world's fanciest car, replete with armor, missiles, machine guns, remote driving capability, and, according to the auto customizers Beck had befriended, a switch that caused both seats to fold into a bed.

Beck's cars had none of these things. Though Beck was the world's biggest show-off, he'd spent a lot of his recent prison time thinking, and he'd concluded that sometimes it paid to advertise, while the rest of the time it was good to be unnoticed, invisible. This had been reinforced by the grandiose and ultimately fatal antics of Alan Gabriel and Alex Rosewater. So Beck's current cars were modified only slightly: tinted glass, high-performance suspension, and the most powerful engine he could find that still sounded like a stock engine. He'd always laughed at undercover cops with racing cams on their unmarked cars. They wouldn't fool a child; they hadn't fooled him when he was a child, back when lookout duty was his main task. That and wriggling through spaces no adult could manage. The bed was the sole modification to Roger's car that Beck envied.

While Roger Smith's car had an elaborate anti-theft system, Beck always kept the key in the ignition. He'd once almost been caught after a bank robbery when his keys went astray when he switched disguises. Sure, he'd broken the world hot-wiring record and escaped, but it had been a near thing. After that, he always left one key in the ignition and another in his pocket.

True, you could have your getaway car stolen at the worst possible moment, but that was the lesser risk. And having a car stolen at any other time? That was just a nuisance. His cars were nothing special, easily replaced, and Beck had several, using them in rotation.

Dori was in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead and sitting with perfect posture as Beck drove them back from the handoff. They were in the suburbs in the north of the city, an area outside the domes but not abandoned; perhaps even thriving in a small way.

The handoff had gone smoothly. Dori had found it hard to let Pero go, very hard, but it was necessary. She hoped she'd always do what was necessary. She'd put Pero into his owner's arms personally. That was important, far more important than the suitcase full of money on the back seat.

She knew Beck was worried about her. He'd broken his long-standing rule about not involving girlfriends in his crimes, and he regretted it. Crime was hard on her. It was almost unbearable when she saw the victims face to face. She felt the urge to resent this, to blame it on Beck, but that wouldn't do. Instead, she resolved that, barring some emergency, this was her last crime. It would be better for both of them.

Beck glanced at her for the fourteenth time. She'd told him she was all right three times already, but he wasn't satisfied. Probably because she'd have said the same thing if she weren't all right. She thought about this, then made her second resolution. No more hiding anything from Beck.

"Jason," she said, "I've decided to retire from my life of crime."

"Well, we both have," he said.

"Effective today."

"What? I still need to do a few more jobs!"

"I know."

She watched him sidelong as he considered, then he grinned his crooked grin and said, "Anything you say, Dori."

She relaxed, smiling faintly. Everything was going to be all right.

They rounded a corner, then Beck slammed on the brakes. Dori braced both hands on the dashboard to avoid being hurled through the windshield. Beck braced himself against the steering wheel. Seat belts weren't standard equipment and Beck hadn't installed any.

Ahead, far too close, two giant robots were battling each other. The nearest one was Big O, the black Megadeus piloted by Beck's nemesis, Roger Smith. Dori didn't recognize the other one. She took her hands off the metal dashboard, which now had two hand-sized dents.

Beck hastily turned the car around and started racing away from the fracas. Dori turned around in her seat to watch the battle.

Dori suddenly said, "Big Lazarus." The name had appeared in her mind.

Beck glanced nervously at her. As the world's greatest living expert in Class M androids, he knew she was somewhat telepathic with Megadeuses—it was part of her function—and this made her vulnerable. Given the slightest chance, a Mega deus would take her over. They could sense her a mile away. Normally. But Dori was wearing the stealth device he'd invented, making her invisible to Megadeuses.

Dori said, "Big Lazarus hasn't detected me. He has powerful weapons. I'm worried about Dorothy."

Dorothy was Roger Smith's girlfriend and was probably helping him pilot Big O right now, immune to Big Lazarus' influence through Big O's shielding and moral support. Dori was on fire to meet them: Dorothy, Roger, and Big O, too. But not in the middle of a battle!

Beck grinned and said, "Well, I can't have my Dori all worried." He raised his watch close to his mouth. "Big B! It's showtime!" He continued driving away from the battle.

Behind them, the battle continued. There was an enormous explosion. Dori reported, "Jason, the explosion damaged the All-Alloys machine shop."

"Damn it to hell!" Beck fumed. "They do good work!"

"I hope everyone's all right."

Behind them, a glow appeared, soon accompanied by a vast, continuous roaring. The beam became gradually brighter until even Dori's android eyes couldn't look at it.

"Fusion beam, I think," she reported eventually. "And Big O is using a force screen." After a pause she added, "Big B will arrive in three minutes."

"We're gonna be too late," said Beck grimly. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Keep trying, Jason."

"Yeah." They was almost to the rendezvous point.

The roar and brilliance of the fusion beam ceased. The metallic thud and din of robot battle resumed. Dori got a faint impression of a terrifying weapon inside Big Lazarus' chest, even worse than the fusion beam, but fortunately in need of repairs.

Before the three minutes were up, the battle sounds ceased, and Dori got a glimpse of Big Lazarus in the distance, limping away from the battle. He was missing an arm and glowing red-hot in places. She sensed that his core memory had received minor damage and might shut itself down soon, though not yet. He marched into the river and disappeared in an enormous cloud of steam.

Beck spoke to his watch. "Return to quarters, Big B." He pulled over, stretched, and sighed. "What now, Dori?"

"Let's help dig out the survivors."

Beck paused, then said, "We're too damned distinctive. I have a hat and a pair of blue coveralls in the trunk, but too many people know R. Dorothy Wayneright when they see her, especially in that getup."

"I'll take off the jabot and cuffs. That and my blonde hair should be enough. Everyone will be busy."

"Yeah, alright," said Beck without enthusiasm. He put the car in gear and raced to the scene of destruction.

They arrived and got to work. No ambulances or fire trucks had arrived yet; not even sirens in the distance.

Beck's hard-won experience with collapsed structures came in handy, though his experience was mostly with tunnels into banks or out of prisons. He assisted work that extricated several people from the debris that had once been All-Alloys Machining. They could recognize him if they liked: he was a good customer, after all. But they didn't. They had their own troubles, like Dori said.

Several buildings in the area were on fire, so Dori took surreptitious advantage of her superhuman strength, her heat resistance, and the fact that she didn't need to breathe. She assisted rescues that would not have succeeded without her. Too bad about the dress, though. Ripped and scorched, its remnants were almost torn from her body when she took a direct hit from an ill-aimed fire hose. Emergency services had finally arrived.

Beck appeared beside her and murmured, "Time to skedaddle. At least half a dozen cops who know me are here now."

Dori felt her Wayneright stubbornness take hold of her, leaving her wordlessly mutinous. There was more to be done here! She glared at Beck, then noticed that he had dialed down his intensity. Normally larger than life, attracting all eyes, he had somehow made himself inconspicuous, uninteresting, almost invisible. She'd never seen this before. The situation must be serious! Her gaze softened. She nodded and they meandered back to the car. The suitcase with the money was still on the back seat. They drove off sedately.

After arriving home before noon, Beck drove off for a quick visit to Precision Fabricators. They were making some new assemblies for Big B, and Beck checked their progress frequently.

Dori stayed behind and mulled her clothing options. Her dress was ruined and she had little other clothing, just the black leather catsuit, really. It was delightfully sexy and had the most amazing effect on Beck, but it was hardly the sort of outfit she wanted to wear on a shopping trip.

Dori mourned the destruction of her black dress. It had been beautiful, perfectly tailored, and had an astronomical price tag. Beck had loved it. It hurt to see the tattered, soiled rags it had become.

Clad in her underwear, Dori looked without much hope through the few articles of women's clothing that had accumulated in Beck's closet, abandoned or stashed there by old girlfriends. More accurately, it had accumulated in a series of Beck's closets, since he moved frequently. The thought of his old girlfriends made her jealous in a way she rather enjoyed, since it made her feel entirely human. Apparently, all the women except one were long gone, no longer on speaking terms with Beck. As she expected, all the clothing was too large for her.

She took out the pink skirt suit that Angel had left behind. She removed the dry-cleaner's bag and laid the suit out on the bed. Of course, it was far too large for her. Angel was one of those big, beautiful, large-breasted blondes, while Dori was petite. But the suit rewarded close examination. In theory, it was serious professional attire for the stylish businesswoman, but with little touches here and there to subliminally shift the viewer's mind away from business. It was a work of art. Not to mention the hidden pockets, some of which still held concealed gadgets, including lock picks and a tiny hacksaw blade.

Dori sighed. She wanted to meet Angel more than anything, even more than Roger and Dorothy. Though she hadn't met any of them yet, she loved them all and missed them terribly. Big O, too. She was glad that Beck had checked with his own Megadeus, Big B, who could monitor Big O in a general sort of way, reporting that everyone made it home safely. That was a relief.

Having found nothing suitable in the closet, Dori remembered seeing a thick mail-order catalog from a Paradigm City department store in the heap of junk mail. Beck hated junk mail and would have thrown it out as fast as it arrived, but Dori, only recently awakened in an unfamiliar Paradigm City, found it educational. But not so educational that she had kept up with it.

She picked up the catalog and leafed through it. It had an excellent selection. She discovered she didn't feel comfortable buying the fancier garments sight-unseen. She wanted to see them with her own eyes, run her hands over the fabric, and try them on first.

Maybe that was just as well. Dori had ruined enough dresses for now. Yes, Beck would replace the black dress a dozen times over without a second thought. He liked pampering and spoiling her. If anything, he'd enjoy the expense. Beck had described the two other outfits he'd seen Dorothy wear, and they, too, were expensive and stylish dresses.

No, Dori told herself. I'm a different Dorothy. She decided that her new wardrobe would be both different and affordable. She'd let Beck spoil her some other time.

Dori knew her measurements by heart. She made her selections and phoned in an order. Just the basics for now. She paid extra to have her order ready for pickup in an hour. She'd have Beck pick it up if convenient, otherwise she'd dispatch a cab to fetch it for her and drop it off at a nearby spot, or maybe the little beach house. It was hard to drag Beck away from his projects, though he enjoyed the beach as much as she did. She'd used a false name for the order, of course, one she had a credit card for. The use of multiple aliases, accounts, and addresses was becoming second nature. Beck had even coached her on altering her voice convincingly, using her android voice box in clever ways. She never used her own voice on the phone unless talking to Beck.

Beck parked in back of Precision Fabricators, the best of the small no-questions-asked manufacturers. He walked in the back door and onto the shop floor.

A good fraction of the space was occupied by some new assemblies for Big B: the replacement kneecaps and toe caps. These held secret weapons that would give Big B's enemies the last surprise they ever had, or so Beck hoped.

But Big Lazarus' fusion beam had been a real eye-0pener. Beck had nothing like it for Big B, not even on the drawing board. Nor anything that could remotely defend Big B against such a weapon. Big B was still lightly armed and armored, and Beck's new weapons weren't enough to tip the scales. Not even close. But they'd help! They'd probably save his life someday. Someday soon. Beck was haunted by the fear they wouldn't be ready when he needed them.

Workers were supposed to be swarming all over these assemblies, but none were. Where was everybody?

Furious, he hunted down the chief engineer, Macintyre. Macintyre was leaning over a drafting board in his office.

"Damn it, Macintyre!" snarled Beck. "What the hell are you trying to do to me?"

Macintyre looked up. "Hey, Beck," he said, ignoring Beck's theatrics.

"I'm paying you for three shifts of workmen! They're supposed to be swarming over the work like ants!"

"We have this thing here, Beck," said Macintyre. "It's called lunch. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Don't give me that crap, Macintyre. I'm paying good money for 24/7 work, and I'm not getting it. What are you going to do about it?"

Macintyre pondered. "I'd better talk to the Machinist's Guild, then."

"Talk to them? Talk to them? Just tell them!"

"If you want to give it a try, Beck, go right ahead. Jacobs over there is the man you want."

In fact, men were already streaming onto the shop floor, their lunch break almost over.

Beck strode to Jacobs. "What the hell, Jacobs! I come in here and nobody's working?"

"Everybody gets a lunch break at noon, Beck."

"Not any more you don't. I wanna see people working their tails off all the time"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jacobs turned to the crowd of workmen who had come up to listen to the argument. "Down tools, guys. We're on strike."

A growl went up from the crowd, halfway between a cheer and a promise of mayhem.

Beck stormed back into Macintyre's office. "Damn it, Macintyre! What are you going to do about this? I need those assemblies finished!"

Macintyre was putting the cover over his calculating machine. "Can't help you, Beck. I'm on strike until the Guild says otherwise. That means Jacobs again." He walked to the door and waved Beck out of his office, then turned off the lights. "He'll call me back when the strike is over."

"Guilds," muttered Beck. "Damn it to hell! What's the world coming to?"

He thought glumly that this wouldn't have happened if Dori had been with him. He was calmer when she was around. Hell, everybody was. He could have acted just the same, but if Dori were with him, somehow the strike wouldn't have happened. It was the damnedest thing! Especially coming from an android. One whose speech seemed almost impaired, sometimes. And who was supposedly identical to her sister Dorothy. Sure, some people found Dorothy captivating, but she had the opposite effect on others.

But Dori had stayed home, saying she had nothing to wear. Damn it! He should have stolen more than one dress from that dressmaker friend of Norman's. It's not like anyone would notice. Dorothy was ruining them so fast these days that Norman was ordering them a half-dozen at a time, throwing the dressmaker's shop into chaos.

Beck shook his head. He wondered about Dorothy, sometimes.

Dori asked Beck to pick up her order when he checked in from a phone booth, and here he was, the paper-wrapped parcel in his arms and an expression of lively curiosity on his face. Dori was glad to see he hadn't peeked inside. (Or had he? He was clever about such things.) She had told him nothing about her selections, and he was clearly on fire to see what she'd ordered. She considered ordering him out of the room until she was ready to model for him. He'd like that. But she doubted he'd find it worth the wait.

"Don't get your hopes up, Jason," she warned, opening the package. "It's all casual attire."

There were several yellow blouses in different styles, a cute yellow raincoat, socks in various colors, white cotton underwear and bras, a pale yellow sweater, sneakers, deck shoes, and blue jeans. Dori was pleased. It was just what she was hoping for.

Beck withheld judgment. "Well, try 'em on."

So she did. It was a shame that this kind of wardrobe provided so little opportunity for him to help her, though she'd had the foresight to buy bras that hooked in the back. She was soon dressed. These casual clothes felt familiar, as if they'd always part of her wardrobe, all those years ago, along with the dresses. Back when she was a human. They felt good; they felt right. They weren't a disguise at all! They were another side of her, one she'd forgotten. The thought made her happy. She looked at herself in the mirror and turned this way and that. She looked great.

Beck took a step back to look her up and down. "Why deck shoes?" he asked.

"Traction." She weighed almost 300 pounds and had tiny feet.

"And the blue jeans?"

"Ambiguity," she said. He raised an eyebrow and she smiled faintly. "Jason, if you saw a girl dressed just like me, how much ransom would you expect for her?"

He appraised her coldly. It frightened her. Then he smiled and everything was all right. "She could be a rich kid dressing casually, especially if she's a college student, but she could be the daughter of an unemployed plumber. I get it. You could be anybody, and that makes you nobody."

"No one will connect me with my sister, or with you."

Beck asked, "What about the yellow blouse?"

She told him earnestly, "I tried to buy other colors, Jason, I really did. I just couldn't." Jason had always worn yellow, and Big B showed traces of his original paint, yellow with black trim. Dori had thought she could wear any color she pleased. Apparently not. She was grateful that it wasn't all-encompassing. It hadn't been difficult to buy items in other colors if they weren't available in yellow.

Beck put his arms around her and kissed her. "I'm glad I made you a blonde, then."

He gave her his full attention for a moment, then she had to ask, "What's wrong?"

"I mouthed off at Macintyre and now the Guild's on strike."

"You didn't hit him, did you?"

"Naw, I didn't lay a finger on anybody."

Dori said, "I can make things right, Jason, if you give me a free hand." She had accompanied him to Precision Fabricators several times and knew everyone there. She respected their work and liked them personally, and they knew it.

One phone call and five minutes later, it was all smoothed over. Dori listened with sympathy to Jacobs and agreed with everything he said. He found himself dropping, unmentioned, the more objectionable demands he and the boys had come up with.

There was only one point of disagreement. Dori said, "You're all doing such fine work, Mr. Jacobs, and the bonus clauses don't really reflect how happy that makes us. Couldn't you double the penalty? I'd feel better."

He agreed at once, of course.

Dori hung up the phone and told Beck, "Jason, they promise the last straggler will be at work in less than an hour."

Beck smiled down at her. "Dori, how did I ever get along without you?"

"I don' t know, Jason. I really don't."

Beck asked Dori for the fourth time, "Six hours is a long time, Dori. Sure you'll be okay?"

She nodded earnestly. "I'll be fine, Jason."

"We've never been apart for more than an hour and a half, and that felt long to you."

"One hundred and seven minutes," she corrected, then mentally kicked herself. That was the kind of correction a robot would make. Beck noticed such things. He would not be reassured.

R. Dori was an android, of course, with an electronic brain. Her personality was an uneasy mix of the human, the robotic, and elements betwixt and between. Her human personality was based on a forty-one-year-old recording of the human Dorothy Wayneright, who was barely eighteen at the time. This human personality was supposed to be dominant. In fact, the newly activated android's most important task to stay human, or the integration of her disparate mental parts would fail with disastrous consequences. To promote this, androids were given a profound emotional dependence on a human. Dori had had awakened with a deep love for Beck. She would become distressed if they were separated for too long. This was a fail-safe measure that prevented her robotic parts from taking charge and going off on their own. The logistics of this attachment were why Beck had relaxed his rule about not involving girlfriends in his crimes.

Dori felt almost completely human already. Her robot side never bothered her at all. She was doing so well! She was dependent on Beck, but she stood up to him. Yes, she felt very grown-up these days. She estimated her tolerance at twenty-four hours. Beck's estimate was eight to ten hours, so his plan was to rob two banks and be home within six hours, just to be safe.

The "whirlwind of crime" part didn't bother Dori. Well, not much. Beck knew how to use speed to his advantage. The first robbery was a safecracking job, and when the news of the robbery got out, every bank guard in the city would be thinking of nighttime security, not daylight robbery, so that's what Beck was doing next.

Dori straightened Beck's tie. It was red. Beck was wearing a blue suit, an honest-to-goodness off-the rack blue suit! Amazing. And a white shirt. No yellow anywhere, not even his boxers. She had insisted. Disguises had to be thorough. A stylish fedora hid his yellow curls. She had insisted on that, too.

Dori had ordered Beck's new clothes herself, to spare him the effort of pushing past the compulsion to wear yellow. Dori was fine with wearing yellow most of the time, but had discovered on her second order that she had a free choice when it came to lingerie and was now the proud possessor of a naughty red negligee. And of course she had a semi-free choice of articles that weren't available in yellow, like her black catsuit or her blue jeans.

"You look fine, Mysterious Stranger," she said, as he stared glumly into the full-length mirror. She put an arm around his waist, and after a moment he smiled briefly at her reflection, then became serious, businesslike.

He said, "Remember our contingency plans."

"I will."

"And I'll be back soon."

"I know. Good luck."

They kissed and he strode out of the apartment without a backward glance, already focused on the work ahead. Without glancing at the clock, Dori knew it was 4:03 AM.

Dori stared at nothing, her mind blank. It was 6:56 AM. Beck had left two hours and fifty-three minutes ago. She had been fine at first, then had become increasingly sad and fearful.

She combated this with activity. Beck worked off emotions by pacing, complaining loudly and at length, and kicking things across the room. She tried each in turn. Pacing did nothing. Complaining at length proved to be beyond her capabilities. When she tried kicking the metal wastebasket across the room, her foot punched right through it, ruining one of her new deck shoes but leaving her foot unharmed. She switched into a pair of high-top canvas sneakers.

Household chores worked best, keeping her in motion while accomplishing something meaningful. Reading was almost useless; her mind wandered too much. Studying the specifications for upgrades to Big B required more concentration than she could muster. Moments of stillness were the worst.

One of her last coherent thoughts was wishing that Big B were here. Big B would comfort her. But since there was a chance that Beck would be followed home, and he didn't want to lead anyone to Big B, the Megadeus was at one of the other hangars. Dori was in this one because it had the shortest travel time from the banks. By coincidence, it was also the one housing their apartment.

She felt vaguely that her current blankness would not last. Either another part of her would take over soon, or her distress would return, stronger than ever.

Beck worked quickly but methodically, emptying the bank vault of its best assets. All was quiet. He put another sack of cash into the trash can attached to the janitor's cart. He'd put worn coveralls over his suit and wore a matching ball cap.

He looked around. All done. He put the lid on the trash can, wheeled it out of the vault, and then closed and locked the vault door. That would buy him a few extra minutes before the robbery was discovered. Just in case.

He wheeled the cart out through the back door, which let him out without protest. He'd jiggered the brand-new, top-of-the-line alarm system nicely.

He wanted to cackle with glee but couldn't, not when he was in disguise. What a wonderful world it was! The banking industry had adopted a fad of dispensing with night watchmen in favor of enhanced alarm systems. Right when he needed the money, too. Very thoughtful. He'd have to send them a thank-you note! He did that sometimes.

He wondered if there was some kind of scam going on. First the alarm company sells an expensive alarm system, then one of their confederates robs the bank, then the alarm company sells them an even more expensive alarm system that will surely prevent repetitions, then the bank is robbed again. You'd only need one confederate in the alarm company. An engineer, an assembly technician. Hell, even a maintenance technician; in fact, that would be ideal. Too bad he was quitting the business. It was raining money out here.

His car was nearby. He opened the trunk, looked around for early-morning busybodies, saw none, and quickly dumped the trash can into the trunk. Then he neatly left the cart in the adjacent alley and drove off. Half a million dollars, at least. It was going to be a good day.

He looked at his watch. 7:16 AM. Right on time. The second bank was experimenting with early hours and opened at eight.

He wanted to find a phone booth and call Dori, but she wanted him to stay focused. She'd made him promise not to call except in an emergency.

Robot Dori stepped forward, allowing her distraught human personality to fall asleep. Robot Dori sat quietly for a moment as she considered what to do next. She was much less emotional than her human personality, but also less creative and more hemmed in with compulsions (or programming, if you preferred that term). Her understanding of Dori was no more than adequate. Her understanding of other humans was much weaker.

Her main goals were clear: protect herself, protect Beck, and protect Big B. It would be dangerous to jog Beck's elbow at the moment, so she checked on Big B first. She went to the workshop and sat down at the communications console. The status indicators showed that Big B was right where they'd left him; he was fine and had nothing to report. But that was only what the monitors said. She sent a coded query to Big B, and he quickly sent the correct countersign and a reassuring report: nothing to report. Good.

It was 7:37 AM. Beck had left three hours and thirty-four minutes ago. Beck expected to return around 10 AM. Dori's distress wouldn't let her sleep anywhere near that long. Robot Dori needed to either change the basic situation or give Dori something to do when she awoke. Ideally this would be important, urgent, compelling, and time-consuming. A good task would push the distress far into the background.

Robot Dori could not invent such a situation: that was beyond her capabilities. But she could search for important tasks that that had not been attended to. The more urgent, the better. Robot Dori reviewed Dori's entire life with infinite patience, second by second, including background sounds, peripheral vision, and fleeting thoughts, starting when she had first awakened and ending at the present moment. It was only a few weeks, after all.

Wait, what? She examined the stored photographs of several sheets of paper that Dori had taken from a safe, memorized, then replaced. She hadn't understood them and had forgotten to study them later. Robot Dori studied the contents minutely. A weapons project, turning humans into mind-controlled cyborgs.

Robot Dori was impressed. The methods summarized might just avoid the body-image problems that inevitably resulted in cyborgs going insane. In its way, it was more elegant than the elaborate methods used to preserve the sanity of androids and Megadeuses. Very clever indeed.

She concluded that Dori would be saddened by the very concept, and tentatively guessed that Beck would be angered by it. Robot Dori understood her Dominus less well than she should. To Robot Dori, their wish was her command. Elegant or not, the cyborgs were her enemies.

The important part, though, was the plan of attack and schedule on the last sheet. If they'd stuck to their schedule, the first batch of cyborgs was nearly complete, and their attack on Paradigm City would take place in six days! Someone would have to stop them.

Good. Figuring out how to spread the word would keep Dori busy for a while. For some reason, Dori really cared about people, even strangers. Excellent.

Robot Dori continued her scan, and found something else. The kidnapping of the kitten Pero. It was a miracle that Roger Smith hadn't been called in to negotiate the handoff. That was a lucky escape! But Beck was planning two more high-class ransom deals in the next few days: a kidnapping and an art heist. Surely Roger Smith would be brought in on at least one of them, maybe both. That was terribly dangerous!

Roger, Dorothy, and Big O were a powerful, experienced Megadeus team. Robot Dori loved Beck and Big B but had no illusions about who would win if the two Megadeuses came to blows, as they so easily could. Especially if Roger tracked Beck to his lair.

And that Angel woman was living with Roger Smith. Robot Dori was not certain, but it seemed that Angel could find them anytime she liked. Dori loved Angel, though they had never met, just as she loved Roger and Dorothy. She thought of them as her family. Conflict between Beck and any of them would be an unimaginable catastrophe. Very well. Dori would be given the task of preventing this. Robot Dori stepped aside.

Dori was suddenly struck by a thought. Those papers she'd found in the safe held an attack plan, didn't they? She hadn't grasped the implications when she'd skimmed them before. She reviewed the pages again. Yes: The city would be attacked by cyborgs in just six days. The plan was all too plausible. Even if it failed, it would cause terrible damage. A lot of poor, innocent people would die. And not-so-innocent people as well, which to Dori was just as bad. The city must be warned at once!

And how lucky they had been that Roger had not been there to negotiate the return of Pero! How strange that they had not anticipated this! If Roger followed Beck's back-trail, Beck might be caught and thrown into prison. Dori doubted she would survive such a separation. Worse, an attempt to capture Beck might end up in a battle between Big O and Big B. Such a tragedy would be far more than Dori could bear. No, she must forestall this right away. But how? She knew so few people.

Her earlier distress forgotten, Dori focused on the task at hand. They could approach Angel, couldn't they? Yes, definitely. Dori could even contact Angel on her own if she had to. Angel didn't know Dori's name, didn't know she was an android, but she knew that she was Beck's girlfriend, and they'd spoken briefly on the phone, twice. Angel had listened then, and she'd listen now. She was fond of Beck.

And surely R. Dorothy would listen to her own sister? Yes, of course she would!

What about Roger Smith? Dori wasn't sure. In time, yes, of course he would listen. But she knew (how?) that he was emotional sometimes, and could be stubborn. He wasn't a sure thing like his two women were. Not in the short term.

Was that the right way to go about this? Beck was planning on kidnapping a rich old lady tomorrow night; Mrs. Riviera. That didn't leave much time. What if Roger handled the negotiations? That would be incredibly dangerous. Could Beck be dissuaded from the kidnapping? Perhaps, but Dori doubted it. He was handing most of the money over to the Union to prove his loyalty and demonstrate he was goose who laid the golden egg. He'd promised them the money, bragged about it, guaranteed it. It was part of his plan to lull and distract them before he sold them down the river in a couple of weeks. He also planned to steal the money again with one hand as he betrayed them to the city with the other. Maintaining Big B was expensive.

Could Dori give the information to Roger? To Dorothy? To Angel? Say, by courier? Certainly she could. It would be easy. But she needed to buy as much protection with it as she could.

Roger and Dorothy didn't know she existed, but they would be grieved if they learned she had been hurt. Dorothy especially. Dori was absolutely certain about this. She had reason to be.

Dori remembered the day, not long ago, when she and Beck had gone into the Underground, following up a report that a Class M android had been activated in the most brutal manner possible and turned into a mad assassin. The android had been called R. D. and had killed several people. Horrible!

But perhaps R. D. was still there in her purported hideout in the Underground, perhaps damaged, perhaps deactivated. And other useful android equipment might also be there. Maybe even some of the missing technical information. It was worth a look.

And then they had found poor R. D.'s remains, shattered and scattered and buried and broken almost beyond recognition, but not quite. R. D. had a twin of R. Dorothy Wayneright, a twin of Dori herself. Dori's poor, mad sister, dead before Dori was born.

They had found R. D.'s coffin-like hibernation/activation chamber nearby. They'd cleaned it up and laid it on the ground, then gathered the pitiful few fragments and laid them inside, making it a coffin in fact.

After they fastened the lid, Dori had been overwhelmed. How brief life can be! And what a fragile thing sanity was. How hard it was to avoid having one's mind bent and broken to another's will.

It could so easily have been Dori lying in that coffin. A maniac just happened to choose one identical, helpless, deactivated android instead of another. It could have been her. It was hard to grasp, hard to truly believe that it wasn't her lying shattered and cold and dead in the coffin, never to live or love ever again.

Beck had to lead her by the hand, stumbling and unseeing, back to the surface.

The next day, she demanded that Beck take her back to the Underground. They placed flowers on the coffin. Beck was very solemn. They stood a while, gazing down at it.

Dori asked in a small voice, "Jason? How do I pray? I don't remember."

Beck said softly, "You just talk as if they can hear you, honey, even if you don't say the words out loud."

After a moment, Dori said, "R.D., I am your sister Dori. I'm sorry you were treated so badly and never met anyone who loved you. You deserved better, R.D. I know it's too late now, but you are my sister. I love you." After a long time she whispered, "Good-bye."

And then they returned to the surface. Neither of them spoke for a long, long time.

Beck was standing in the alley outside the second bank, feeling pleased with himself. He cut the last wire of the alarm system—what kind of idiot puts the wiring block out in the alley, with just a crappy little padlock?—and closed the access box. The silent alarm that summoned the cops was no more. Then he cut the phone lines.

He wiped his hands on his handkerchief, put it away, and walked in the front door of the bank, smiling, respectable, and anonymous in his off-the-rack suit and hat. There were two customers at the teller's window, both middle-aged women, apparently together. This was two more than he'd expected. Early banking hours were a really dumb idea.

The staff consisted of a pretty young teller and a balding guy at a desk who must be the manager. No guards, of course. Idiots.

"Good morning, everyone!" Beck called out in a loud, cheerful voice. "Please give me your attention. Listen closely. This is a robbery."

He pulled out his pistol, and waved it, not very menacingly, in an arc over their heads.

One of the customers looked ready to scream, but her friend shook her head. The manager turned pale. The pretty teller looked frightened at first, but then her eyes started to shine.

One of those, though Beck sourly. Bad-girl wannabes were unpredictable, often terrifyingly so.

"You three ladies, get down on the floor. That's right." The teller looked hurt but started walking around the counter.

Beck and Dori had worked on his line of patter. Dori wanted the robbery to be one of those classy, champagne-villain jobs she'd been reading about in her ever-increasing collection of paperbacks: the kind where the jury, the cops, and even the victims couldn't summon the enthusiasm to prosecute the criminal properly. She wanted it to look good in the newspapers, too, with criticism for the bank and praise for the robber. Beck approved. It was a lovely little con, especially for a crook who would soon go straight.

Beck called to the manager, "And you, sir, I'd be obliged if you'd get that vault open." The manager moved to comply.

Once her boss was looking the other way, Beck winked at the teller, who brightened right up. She complied when he reminded her, "Down on the floor, miss."

When the vault was open, Beck told the manager, "Pull out all your larger bills. Twenties and up. I don't want any small denominations or securities. Put 'em on the table there." A couple of minutes later, he spoke to the teller. "Young lady, I'll have to ask you to pack up the booty."

The teller got to her feet and soon found an empty strongbox about the size of a footlocker. The manager shuttled back and forth with the loot, and the teller packed it neatly into the strongbox. Beck could tell she got a little thrill every time she picked up another bundle of ill-gotten cash.

When it was full, Beck had her close it, then went over and hefted one end. It was heavy.

"Miss, I'm afraid I'll require your services for a few minutes longer. Take one end of the box. That's it." He turned to the manager. "Sir, I can lock you into the vault or have you lie on the floor. Take your pick."

The manager silently got down on the floor. No one but Beck had said a single word.

"Thank you, folks. You've all done splendidly. Sorry about the inconvenience. It's almost over now." Beck glanced at his watch. "Stay on the floor until the clock tower strikes the half-hour or until someone comes in and starts asking dumb questions. I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed." He wagged a finger at them and added, "I have a guy watching, so be good."

Beck and the teller left through the front door, carrying the heavy strongbox between them.

Dori stood at Beck's drafting table, writing notes on a large sheet of paper, circling them, drawing lines to other notes, making frequent erasures and annotations.

Was the situation really this complex? No, not really. It was painfully simple. But only if you looked at it just the right way. Getting Roger, Angel, and Dorothy to understand ... that was a tall order. Who was the key to the situation?

Was it Angel? Dori doubted it. It was tempting to contact Angel first, to rely on her, because she was friendly already. But Beck doubted that either Roger or Dorothy understood Angel very well. Maybe he was right.

Dorothy, then. Beck was convinced that Dorothy hated him. But did she? He'd given her every reason to. But he'd also insisted on giving her the information that allowed her to save Roger's life and come to terms with her identity as a Class M android. Surely that counted for something!

Dori found it hard to think about this incident without a rose-colored haze of romanticism. Jason Beck, redeemed by his love for a good woman! Or, more precisely, two good women, both of them R. Dorothy Wayneright. Dori was the luckiest girl in the world!

She tried to concentrate. Yes, Dorothy would be partly aware of this. She would also be aware Roger and Beck would surely end up at each other's throats eventually. Dorothy would be as determined to prevent this as Dori. She'd seize any opportunity with both hands and never let go. Waynerights were stubborn. And making peace was the surest, safest way.

Dori taped a new sheet of drafting paper to the board and began to write. It didn't have to sound much like Beck; everyone wrote more formally than they spoke. But it needed to hit the right points. Most importantly, it needed to come from Beck's secret heart. Beck's secret heart was an open book to Dori.

Composing the letter took a long time. Eventually she had a draft.

Jason Beck, Master Criminal

PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL

To R. Dorothy Wayneright

Dorothy,

I need your help. Two crucial tasks must be completed at once. The first task is: The city is in danger and will be attacked within days unless something is done. (The second task is equally important, as you will see in a moment.)

The attached sheets summarize the plan to attack the city. I believe the information is genuine, since I stumbled across it as part of a residential safecracking job. The contents of the safe were left seemingly undisturbed. No one will know that the information is compromised.

I know I can trust you, Dorothy. I'm asking you to be my negotiator. The terms are simple and the negotiation should conclude almost at once.

Please note that everything on this sheet except terms 1-5 is privileged client-negotiator information.

Terms:

1. Jason Beck to turn over information vital to the safety of Paradigm City at once, on the conditions that:

2. Roger Smith and Patricia "Angel" Lovejoy agree to a truce with Jason Beck: They and their staffs, contractors, etc. will not harm, inconvenience, report upon, tip off the police or anyone else, attempt to apprehend, trick, dupe, or swindle him or his staff or loved ones, or cause his property or the property in his possession to be seized or harmed in any way. Jason Beck agrees to the same. The military police can apprehend Jason Beck if they can, but you will not assist them in any way whatever. (PRIVATE: I expect to make a separate peace with the Military Police. Not yet, but soon. They don't know this yet.)

3. Once the terms are agreed upon, the contents of paragraphs 1-5 of this agreement may be relayed to General Dastun, along with the other sheets, at R. Dorothy Wayneright's discretion. (I advise that you inform Gen. Dastun at once.)

4. If Roger and Angel agree to these terms, at least for long enough to verify that the information is true, give them the other pages from the envelope (but not this one), then call me immediately. If Roger and Angel do not agree, or only one agrees, do NOT give them any pages yet. Call me immediately. We'll work things out somehow.

Yours faithfully,

Jason Beck

P.S. Dorothy, the important thing is, I never want to hurt you ever again. The best thing I ever did was to help you save Roger Smith during the fight with Big Fau. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I don't deserve it. But unless all of us are careful, Roger and I will end up fighting again, and it will all end in disaster.

P.P.S. I didn't put it into the formal agreement, because it's none of their damned business, and I'd be obliged if you didn't tell them, but if you ever want my help, Dorothy, all you have to do is ask.

P.P.P.S. Everything will turn out fine; you'll see.

Dori read the draft and nodded. It would do. Then her eyes glazed over and her mind went far away.

Beck and the pretty teller soon reached his car and heaved the strongbox onto the back seat.

The girl opened the passenger door and got in, almost daring him to make her get out.

"You're a bad, bad girl," he said, grinning, as he started the engine. "It's going to get you into trouble some day." He put the car in gear. She beamed at him as they drove off together.

Beck drove a random course and stopped on a quiet street corner. Rummaging in the box, he pulled out bundles of cash worth about $10,000. They made quite an armful. He gave them to the teller girl, then said, "Scoot."

"I want to stay with you," she said, though most of her attention was on the cash in her arms. She became more excited each time she glanced at it.

"Sorry, babe. No can do. Stash the money and go back to work. Tell 'em anything you like. Spend it so your coworkers don't see it. Maybe we'll meet again sometime."

"Okay, she said, elated and disappointed and relieved and excited all at once. She got out of the car and watched him drive off.

Beck chuckled to himself. He'd used the "load 'em down with money so they can't throw themselves at you" trick before. Worked every time! In the old days, he'd tried everything from shacking up with them to shoving them violently out of his car, and they always ended up mad, sometimes vengeful. One had stalked him for weeks and tried to stick a kitchen knife into his liver.

Beck looked at his watch. Time to head home. He couldn't wait to tell Dori this part of the story. She'd somehow turn it into a Robin Hood adventure that made him seem dashing and romantic, though it hadn't been that way at all! Or only a little bit. He hoped Dori was okay.

Dori blinked. She was standing on a strange, endless, perfectly flat plain with a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, a formless sky above. She was all alone.

"Hello?" she called hesitantly. There was no answer.

"Hello?" she called again.

This time there were some vague sounds. The world went black for a moment, then the checkerboard returned, only to be replaced by a formless, swirling grayness. The sounds continued, mostly vague thumpings interspersed with brief snatches of clearer sounds: the ticking of a clock, the creaking of a door, birdsong, frying bacon, half a bar of piano music, wind in the trees, a blacksmith's forge. Beneath this, nearly inaudible, was something like an elderly person's muttered complaints and cursing. Then a moment of total darkness, total silence, followed by an old man's quiet, confident voice, "And now our story begins."

She was standing in front of a farm house surrounded by fields of ripening wheat. Dori felt a hot breeze on her cheek. An iron windmill creaked in the breeze. There seemed to be no one around.

"Hello?" she called for a third time.

A fat old man opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. He was fastening one of the straps of his blue overalls. He looked around and said, "Ah, there you are. Come up to the porch and have a seat, young lady."

Dori climbed the steps to the porch and sat in a wicker chair. The old man lowered himself into a rocking chair. Dori said, "How do you do. I am R. Dorothy Wayneright."

"And I am Gordon Rosewater. I was not expecting you."

"Where am I?"

"Let's just say that you are on my farm. Do you know what brought you here?"

"I think I'm hallucinating."

"Very likely. And are you physically safe, back where you were before?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Did you say 'R. Dorothy Wayneright'?"

"Yes, I am a Class M android."

Gordon considered this for a moment. "Yes, I believe I remember now. And have you found your Megadeus?"

"Yes. Big B."

"Big B? Let me think," said Gordon. After pause he asked, "So Jason Beck is your Dominus?"

"That's right."

"Then I believe you are to be congratulated, young lady," said Gordon, smiling.

"I love them both very much."

Gordon's smile remained but his eyes were far away. When his gaze returned, he said, "This is most unexpected, but seemingly favorable, very favorable. I see my assumption that it was time for a long hibernation was in error."

"What do you mean?"

"Wayneright, Wayneright... I seem to remember a redheaded girl with the most extraordinary violet eyes."

"That was when I was human, forty-one years ago."

"And you have returned as an android. Most enterprising," he said, "and entirely in character. Yes, very much so. But wasn't your young man Roger Smith?"

"He also has an R. Dorothy Wayneright."

Gordon looked at her with sympathy, but she smiled gently and shook her head. "I couldn't be happier, Mr. Rosewater."

"Yes, I can see that. Well, young lady, it's time I got to work. Events are moving quickly." He stood up, then sat down again. "Jason Beck, eh?"

"Yes."

"He is not the easiest man to get along with. I know this from experience. What is your secret?"

"I have to stand up to him, of course. It also helps to be open and trusting, even innocent."

Gordon raised his eyebrows. Then he nodded firmly, as if he had made a decision. "In that case, I'm sure we'll meet again, young lady."

"I'd like that."

Gordon stood up again. "Do you know the way back?"

Dori stood up as well. "I'm not sure."

"Then close your eyes."

She did so, and he kissed her on the forehead. When she opened her eyes a moment later, she was back in the workshop.

She felt as if she ought to wonder if it had only been a dream, but that would be silly. It had been real.

Not noticing that her earlier distress had been replaced with an entirely unexpected happiness, she looked forward without impatience to Beck's return. She was sure he'd be pleased with the letter to Dorothy.

Dori needed to provide Dorothy with copies of the other documents, the ones from the safe. She went to one of the workbenches and started the complex task of making photostats of the images in her memory. As she worked, she thought about her encounter with Gordon Rosewater. She had a good feeling about him.

Beck drove up and pressed the button on the dash that opened the garage door. Before it was half-opened Dori ducked through it, ran to his car, opened the driver-side door, pulled him out, and hugged him till his ribs creaked. Then without a word she ran around to the passenger side and got in.

Beck laughed a little painfully and drove the car inside, closing the garage door behind him.

When he turned off the ignition, they both said "How did it go?" at once, then they both said, "You first."

Beck pointed at Dori. She said, "It was hard, Jason. Six hours is too long. Who is Gordon Rosewater?"

"What?"

"Gordon Rosewater. I met him on a farm. It was a dream, but it was real, too."

Beck frowned. "He's dead, that's who he is. He was in charge of Paradigm City from forty years ago to about ten years ago. He spent his last few years on a farm in Aylesbury Dome, but it burned down."

"He knew you're the Dominus of Big B. He talked about coming out of hibernation and getting to work."

"You're sure it wasn't just a dream, Dori?"

"Yes."

Beck wanted to dismiss it, but he never argued with Dori if he could help it. He considered a moment, then said, "I don't know anything about that kind of stuff. Remind me later. Maybe we can figure out an angle."

"All right." She filed the reminder on her robotic side. Her human side could forget such things. "How did it go?"

"It was very smooth. No one saw me on the first job. In and out, smooth as silk. The second one was almost as clean, but there were two customers. They didn't scream or anything, though. And the teller was one of those crime groupies I told you about. She wanted to join my gang and be my moll in the worst way."

"What did you do?"

"I gave her an armload of money and told her to scoot, and maybe we'd meet again sometime."

"You are such a louse, Jason Beck."

"Well, what should I have done?"

"Next time give the lady a kiss, or a red rose, or something. Cash is vulgar."

Beck laughed. "She was awfully excited by it. And what do you mean, next time?"

"She was?"

Beck said, "Yeah. Would it be vulgar if we piled a million dollars into a heap and made love on top of it?"

"Terribly vulgar."

She got out of the car, opened the back door, and pulled out the heavy strong box. Without troubling with the latch, she wrenched off the lid and dumped its contents a few feet from the car, tossing aside the shattered remnants of the box. Then she went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. "Help me with these bags, Jason," she called. "This may be our only chance!"

The phone rang while Beck was eating lunch: a cheeseburger, tomato soup, and a cup of coffee. Dori sat across from him and was having just the same, though she insisted on putting crumbled saltine crackers on her soup.

They had made a game out of mealtimes. Dori didn't have to eat at all, of course, but there was something soothing and homelike about taking meals together. And one of the very first things Dori had learned about Beck was that he forgot to eat if he was focused or upset, and he always seemed to be one or the other or both. So she insisted on regular mealtimes. While Beck was often impervious to reason and oblivious to his own needs, when Dori complained that she was faint with hunger, he gave in with a smile.

Beck did all the cooking because he liked to cook. Unlike most androids, Dori had a sense of taste and smell. They weren't accurate or discriminating senses, but they were enough that she wasn't an actual menace in the kitchen. Sadly, they weren't enough to let her savor her food. She liked textures more than flavors these days.

She'd taken to pretending that she was fussy about some things, especially coffee. Recently she'd invented a game: Beck had told her that Angel always took coffee with cream and three sugars, and Dori was seeing how long she could do just the same before Beck figured it out. She usually started with just one spoonful of sugar, sometimes two, and would a take a few sips before adding more.

Beck, who didn't like to waste food, once put a bruised apple on her plate, and she had glared at him until he'd taken it back. Then they both burst out laughing. It was the first time Dori had laughed since she'd been activated. Beck hadn't even noticed the milestone; it must have seemed perfectly natural to him. And to her, too, until hours later.

The phone rang. Dori got up and crossed to the wall phone next to the refrigerator. She said to Beck, "Agent Six," then picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, Dori," said Agent Six. "Let me talk to Beck."

"Hello, Agent Six," said Dori. "Here's Jason."

Dori handed the receiver to Beck. Dori almost always answered the phone these days, and she was keeping things as cordial as the antisocial nature of Beck's allies and her own inability to make small talk allowed.

Beck said, "Hey, Six, what's up?"

"We're about ready to do the final prep on the robots, Beck, and we need you here. It's gonna take maybe four days straight to get everything put together."

"Six, old buddy, if you need four days in a row, you're gonna have to wait a couple of days. But I can mosey on over and lend you a hand this afternoon and work all night and most of tomorrow, and then in a couple of days I can give you all the time you need."

"Yeah, all right. You bringing Dori?"

Beck was suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"People like her. She's like a mascot. They work harder and there's less bickering when she's around. Less cussing, too."

Dori smiled inwardly. She hadn't realized that Agent Six was capable of tact. Beck's obnoxiousness was the real problem, and he behaved much better when she was around.

Beck said, "Well, since you twisted my arm, I'll bring her along. No extra charge. See you this afternoon."

"Bye, Beck."

Beck handed the receiver to Dori, who hung it up. Then he threw back his head and laughed his horrible crowing laugh.

"It's not funny, Jason."

Beck sobered instantly. "I'm sorry, honey. But we're saving lives here. We're doing a public service."

"They trust me and I'm helping you betray them."

Beck opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He loved cons. He loved betraying betrayers. These Union holdouts were terrorists and murderers. But Dori saw them as real human beings, with parents, sweethearts, siblings, even children. To her, they were as real as anybody. And it was all true, of course.

He put his arms around her. After a while he asked, "Dori?"

"Yes, Jason?"

"I'm the master criminal, right?"

"Yes."

"And nothing can withstand my nefarious cunning?"

"That's right," she assured him. "Your mighty brain can accomplish anything."

"So all I need is for my plan to work like clockwork and for all those Union jerks to be better off for having known you?"

She looked up at him speculatively. "I'd like that, Jason."

Beck considered for a while, then began to laugh. "Piece of cake," he said. He laughed some more, then said indignantly, "Hey! Our lunch is getting cold! Damned telephone."

The next night, Beck arrived at the Riviera home, a neat and stylish two-story house outside the domes. He'd spent over twenty-four hours helping the Union with their jury-rigged remote-control robots and then made a side jaunt to inspect the newest modifications, now being installed in his Megadeus. Big B had to be ready for action just as soon as Dorothy got his letter. That would be sometime tomorrow. He yawned. Maybe he could catch up on sleep in the morning...

He parked around back. It was the maid's night off and Mr. Riviera's regular poker night with his cronies, down at his club.

Beck tried the back door. Locked. He looked under the welcome mat and the nearby flower pots. Nothing. He ran his hand over the lintel, above the door, found a key, and smiled. It was tarnished and had probably been forgotten years ago. This was a pretty good lock and could have slowed him down by five minutes. He unlocked the door, returned the key, and stepped inside.

It was quiet, as he expected. He heard a radio playing soft music on the second floor. He walked silently up the carpeted stairs.

He wore one of his yellow suits. No incognito tonight.

He stepped into the second-floor parlor and leaned against the doorway. A slim old woman was sitting in an armchair, absorbed in a detective thriller. Beck recognized the cover; it was one of Dori's favorites. Beck cleared his throat and she looked up, startled.

"Hello, Maggie," said Beck.

She looked at him over her reading glasses. She sighed and said resignedly, "Hello, Beck." She waited.

"I'm kidnapping you, Maggie," he said.

"Jesus, Beck! You can't do that!"

"I'm doing it."

"Aw, c'mon, Beck! You're the god damned master criminal! Kidnapping old ladies is beneath you! And I've never done anything to you."

Beck's face was like stone. "But Arthur has. You know he has. And what you maybe don't know is that he picked up a couple of new partners and a pile of money recently."

"No," she breathed, appalled. But she believed him.

"So come along, Maggie, be a good girl. You'll be back home sometime tomorrow."

"That's low, Beck. You know it's low. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Beck was unmoved. "That's enough, Maggie. I brought chloroform."

She saw he meant it. The fight went out of her. "I need my medications," she said. She began to weep quietly. She wiped her tears away angrily, hating this show of weakness. She'd never cried in the old days. But she couldn't stop.

They gathered up a few necessities and put them in her purse. Beck picked up the paperback and handed it to her. "Let's get going."

Maggie was frightened. She'd known Beck since he was a kid, but most of the hard cases in Paradigm were people she'd known since they were kids. And she'd never understood Beck. He was both hard and soft; unpredictable. But mostly she was afraid for Arthur. Clearly, Arthur had screwed up. He hadn't been worth a damn, professionally, since his stroke. It wasn't much of a stroke, as strokes go, but it left him impulsive. His judgment was shot all to hell. God damn it, that's why they retired! Damn Arthur, anyway! And damn Beck.

It was bad that Beck was kidnapping her rather than blackmailing Arthur. Beck liked blackmail. It was one of his trademarks; quarterly payments that went on forever, with the victim eager to keep anyone from knowing, especially the cops. Ransoms were cash on delivery. Did Beck figure that Arthur wouldn't be around much longer? Beck had a good nose for things like that. It was all too much.

Beck ushered her to the stairs. She was shaky and still weeping, so he gave her his monogrammed black silk handkerchief and took her elbow. As they started down the stairs, he began murmuring soothing words. They helped; she didn't want him to stop. That was the worst part of all.

After breakfast, Dori knocked on Maggie's door in the house Beck had rented just for this one job. "Mrs. Riviera?" Until that moment, Mrs. Riviera had no reason to suspect Dori's existence.

"Come in," said Maggie, sounding amused at Dori's politeness.

"Turn your back, please," said Dori.

"Hang on ... okay."

Dori entered the room. Maggie was sitting on the far edge of the bed, facing away.

"Please don't turn around, " said Dori. " Jason told me about the book you were reading. I like that book, too. I brought you some of mine, to pass the time."

"Who are you?" asked Maggie.

"I can't tell you that."

There was a pause, then Maggie said, "I'll take good care of your books. Thank you."

"Please be especially careful of the one on top. It's starting to fall apart, and I can't find a replacement."

"It's your favorite?"

"Yes."

"And you're lending it to me."

"Yes."

"What if I rip it to pieces?"

Dori said quietly, "I hadn't thought of that." After a pause, she said, "Please don't."

Maggie started to turn around, stopped herself, and asked, "Seriously, who the hell are you?"

"I can't tell you now. Is it true that you're worried about your husband?"

Maggie's shoulders sagged. She sighed. "Yes."

"And Jason knows things that you need to know?"

"Clearly."

Dori said, "After you're released I'll have him call you and tell you what he knows, and his ideas for making things right."

Maggie was astonished. "You can make him do that?"

"Yes. It won't be right away. It could be weeks. But he'll call as soon as he can."

There was a long silence, then Maggie asked tentatively, "Can you give me a call, too?"

"I'd like that, Mrs. Riviera."

"Call me Maggie. Can't you tell me your name, dear?"

"Not yet, Maggie. I'm leaving the books on the nightstand."

"Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome." Dori slipped out of the room and locked the door.

Later that day, Dori watched from concealment as Beck took Maggie out to his car. Maggie seemed subdued and unhappy, but in control of herself; only a little fearful, as anyone would be under the circumstances.

The negotiations had concluded quickly, with Beck using a trustworthy man he'd known for years as an intermediary. Beck and Dori were delighted to learn that Arthur Riviera had retained Roger Smith to negotiate Maggie's release.

Dori wanted to go to the handoff, but Beck wouldn't hear of it. Maggie would see her. It would put Beck off his stride. And could Dori promise she wouldn't reveal herself to Roger? Dori had to admit that she couldn't. In the end, she agreed to stay behind. She gave Beck two paperbacks she thought Maggie might like. He'd be back in less than an hour.

Beck carried the all-important envelope in an inside suit pocket. Strange how quickly it had become more important than the money. Pale yellow, Beck had addressed it, simply, "Dorothy Wayneright."

Beck had been amazed by Dori's draft and had told her not to change a single word; no, not even the "yours faithfully" that she was so unsure of. It was perfect. So she typed it up for him, keeping two carbon copies, using his pale yellow letterhead emblazoned with "Jason Beck, Master Criminal." She had him sign the letter, added the other sheets, put them in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to him. Beck would hand it to Roger after Maggie and the money had changed hands.

Beck helped Maggie into the car, winked in her general direction, and drove off.

[To Be Continued]