The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [114]
“We give you facts, you give us gossip,” Ingrid grumbled.
The Alligator Man was impassive in the face of her displeasure. “That’s more than you had before I gave it to you.”
“What’s the name of the company?” Whispr demanded to know. Picking at a downward protruding tooth, Gator looked over to him.
“It’s Sick.”
Ingrid’s expression contorted. “I’m not surprised, but what about the company?”
“Allow me to elucidate.” Wizwang was relaxing in his special chair. “I believe your nobby-skinned acquaintance is referring to the South African Economic Combine. Though its acronym is SAEC, it’s commonly pronounced ‘Sick.’ Or sometimes ‘SICK, Inc.’ among those with an economically inclined humorous bent.”
“Oh,” a chastised Ingrid murmured, “that SICK. I know the name, of course, though I’ve never had any dealings with them.”
“Why should you?” their host observed. “You don’t buy medical technology directly from them. You use what is purchased by secondary companies and then moved along the supply chain to local dealers and related establishments. SICK makes a great many products, of course, as well as dealing in raw materials. A consortium of that size and power would be interested in dealing in a substance like MSMH in its raw state as well as in the form of finished manufactured goods.” He bowed theatrically in Gator’s direction.
“I congratulate you, master of a maxillofacialist’s reverie. Only a rumor it may be, but one with some perceptible grounding in economic reality and likely worth pursuing.” His gaze crossed back to Ingrid. “As for you, mistress of elegance and knowledge, not to mention a fine set of—”
“We’ll follow up on it,” she said quickly. “It’s the only real lead we’ve come across.” She eyed the self-satisfied Gator. “However nebulous the facts supporting it. Right, Whispr?”
Her companion’s reaction was distinguished by a notable lack of eagerness. “Ingrid, I don’t know.” His gaze flicked from her to Gator to Wizwang to finally settle on his own nervously shifting feet. “If Gator’s infoup is right and it’s SICK, Inc. that’s really behind all this, it would go a long way toward explaining a lot of things. Why the police didn’t hesitate to vanish my friend Jiminy, how they latched on to Gator so fast.…” His voice rose along with his gaze as he met her eyes. “I’m not like you, doc. I don’t care what’s on that thread except how it can be translated into subsist. But there are more important things than money.”
“Why, Mr. Whispr, sir,” a mocking Wizwang declared from his chair, “you are in truth bulging with surprises for someone so slight in both substance and stature. I would never have expected to hear such a noble if clichéd assertion fall from what remains of your lips.”
By way of reply Whispr offered up an obscenity that relied for its effectiveness more on tradition than originality.
“It’s still our only lead,” Ingrid pointed out plaintively.
“You don’t get it.” Whispr fought to make her understand. “You don’t mess around with a consortium like the SAEC. There are Western rules, and Asian rules, and then the rules of companies that make them up as they go along. That holds especially true for most of the big companies that have risen up south of the equator.”
A somber Gator was nodding knowingly. “When it comes to the uninvited poking around their business, these big multinationals can be—impolite, doctor. Behind the smiling suits and flash melds are ugly little men making big subsist from nasty machines. The kind of people who inhabit the darker corners of urburgs like Karachi and Macao, Saopan Paulo and Joburg. They don’t play nice. Owning a professional degree wouldn’t impress them. Or restrain them.”
Ingrid refused to be dissuaded. “We have to pursue it. We’ve come this far. I once told Whispr I couldn’t rest until I found out what was on the thread—even if it turns out to be nothing.” She took a deep breath. “Despite everything that’s happened and despite