Good King Sauerkraut (18 page)

“Do you think I'd joke about a thing like that? Of course I'm serious!”

“But I don't have the kind of money to buy in—”

“You won't need it. My partnership agreement with Dennis states that in the event of the death of one partner, the surviving partner has first option to buy the deceased partner's share. I'm not sure who Dennis's heir is—his parents, or maybe his ex-wife. But whoever it is, that person is legally obligated to sell me Dennis's share of the business if I want to buy it. I will then sell you that share for one dollar.”

She inhaled sharply. “So in effect you are
giving
me half of Keystone.”

“I consider it an investment. I need you. For one thing, no competitor can hire you away from me if you're my partner.”

“And for another,” she said wryly, “you're counting on my sense of gratitude to bring me around to working on the gun platform. That plus my new vested interest in the company, of course.”

“That's one reason I want you as my partner,” King replied, deadpan. “You're so good at reading my mind.”

She actually laughed at that. “King, I'm overwhelmed!”

“Don't be overwhelmed. Be a partner. Say yes.”

“But Dennis actually
managed
Keystone. I'm a designer—I've never run a company!”

“Gale. Ever since you came to Keystone, you've been doing on a small scale exactly what Dennis did on a larger one. You're the one who keeps me on track, takes care of the paperwork, sees that we meet schedules, orders the supplies, all that sort of thing that I admit I've been careless about in the past. You can do it. Besides, I've decided I've been inexcusably negligent. I'm going to start paying more attention to details of the business from now on.”

She just smiled at that.

“But if the paperwork starts to keep you away from designing, then we hire a manager.” He grinned. “That'd be one of
your
responsibilities—finding someone.” King paused for breath; he'd played his trump card, but Gale hadn't yet followed suit. Time for the ace up his sleeve. “But there's something you should know. Warren Osterman wants a merger between Keystone and MechoTech.”

“No!” she cried instinctively.

“No, absolutely. But Dennis was in favor of it. He was negotiating with Warren behind my back.”

Gale was speechless.

“So you see why I need a partner I can trust,” King went on. “Warren Osterman has a lot of clout in Washington. We're going to have to find a way to say no without alienating him—we still need MechoTech. For a while longer, at any rate. I'm hoping you care enough about Keystone to help me see this through.”

She didn't answer. King looked at her standing there hugging herself, her eyes glazed, and decided he'd thrown enough at her for one evening. He looked at his new watch, announced it was getting on toward one o'clock, and suggested she sleep on it.

Gale agreed. They went back inside; just as they were parting for the night, she stopped him. “King—thank you.”

“Oh, you are most welcome,” he said.

King got ready for bed quickly, but he had trouble getting to sleep. He was excited; Gale was at least no longer saying no, and that was a big step. King had plunged into an area calling for Dennis Cox's particular brand of expertise, and he'd handled it! He hadn't stuttered or choked up or wheedled; he'd put his proposition to her in straight business terms and had come as close to convincing her as could reasonably be expected at this stage of the game.

Of course she'd want to own half of Keystone Robotics. That was a given. But would she want to own it badly enough to overcome her scruples against weapons? King rather thought she would; being handed half a prosperous business on a silver platter was enough to make anyone reconsider her personal ethics system. Gale was no fool; she'd know when it was time to adjust.

If anybody had told King a year ago that he'd give away half of his business, King would have thought that person was out of his mind. But he needed Gale to keep from losing the weapons platform project, and he couldn't think of anything else that might bring her around. Besides, it was Dennis's half he was giving away, not his own. King made a mental note to call the Pittsburgh lawyer who'd drawn up the original partnership agreement and get things rolling.

King honestly wanted Gale Fredericks as his partner; but beyond that, she was unknowingly a part of his plan to convince the police that he had no reason for wanting Dennis Cox dead. The next time he talked to Sergeant Larch or Malecki—and there would be a next itme, he was sure of that—the next time they spoke, he'd agonize over the impossibility of finding someone with Dennis's precise combination of talents. Gale was the best designer he'd ever worked with, he'd say; she'd designed several complicated machines on her own as well as helped him on his bigger projects. But she lacked Dennis's experience, he'd say, as well as his business acumen. King would make sure the police understood he was wrapped up in worries about the future of his company—worries that would not exist if Dennis Cox were still alive.

That should do it.

Eventually he calmed down to the point where he was starting to get drowsy. The big bed was even more comfortable than the one in his own home; maybe he should get a new one. It would be hard, leaving this apartment; he'd like to live here. And he got a kick out of sharing the place, even though only temporarily, with two attractive married women—one of whom he didn't much like, the other whom he liked perhaps too much. Just thinking about them lying in their beds was enough to give him an erection. Neither woman had ever given King the slightest indication that a middle-of-the-night visit from him would be welcome. But perhaps if he took the initiative …

No. King groaned and rolled over.
That
much nerve, he didn't have.

9

The next day was Sunday. Gale announced she had to get back to Pittsburgh; a new industrial robot she'd worked on was scheduled for demonstration on Monday and she'd already put the client off once.

King nodded. “Also, you need some time to think about my offer. Talk it over with Bill, see what he thinks.” King was counting on Husband Bill, who owned his own business, to look at all that extra money that would be coming in and help talk her into it. Unless he was one of those husbands who couldn't stand having wives more successful than they.

“Oh, I already know what Bill will say,” Gale smiled. “He'll say go for it. But this is a decision I have to make myself.”

King was tempted to tell her to forget about the weapons platform and accept the partnership with no strings attached. Before Dennis and Gregory had died, he would have done just that, blurting it out; now he was learning caution. “What time's your plane?”

It wasn't until late afternoon, so it seemed natural for Gale to sit in when King and Mimi had another go at planning a work schedule. Gale told Mimi she was just there to listen, but she couldn't resist asking questions and making a suggestion or two. Neither of the other two did anything to discourage her.

“It seems pretty clear,” King said, “that what defeated the earlier design teams was not the operation of the weapons, but locomotion. Defense wants a platform that'll move over any kind of solid surface, including ice.”

“The next generation,” Mimi said, “will be amphibious.”

“Yeah,” King grinned, “and won't that be fun? But right now we don't have to make this thing walk on water. However, half the earth's land mass is impassable by wheels, so that means legs. Legs that move sideways as well as forward and backward. We can make the platform statically stable with six legs, but I'm wondering if that's going to be good enough.”

Mimi chewed on the end of her pencil. “This platform, it's going to have to be a self-directed shape-changer.”

“Totally self-directed?” Gale asked. “I see problems.”

“I know,” King sighed. “But the Defense Department wants the soldier-operator to concentrate on battle tactics and not have to worry about flat tires and oil changes. So the platform is going to have to switch means of locomotion by itself, in response to what its own tactile sensors tell it. No outside help.”

“Separate programming,” Mimi nodded. “But I'll bet they want an override.” She shuffled through the papers on the table, looking for the right specifications.

“That's not the biggest problem,” King pointed out. “Our main worry is space. We're going to have to find a way to pack all the wheels and legs and treads and whatever into the small amount of room the specs allow us.”

“So that's going to have to come first,” Gale said. “How big do the wheels have to be? Legs are collapsible, wheels aren't—not dependably so, anyway. But what about treads? This platform's going to be too heavy to do much serious climbing.”

“Tell that to the Defense Department,” Mimi sniffed. “Steps, hilly terrain—the electromagnetic gun platform stops at nothing.”

“Well, the steps won't be a problem,” Gale told her. “You could use the technique Quest Technologies developed for their wheelchair that climbs stairs. Sonar sensors to measure the angularity of the steps and then treads substituted for wheels.”

King put on a sober expression. “But can it climb ladders?”

Mimi slammed down her pencil. “Oh, this is too much! Ladders? Why, the sheer weight of the platform—”

“I was joking, Mimi,” King laughed.

They worked steadily for several hours, until King's growling stomach reminded them all they were getting hungry. They decided to grab a bite at JFK; both Mimi and King were beginning to suffer from cabin fever and needed to get out of the apartment for a while, regardless of the police's warnings. Mimi called for the MechoTech limo to come pick them up.

On the way to the airport, Gale and Mimi got into a mild argument about some aspect of the platform's design that they didn't see eye-to-eye on. King was delighted; both women were acting as if it were a settled matter that Gale was now part of the team. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of their voices and not thinking about anything at all. He was happy.

When they pulled into the terminal and the limo driver let them out, King hoisted Gale's carry-all over his shoulder and looked around. Usually he disliked airports; but this one didn't seem especially intimidating, today. He led the way to the nearest restaurant.

They'd barely had time to glance at the menu when a young man who looked like Joe College stepped up to their table and showed them an NYPD badge. “Mrs. Hargrove, Mr. Sarcowicz—you shouldn't be here. It's too exposed. Will you come with me, please?”

Mimi was the first to find her voice. “How did you … you
followed
us?”

“Please come with me. We can't protect you here.”

We?
King looked around and spotted an even younger cop standing at the restaurant's entrance, his eyes x-raying everyone in sight as he attempted to identify potential assassins lurking among the hungry customers. He and Mimi were being watched, followed? “It's a public restaurant,” King protested. “Nothing will happen here.”

Gale placed her hand on his forearm. “We'd better do as he says.” She stood up.

King and Mimi exchanged a glance and somewhat impatiently followed suit. They all three trailed after the young … officer? detective?—who stopped just inside the entrance to the restaurant where the second cop was waiting. “You were asked not to leave town,” Joe College said to them in a tone of reprimand.

“We're not going anywhere,” King replied irritably. “We're just seeing off our friend here.”

The second cop pulled out a notebook and asked Gale her name. She gave him a strange look and then took a Keystone Robotics business card out of her shoulder bag. “I work for Mr. Sarcowicz,” she said in further explanation.

The young cop glanced at the card and nodded. “Gale Fredericks, right. You just got here yesterday.”

“That's right.” Wonderingly.

“They checked with the security guards at the apartment building,” Mimi murmured.

“You checked on
me?
” Gale asked.

“We check everybody that goes into that apartment. Okay, I think you'd better say goodbye right here. Then we'll escort you two back to your limousine.”

Gale's mouth had tightened into a thin line. Her eyes darted back and forth between King and the two policemen, and her breathing became more rapid. “King, I've decided,” she said suddenly. “I accept your offer.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Which one?”

“Both of them. You shouldn't have to face this alone.”

Ah, she'd found her rationale!
King let out a whoop and gave her a hug—which embarrassed them both. “That's great, Gale! I'll call the lawyer first thing in the morning.”

“I can't get back right away. One of us ought to—”

“I know. Call me tomorrow when you get a breathing space and we'll figure out how to handle everything.”

Gale told Mimi goodbye, glanced uncertainly at the police, and went back into the restaurant. “Let's go,” Joe College said.

The two youthful policemen marched them back to where the limo driver had parked, a lengthy trek. King didn't mind; he could have floated the whole distance.

Mimi was watching him slyly out of the corner of her eye. “That was fortunate, wasn't it? You know it was our official escort here that tipped the scale in your favor, don't you?”

King grinned at her. “Whatever it takes.”

“You're something of an opportunist, aren't you, King? I would never have suspected it.”

“Oh, not really. She was already ninety percent hooked on the project—you know she was.”

Mimi admitted the truth of that. “Well, I'm glad it's settled. Now we can tell Warren Osterman we're back at full strength again.”