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Painting the Roses Red

A mound of infocubes appeared in the doorway. Since a pair of trimslax showed beneath the mound, Owen Glendower assumed someone was carrying them. The man’s identity was hidden behind his burden, but there could be only one person so in love with infocubes that he would carry them around in his arms.

Shikari, did you have to leave a trail of cubes all the way down the corridor?” Glendower stared pointedly at the three-centimeter cubes that littered the hallway.

Marc Shikari blinked and turned around to look, spilling more infocubes in the process. “Uh, sorry, sir, I was in a hurry.”

Hurry or not, you should have used a deck. Are all those really necessary?”

They prove the case,” Shikari said. He set the mound of cubes carefully on the desk, scattering a few. “I got my first lead when computer analysis discovered a cyclical pattern to the gem thefts, based on the exact configuration of Tybald’s four moons.” He patted the cubes lovingly. “Cross-checking that pattern with the tidal situation, I set the computer to correlate possible undersea hideouts. Then I—”

Did you cube a report?” Glendower picked three cubes off his lap and added them to the heap on the desktop.

Yes, sir.”

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