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. A young man, dressed in a tweed suit, tie, and knifecreased pants, was waiting for him.
"Xris? How do you do? I'm Dave Baldwin." The young man extended a hand, didn't wince at Xris's grip, even gave as good as he got. "Mr. Wiedermann's expecting you."
Turning, Baldwin led Xris down a carpeted hallway, done in muted tones, with muted lighting, polished woods, and the piped-in sounds of a string quartet. Occasionally, passing by an office with its door open, Xris glanced inside to see someone working at a computer or talking on a coremlink. In one, he saw several people seated around a large polished wooden table holding cups of coffee and small electronic notepads.
"Where's your shoulder holster?" Xris asked.
The young man smiled faintly. "I left mine in my other suit."
"Sorry. I guess you must hear that all the time."
"It's the detective vids," Baldwin explained. "People believe that stuff. When they see these offices and they find out that we look just as boring as any other office place, they're disappointed. We've had a few even walk out. Mr. Wiedermann--that's the older Mr. Wiedermann---once suggested that we should all dress the part. Wear guns. Smell like bourbon. Go around in our shirtsleeves with slouch hats on. We think he was kidding." "Was he?"
"You can never tell with old Mr. Wiedermann," Baldwin said carefully. "I know our appearance disillusions people, especially when they find out that most of the trails we follow are paper
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