Robert Asprin - Myth 07- M Y T H Inc Link

VIP免费
2024-12-19 0 0 213.23KB 91 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
1 Another Fine Myth 0-441-02362-2 1978 Ace
2 Myth Conceptions 0-441-55521-7 1980 Ace
3 Myth Directions 0-441-55529-2 1982 Ace
4 Hit or Myth 0-441-33851-8 1983 Ace
5 Myth-ing Persons 0-441-55276-5 1984 Ace
6 Little Myth Marker 0-441-48499-9 1985 Ace
--->M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link 0-441-55277-3 1986 Ace
8 Myth-nomers & Im-pervections 0-441-55279-X 1987 Ace
9 M.Y.T.H. Inc. in Action 0-441-55282-X 1990 Ace
10 Sweet Myth-tery of Life 0-441-00194-7 1994 Ace
11 Something M.Y.T.H. Inc. Not yet released ? Ace
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link By Robert Asprin
Chapter One:
"Petty crime is the scourge of business today."
-D. LOREAN
I ACTUALLY LIKED our new office facilities better than the old. Even though Aahz
had argued hard to keep the Even Odds as a bar (read "money-making venture"),
the rest of us ganged up on him and insisted that since we had an extra building
it would make more sense to remodel it into offices than to keep trying to do
business out of our home. I mean, who really needs a lot of strangers traipsing
in and out of your private life all the time? That practice had already landed
us in trouble once, and the memory of that escapade was what finally convinced
my old mentor to go along with the plan.
Of course, remodeling was more of a hassle than I had expected, even after
getting one of the local religious temples to do the carpentry. Even working
cheap they were more expensive than I had imagined, and the hours they kept . .
. but I digress.
I had a large office now, with a desk, "in" basket, Day-Timers Scheduler,
visitor chairs, the whole nine yards. As I said, I liked it a lot. What I didn't
like was the title that went with it ... to wit, President.
That's right. Everybody insisted that since incorporating our merry band of
misfits was my idea, I was the logical choice for titular head of the
organization. Even Aahz betrayed me, proclaiming it was a great idea, though to
my eye he was hiding a snicker when he said it. If I had known my suggestion
would lead to this, believe me I would have kept my mouth shut.
Don't get me wrong, the crew is great! If I were going to lead a group, I
couldn't ask for a nicer, more loyal bunch than the one currently at my
disposal. Of course, there might be those who would argue the point with me. A
trollop, a troll, two gangsters, a moll, and a Pervert . . . excuse me, Pervect
... an overweight vamp, and a baby dragon might not seem like the ideal team to
the average person. They didn't to me when I first met them. Still, they've been
unswerving in their support of me over the years, and together we've piled up an
impressive track record. No, I'd rather stick with the rat-pack I know, however
strange, than trust my fate to anyone else, no matter how qualified they might
seem. If anything, from time to time I wonder what they think of me and wish I
could peek inside their heads to learn their opinions. Whatever they think, they
stick around . . . and that's what counts.
It isn't the crew that makes me edgy ... it's the title. You see, as long as I
can remember, I've always thought that being a leader was the equivalent of
walking around with a large bulls-eye painted on your back. Basically the job
involves holding the bag for a lot of people instead of just for yourself. If
anything goes wrong, you end up being to blame. Even if someone else perpetrated
the foul-up, as the leader you're responsible. On the off chance things go
right, all you really feel is guilty for taking the credit for someone else's
work. All in all, it seems to me to be a no-win, thankless position, one that I
would much rather delegate to someone else while I had fun in the field.
Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have the same basic opinion, and as the
least experienced member of the crew I was less adept at coming up with reasons
to dodge the slot than the others. Consequently, I became the President of
M.Y.T.H. Inc. (That's Magical Young Trouble-shooting Heroes. Don't blame me. I
didn't come up with the name), an association of magicians and trouble-shooters
dedicated to simultaneously helping others and making money.
Our base of operations was the Bazaar at Deva, a well-known rendezvous for magic
dealing that was the crossroads of the dimensions. As might be imagined, in an
environment like that, there was never a shortage of work.
I had barely gotten settled for the morning when there was a light rap on the
door of my office and Bunny stuck her head in.
"Busy, Boss?"
"Well . . ."
She was gone before I could finish formulating a vague answer. This wasn't
unusual. Bunny acted as my secretary and always knew more about what I had on
the docket than I did. Her inquiries as to my schedule were usually made out of
politeness or to check to be sure I wasn't doing something undignified before
ushering a client into the office.
"The Great Skeeve will see you now," she said, gesturing grandly to her charge.
"In the future, I'd suggest you make an appointment so you won't be kept
waiting."
The Deveel Bunny was introducing seemed a bit slimy, even for a Deveel. His
bright red complexion was covered with unhealthy-looking pink blotches, and his
face was contorted into a permanent leer, which he directed at Bunny's back as
she left the room.
Now, there's no denying that Bunny's one of the more attractive females I've
ever met, but there was something unwholesome about the attention this dude was
giving her. With an effort, I tried to quell the growing dislike I was feeling
toward the Deveel. A client was a client, and we were in business to help people
in trouble, not make moral judgments on them.
"Can I help you?" I said, keeping my voice polite.
That brought the Deveel's attention back to me, and he extended a hand across
the desk.
"So you're the Great Skeeve, eh? Pleased to meet you. Been hearing some good
things about your work. Say, you really got a great setup. I especially like
that little number you got working as a receptionist. Might even try to hire her
away from you. The girl's obviously loaded with talent."
Looking at his leer and wink, I somehow couldn't bring myself to shake his hand.
"Bunny is my administrative assistant," I said carefully. "She is also a
stockholder in the company. She earns her position with her skills, not with her
looks."
"I bet she does," the Deveel winked again. "I'd love to get a sample of those
skills someday."
That did it. "How about right now?" I smiled, then raised my voice slightly.
"Bunny? Could you come in here for a moment?"
She appeared almost at once, ignoring the Deveel's leer as she moved to my desk.
"Yes, sir?"
"Bunny, you forgot to brief me on this client. Who is he?"
She arched one eyebrow and shot a sideways glance at the Deveel. We rarely did
our briefings in front of clients. Our eyes met again and I gave her a small nod
to confirm my request.
"His name is Bane," she said with a shrug. "He's known to run a small shop here
at the Bazaar selling small novelty magic items. His annual take from that
operation is in the low six figures."
"Hey! That's pretty good," the Deveel grinned.
Bunny continued as if she hadn't heard.
"He also has secret ownership of three other businesses, and partial ownership
of a dozen more. Most notable is a magic factory which supplies shops in this
and other dimensions. It's located in a sub-dimension accessible through the
office of his shop, and employs several hundred workers. The estimated take from
that factory alone is in the mid seven figure range annually."
The Deveel had stopped leering.
"How did you know all that?" he demanded. "That's supposed to be secret!"
"He also fancies himself to be a lady-killer, but there is little evidence to
support his claim. The female companions he is seen in public with are paid for
their company, and none have lasted more than a week. It seems they feel the
money is insufficient for enduring his revolting personality. Foodwise, he has a
weakness for broccoli."
I turned a neutral smile on the deflated Deveel.
"... And that, sir, is the talent that earns Bunny her job. Did you enjoy your
sample?"
"She's wrong about the broccoli," Bane said weakly. "I hate broccoli."
I raised an eyebrow at Bunny, who winked back at me. "Noted," she said. "Will
there be anything else, Boss?"
"Stick around. Bunny. I'll probably need your help quoting Mr. Bane a price for
our services . . . that is, if he ever gets around to telling us what his
problem is."
That brought the Deveel out of his shocked trance. "I'll tell you what the
problem is! Miss Bunny here was dead right when she said my magic factory is my
prize holding. The trouble is that someone's robbing me blind! I'm losing a
fortune to pilferage!"
"What percentage loss?" Bunny said, suddenly attentive.
"Pushing fourteen percent... up from six last year."
"Are we talking retail or cost value?"
"Cost."
"What's your actual volume loss?"
"Less than eight percent. They know exactly what items to go after . . . small,
but expensive." I sat back and tried to look wise. They had lost me completely
about two laps into the conversation, but Bunny seemed to know what she was
doing, so I gave her head.
"Everybody I've sent in to investigate gets tagged as a company spy before they
even sit down," Bane was saying. "Now, the word I get is that your crew has some
contacts in organized crime, and I was figuring ..."
He let his voice trail off, then shrugged as if he was embarrassed to complete
the thought.
Bunny looked over at me, and I could tell she was trying to hide a smile. She
was the niece of Don Bruce, the Mob's Fairy Godfather, and it always amused her
to encounter the near-superstitious awe outsiders felt toward her uncle's
organization..
"I think we can help you," I said carefully. "Of course, it will cost."
"How much?" Bane countered, settling back for what was acknowledged throughout
the dimensions as a Deveel's specialty . . . haggling.
In response, Bunny scribbled something quickly on her notepad, then tore the
sheet off and handed it to Bane. The Deveel glanced at it and blanched a light
pink.
"WHAT!! That's robbery and you know it!"
"Not when you consider what the losses are costing you," Bunny said sweetly.
"Tell you what. If you'd rather, we'll take a few points in your factory . . .
say, half the percentage reduction in pilferage once we take the case?"
Bane went from pink to a volcanic red in the space of a few heartbeats.
"All right! It's a deal ... at the original offer!" I nodded slightly.
"Fine. I'll assign a couple of agents to it immediately."
"Wait a minute! I'm paying prices like these and I'm not even getting the
services of the head honcho? What are you trying to pull here? I want ..."
"The Great Skeeve stands behind every M.Y.T.H. Inc. contract," Bunny
interrupted. "If you wish to contract his personal services, the price would be
substantially higher . . . like, say, controlling interest?"
"All right, all right! I get the message!" the Deveel said. "Send in your
agents. They just better be good, that's all. At these rates, I expect results!"
With that, he slammed out of the office, leaving Bunny and me alone.
"How much did you charge him?"
"Just our usual fees."
"Really?"
"Well ... I did add in a small premium 'cause I didn't like him. Any
objections?"
"No. Just curious is all."
"Say, Boss. Would you mind including me in this assignment? It shouldn't take
too long, and this one's got me a little curious."
"Okay . . . but not as lead operative. I want to be able to pull you back here
if things get hairy in the office. Let your partner run the show."
"No problem. Who are you teaming me with?"
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
"Can't you guess? The client wants organized crime, he gets organized crime!"
Guido's Tale
"Guido, are you sure you've got your instructions right?"
That is Bunny talkin'. For some reason the Boss has deemed it wise to delegate
to me her company for this job. Now this is okay with me, as Bunny is more than
enjoyable to look at and a swell head to boot, which is to say she is smarter
than me, which is a thing I do not say about many people, guys or dolls.
The only trepidation with which I view this pairin' is that as swell as she is.
Bunny also has a marked tendency to nag whenever a job is on. This is because
she is handicapped with a problem, which is that she has her cap set for the
Boss. Now we are all aware of this, for it was apparent as the nose on your face
from the day they first encountered. Even the Boss could see this, which is
sayin' sumpin', for while I admire the Boss as an organizer, he is a little
thick between the ears when it comes to skirts. To show you what I mean, once he
was aware that Bunny did indeed entertain notions on his bod, his response was
to half faint from the nervousness. This is from a guy I've watched take on
vampires and werewolf types, not to mention Don Bruce himself, without so much
as battin' an eye. Like I say, dolls is not his strong suit.
Anyway, I was talkin' about Bunny and her problem. She finally managed to
convince the Boss that she wasn't really tryin' to pair up with him, but was
just interested in furtherin' her career as a business type. Now this was a
blatant lie, and we all knew it... even though it seems to have fooled the Boss.
Even that green bum, Aahz, could see what Bunny was up to. (This surprised me a
bit, for I always thought his main talent was makin' loud noises.) All that
Bunny was doin' was switchin' from one come-on to another. Her overall
motivational goal has never changed.
The unfortunate circumstances of this is that instead of wooin' the Boss with
her bod, which as I have said is outstandin', she is now tryin' to win his
admiration with what a sharp cookie she is. This should not be overly difficult,
as Bunny is one shrewd operator, but like all dolls she feels she has limited
time in which to accomplish her objective before her looks run out, so she is
tryin' extra hard to make sure the Boss notices her.
This unfortunately can make her a real headache in the posterior regions to work
with. She is so afraid that someone else will mess up her performance record
that she can drive a skilled worker such as myself up a proverbial tree with her
nervous double-check chatter. Still, she is a swell doll and we are all pullin'
for her, so we put up with it.
"Yes, Bunny," I sez.
" 'Yes, Bunny' what?"
"Yes, Bunny, I'm sure I got my instructions right."
"Then repeat them back to me."
"Why?"
"Guido!"
When Bunny gets that tone in her voice, there is little else to do but to humor
her. This is in part because part of my job is to be supportive to my teammate
when on an assignment, but also because Bunny has a mean left hook when she
feels you are givin' her grief. My cousin Nunzio chanced to discover this fact
one time before he was informed that she was Don Bruce's niece, and as he had a
jaw like an anvil against which I have had occasion to injure my fist with
noticeable results, I have no desire to confirm for myself the strength of the
blow with which she decked him. Consequently I decided to comply with her rather
annoying request.
"The Boss wants us to find out how the goods of a particular establishment is
successfully wanderin' off the premises without detection," I sez. "To that end
I am to intermingle with the workers as one of them to see if I can determine
how this is bein' accomplished."
"And . . ." she sez, givin' me the hairy eyeball.
"... And you are to do the same, only with the office types. At the end of a
week we are to regroup in order that we may compare observations and see if we
are perhaps barkin' up the wrong tree."
"And ..." she sez again, lookin' a trifle agitated.
At this point I commence to grow a trifle nervous, for while she is obviously
expectin' me to continue in my oration, I have run out of instructions to
reiterate.
". . . And . . . ummm ..." I sez, tryin' to think of what I have overlooked.
". . . And not to start any trouble!" she finishes, lookin' at me hard-like.
"Right?"
"Yeah. Sure, Bunny."
"Say it!"
"... And not to start any trouble."
Now I am more than a little hurt that Bunny feels it is necessary to bring this
point to my attention so forceful like, as in my opinion it is not in my nature
to start trouble under any circumstances. Both Nunzio and me go out of our way
to avoid any unnecessary disputes of a violent nature, and only bestir ourselves
to bring such difficulties to a halt once they are thrust upon us. I do not,
however, bring my injured feelings to Bunny's attention as I know she is a swell
person who would not deliberately inflict such wounds upon the self-image of a
delicate person such as myself. She is merely nervous as to the successful
completion of the pending job, as I have previously orated, and would only feel
bad if I were to let on how callous and heartless she was behavin'. There are
many in my line of work who display similar signs of nervousness when preparin'
for a major assignment. I once worked with a guy what had a tendency to fidget
with a sharp knife when waitin' for a job to commence, usually on the bods of
his fellow caperers. One can only be understandin' of the motivationals of such
types and not take offense at their personal foibles when the heat is on. This
is one of the secrets of success learned early on by us executive types. Be that
as it may, I am forced to admit I am more than a little relieved when it is time
for the job to begin, allowin' me to part company with Bunny for a while.
As a worker type, I report to work much earlier than is required for office
types like Bunny. Why this is I am not sure, but it is one of those inescapable
inequities with which life is fraught. . . like your line always bein' the
longest when they are broken down by alphabet.
To prepare for my undercover maneuverin's, I have abandoned my normally spiffy
threads in order to dress more appropriate for the worker types with which I am
to intermingle. This is the only part of the assignment which causes me any
discomfort. You see, the more successful a worker type is, the more he dresses
like a skid-row bum or a rag heap, so that he looks like he is either ready to
roll in the mud or has just been rolled himself, which is in direct
contradiction to what I learned in business college.
For those of you to whom this last tidbit of knowledge comes as a surprise, I
would hasten to point out that I have indeed attended higher learnin'
institutes, as that is the only way to obtain the master's type degree that I
possess. If perchance you wonder, as some do, why a person with such credentials
should choose the line of work that I have to pursue, my reasons are twofold:
First-us, I am a social type who perfers workin' with people; and second, I find
my sensitive nature is repelled by the ruthlessness necessitated by bein' an
upper management type. I simply do not have it in me to mess up people's lives
with layoffs and plant shut-downs and the like. Rather, I find it far more
sociable to break an occasional leg or two or perhaps rearrange a face a little
than to live with the more long-term damage inflicted by upper management for
the good of their respective companies. Therefore, as I am indeed presented with
the enviable position of havin' a choice in career paths, I have traditionally
opted to be an order taker rather than an order giver. It's a cleaner way to
make a livin'.
So anyway, I reports for work bright and early and am shown around the plant
before commencin' my actual duties. Let me tell you I am impressed by this set-
up like I have seldom been impressed by nothin' before. It is like. Santa's
North Pole elf sweatshop done up proper.
When I was in grad school, I used to read a lot of comics. Most particularly I
was taken by the ads they used to carry therein for X-Ray Glasses and Whoopie
Cushions and such, which I was unfortunately never able to afford as I was not
an untypical student and therefore had less money than your average eight-year-
old. Walkin' into the plant, however, I suddenly realized that this particular
set of indulgences had not truly passed me by as I had feared.
The place was gargantuous, by which I mean it was really big, and jammed from
wall to wall to ceilin' with conveyor belts and vats and stacks of materials and
boxes labeled in languages I am not privileged to recognize, as well as large
numbers of worker types strollin' around checkin' gauges and pushin' carts and
otherwise engaged in the sorts of activities one does when the doors are open
and there's a chance that the management types might come by on their way to the
coffee machine and look in to see what they're doin'. What was even more
impressive was the goods in production. At a glance I could see that as an
admirer of cheap junk gimmicks, I had indeed died and gone to pig heaven. It was
my guess, however uneducated, that what I had found was the major supplier for
those ads which I earlier referenced, as well as most of the peddlers in the
Bazaar who cater to the tourist trade.
Now right away I can see what the problem is, as most of the goods bein'
produced are a small and portable nature, and who could resist waltzin' off with
a few samples in their pockets? Merchandise of this nature would be enough to
tempt a saint, of which I seriously doubt the majority of the work force is made
up of.
At the time I think that this will make my job substantially easier than
anticipated. It is my reasonin' that all I need do is figure out how I myself
would liberate a few choice items, then watch to see who is doin' the same. Of
course, I figure it will behoove me to test my proposed system myself so as to
see if it really can be done in such a manner, and at the same time acquire a
little bonus or two I can gloat about in front of Nunzio.
First, however, I had to concentrate on establishin' myself as a good worker so
that no one would suspect that I was there for anythin' else other than makin'
an honest wage.
The job I was assigned to first was simple enough for a person of my skills and
dexterity. All I had to do was sprinkle a dab of Pixie Dust on each Magic
Floating Coaster as it came down the line. The major challenge seemed to be to
be sure to apply as little as possible, as Pixie Dust is expensive even at bulk
rates and one definitely does not want to give the customer more than they paid
for.
With this in mind, I set to work . . . only to discover that the job was
actually far more complex than I had originally perceived. You see, the Pixie
Dust is kept in a large bag, which floats because that is what the Pixie Dust
within does. The first trick is to keep the bag from floatin' away while one is
workin' with it, which is actually harder than it sounds because the Pixie Dust
is almost strong enough to float the bag and whoever is attemptin' to hold it
down. There is a safety line attached to the bag as an anchor, but it holds the
bag too high to work with. Consequently one must wrestle with the bag while
applyin' the Pixie Dust, a feat which is not unlike tryin' to hold a large beach
ball under water while doin' needlepoint, and only rely on the safety line to
haul the bag down into position again should it get away, which it often does.
One might ask why fore the line is not made shorter to hold the bag in the
proper position and thereby make the job simpler. I suppose it is the same
reason that working-type mothers will drown their children at birth if they feel
there is the slightest chance they will grow up to be production engineers.
The other problem I encountered was one which I am surprised no one saw to fit
to warn me about. That is that when one works with Pixie Dust, it must be
remembered that it floats, and therefore pours up instead of down.
When first I attempted to sprinkle a little Pixie Dust on a Magic Floating
Coaster, I was puzzled as to why the coaster would not subsequently float. On
the chance that I had not applied a sufficient quantity of the substance in
question, I added some more . . . and then a little more, not realizin' that it
was floatin' up toward the ceilin' instead of down onto the coaster.
Unfortunately, I was bent over the coaster at the time, as I was tryin' to keep
the bag from floatin' away, and unbeknownst to me the dust was sprinklin' onto
me rather than the coaster in question. The first admissible evidence I had that
things was goin' awry was when I noticed that my feet were no longer in contact
with the floor and that indeed I had become as buoyant as the bag which I was
tryin' to hold down. Fortuitously, my grip is firm enough to crumble bricks so I
managed to maintain my hold on the bag and eventually pull myself down the
safety line instead of floatin' to the ceilin' in independent flight. Further, I
was able to brush the Pixie Dust off my clothes so as to maintain my groundward
orientation as well as my dignity.
The only thing which was not understandable about this passing incident was the
uninvolvement of the other worker types. Not only had they not come over to
assist me in my moment of misfortune, they had also refrained from making rude
and uproarious noises at my predicament. This second point in particular I
concerned myself with as bein' unusual, as worker types are notorious jokesters
and unlikely to pass up such an obvious opportunity for low amusement.
The reason for this did indeed become crystalline when we finally broke for
lunch, I was just settlin' in to enjoy my midday repast, and chanced to ask the
worker type seated next to me to pass me a napkin from the receptice by him as
it was not within my reach. Instead of goin' along with this request as one
would expect any civilized person to do, this joker mouths off to the effect
that he won't give the time of day to any company spy, much less a napkin. Now
if there is one thing I will not tolerate it is bein' called a fink, especially
when I happen to be workin' as one. I therefore deem it necessary to show this
individual the error of his assumptions by bendin' him a little in my most calm,
friendly manner. Just when I think we are startin' to communicate, I notice that
someone is beatin' me across the back with a chair. This does nothin' to improve
my mood, as I am already annoyed to begin with, so I prop the Mouth against a
nearby wall with one hand, thereby freein' the other which I then use to snag
the other cretin as he winds up for another swing. I am just beginnin' to warm
up to my work when I hear a low whistle of wamin' from the crowd which has
naturally gathered to watch our discussion, and I look around to see one of the
foremen ambling over to see what the commotion's about.
Now foremen are perhaps the lowest form of management, as they are usually
turncoat worker types, and this one proves to be no exception to the norm.
Without so much as a how-do-you-do, he commences to demand to know what's goin'
on and who started it anyway. As has been noted, I already had my wind up and
was seriously considerin' whether or not to simply expand our discussion group
to include the foreman when I remember how nervous Bunny was and consider the
difficulty I would have explainin' the situation to her if I were to suffer
termination the first day on the job for roughin' up a management type.
Consequently I shift my grip from my two dance partners to my temper and proceed
to explain to the foreman that no one has started anythin' as indeed nothin' is
happenin' . . . that my colleagues chanced to fall down and I was simply helpin'
them to their feet is all.
My explanations can be very convincing, as any jury can tell you, and the
foreman decides to accept this one without question, somehow overlookin' the
fact that I had helped the Mouth to his feet with such enthusiasm that his feet
were not touchin' the floor when the proceedin's were halted. Perhaps he
attributed this phenomenon to the Pixie Dust which was so fond of levitatin'
anything in the plant that wasn't tied down. Whatever the reason, he buys the
story and wanders off, leavin' me to share my lunch with my two colleagues whose
lunch has somehow gotten tromped on during playtime.
Apparently, my display of masculine-type prowess has convinced everyone that I
am indeed not a company spy, for the two guys which jumped me in such an
unprofessional manner is now very eager to chat on the friendliest of terms. The
one I have been referrin' to as the Mouth turns out to be named Roxie, and his
chairswingin' buddy is Sion. Right away we hit it off as they seem to be
regular-type guys, even if they can't throw a punch to save their own skins, and
it' seems we share a lot of common interests . . . like skirts and an occasional
bet on the ponies. Of course, they are immediately advanced to the top of my
list of suspects, as anyone who thinks like me is also likely to have little
regard for respectin' the privacy rights of other people's property.
The other thing they tell me before we return to our respective tasks is that
the Pixie Dust job I am doin' is really a chump chore reserved for new worker
types what don't know enough to argue with their assignments. It is suggested
that I have a few words with the foreman, as he has obviously been impressed
with my demeanor, and see if I can't get some work more in keepin' with my
obvious talents. I am naturally grateful for this advice, and pursue their
suggestion without further delay.
The foreman does indeed listen to my words, and sends me off to a new station
for the balance of the day. Upon arrivin' at the scene of my reassignment,
however, it occurs to me that perhaps I would have been wiser to keep my big yap
in a closed position.
My new job really stinks . . . and I mean to tell you this is meant as literal
as possible. All I had to do, see, was stand at the end of a conveyor belt and
inspect the end product as it came off the line. Now, when I say "end product,"
this is also meant to be interpretated very literal-like. The quicker of you
摘要：

1AnotherFineMyth0-441-02362-21978Ace2MythConceptions0-441-55521-71980Ace3MythDirections0-441-55529-21982Ace4HitorMyth0-441-33851-81983Ace5Myth-ingPersons0-441-55276-51984Ace6LittleMythMarker0-441-48499-91985Ace--->M.Y.T.H.Inc.Link0-441-55277-31986Ace8Myth-nomers&Im-pervections0-441-55279-X1987Ace9M....

展开>> 收起<<
Robert Asprin - Myth 07- M Y T H Inc Link.pdf

共91页,预览19页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：91 页 大小：213.23KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-19

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 91
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注