“If we have to, sure,” said Phule. “But don’t put a lot of effort into it. We’ve got bigger fish to fry-among them, figuring out just who’s got the robot and how to get it back.”
“I should expect they’ll give us the courtesy of a ransom call before long, sir,” said Beeker. He opened the cover of his Port-a-Brain computer and began calling up his mail program.
“Possibly,” said Phule. “That depends on their reasons for the robbery in the first place. If they’re looking to make the most possible mischief for me, they can do a lot better by holding onto the thing than by selling it back to me.”
“I fear you’re right, sir,” said Beeker. He looked at the screen, then continued. “At any rate, there’s no word on the android at present. We shall have to pursue other channels.”
“Well, pursue away,” said Phule. I’m going to go see how Sushi’s coming along with his search for the man who robbed that Japanese restaurant. Give me a buzz if there’s any useful news.”
“Immediately, sir,” said Beeker. He turned back to the Port-a-Brain and began his search.
Journal #520
Crises never choose a convenient time to manifest themselves. Of course not; otherwise, they would hardly qualify as crises. So it did not in the least surprise me that the theft of the robot coincided with an impending move by the company. In comparison, the contretemps with the local citizen convinced that he had been robbed by a legionnaire was a trivial matter.
In this, at least, my employer was fortunate enough to have an eminently qualified subordinate to whom he could delegate the job of identifying the robber. Sushi’s computer skills were as good as any in the company. But it was his newly acquired status as a Yakuza overlord that gave him access to the information on which to proceed.