o blame. In exactly three minutes Ned gave the
Chief a summary of the routine necessary for a police officer to make a
report on an armed robbery or other reported theft. From the glazed look
in Chief's protruding eyes I could tell Ned had quickly passed the
boundaries of the Chief's meager knowledge.

"Enough!" the harried man finally gasped. "If you know so much why don't
you make a report?"

Which to me sounded like another version of "_if you're so damned smart
why ain't you rich?_" which we used to snarl at the brainy kids in
grammar school. Ned took such things literally though, and turned
towards the door.

"Do you mean you wish me to make a report on this robbery?"

"Yes," the Chief said just to get rid of him, and we watched his blue
shape vanish through the door.

"He must be brighter than he looks," I said. "He never stopped to ask
where Greenback's store is."

The Chief nodded and the phone rang again. His hand was still resting on
it so he picked it up by reflex. He listened for a second and you would
have thought someone was pumping blood out of his heel from the way his
face turned white.

"The holdup's still on," he finally gasped. "Greenback's delivery boy is
on the line--calling back to see where we are. Says he's under a table
in the back room ..."

I never heard the rest of it because I was out the door and into the
car. There were a hundred things that could happen if Ned got there
before me. Guns could go off, people hurt, lots of things. And the
police would be to blame for it all--sending a tin robot to do a cop's
job. Maybe the Chief had ordered Ned there, but clearly as if the words
were painted on the windshield of the car, I knew I would be dragged
into it. It never gets very warm on Mars, but I was sweating.

Nineport has fourteen traffic regulations and I broke all of them before
I had gone a block. Fast as I was, Ned was faster. As I turned the
corner I saw him open the door of Greenback's store and walk in. I
screamed brakes in behind him and arrived just in time to have a gallery
seat. A shooting gallery at that.

There were two holdup punks, one behind the counter making like a clerk
and the other lounging off to the side. Their guns were out of sight,
but blue-coated Ned busting through the door like that was too much for
their keyed up nerves. Up came both guns like they were on strings and
Ned stopped dead. I grabbed for my own gun and waited for pieces of
busted robot t