"That's no good," he moaned. "I'm dying from hunger and sitting here isn't going to help me any." "I will go take the report," Ned said, stepping forward and snapping his usual well-greased salute. At first the Chief wasn't buying. You would think the water cooler came to life and offered to take over his job. "How could _you_ take a report?" he growled, putting the wise-guy water cooler in its place. But he had phrased his little insult as a question so he had only himself to 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 to come flying through the window.