Free Tek Net by William Shatner

you’ve really got to improve your landing techniques.” Shiboo unhooked from the safety gear and ran into the other room to get the fallen andies to their feet and check for damage.
    Then he came back into the cabin and released the door on his side.
    It opened to reveal the short, stocky Thelma Glanzman standing out in the sunny afternoon. Hands on hips, looking up at him. “Hello, Ernest,” she said.
    â€œThelma, gumdrop, how are you?” said Shiboo, climbing out of the skyvan. “Just wait until you get a look at this batch of—”
    â€œGet up to the house right away quick,” she told him. “Marriner wants to talk to you.”

12
    An image of the bald, scraggly-whiskered man, half life size, appeared on one of the holograph stages in Bascom’s tower office.
    Circling the round stage, the Cosmos Detective Agency chief said, “This comely lad’s name is Nigel Dunkirk. He—”
    â€œBingo,” said Gomez from the chair where he was slouching.
    Bascom eyed him. “What are you trying to convey?”
    â€œYou’ve just confirmed—which I was already near certain of anyway—that he’s the mierda that Corky warned me about.”
    Jake was straddling a chair a few feet further back from the stage. “This Dunkirk’s a hired-hand type,” he remarked. “Not affiliated with any particular Tek outfit.”
    â€œThis time he and his botito are working for Johnny Trocadero.”
    Bascom frowned. “Why are you only now mentioning this, Sid?”
    â€œHey, jefe , I came rushing in here a few minutes ago, bursting with news,” the curly-haired detective reminded his boss. “But I was informed that Jake had dragged in this pendejo and his faithful mechanical companion and that you were going to brief us before we got down to—”
    â€œOkay, enough.” Bascom consulted his handful of printout memos. “Dunkirk and the bot are reposing down in Interrogation Suite 3 at the moment. Soon as our medics bring the guy out of his stungun swoon, we’ll troop down there and ask him some pertinent questions.”
    â€œHe knows where Jill is,” said Gomez.
    â€œHe at least knows where they delivered her,” observed Jake. “What’s the robot’s name?”
    Bascom’s frown deepened. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
    â€œI’m curious.”
    The chief riffled the memos. “Turns out the damn thing doesn’t have a name. Satisfied?”
    â€œYou can tell a lot about people from what they name things.” Jake grinned.
    â€œWe’re already scanning the bot’s brain to see what he knows.”
    â€œTimecheck told me there was a SoCal Teklord involved in this,” he told his partner. “Johnny Trocadero must be the one.”
    â€œ Sí , but I’m still not clear as to why he’s risking going up against the overseas Tek hombres .”
    Bascom said, “My prospective DC customer will want to know about that. So find out, fellas.”
    â€œFirst,” put in Gomez, “we have to talk to this Dunkirk cabrón and find out where Jill is.”
    The vidphone on Bascom’s desk suddenly started talking. “Lieutenant Drexler of the SoCal State Police is out here in the reception area, Mr. Bascom. He has five officers with him and a warrant. He says he’s going to see you at once.”
    There were exactly forty-two vidscreens built into the walls of the mansion’s main ballroom. Each one was displaying a different Marriner Media vidshow.
    Sitting in the large room’s only chair, thin fingers steepled beneath his chin, was a lanky black man in a grey suit. He was a year away from thirty, his hair was close-cropped. Two men and an android stood just to the rear of his high-back wicker chair. “Screen 8,” he said in his whispery voice.
    The heavyset bearded man at the right of the standing