“You can help us find Mincey Muir.” The RoboSecGua (which had no desire to hear Flaccid’s vacuous chattering any longer than absolutely necessary) replied sharply.
“Excuse me, Sir.” Flaccid dared respond. “But who the flip is Mincey Muir?”
“Bad girl.” Heathrow replied.
“None of your business.” The RoboSecGua answered Flaccid. “She is beige coloured and looks a bit like a young Sir Dodger Muir. Well can you help us find her?”
“Wanna punish her bad.” Heathrow offered.
Flaccid was loathe to reply; but when he did it was in the negative. “Um, sorry.” He said, “But our search party is busy in the past.”
“Looking for missing visitors.” Nature Beast added. Then to Heathrow he said: “You catch her, Nature Beast punish her bad. Punch her in the face real hard. And kick her up the arse too.”
Following Nature Beast’s misuse of the Earplug language, the thought of what type of punishment should be administered to Mincey became uppermost in the RoboSecGua’s cybernetic mind. It remained in pole position as it, and it’s plugmutt sidekick, travelled by the Time Techs, who were busy fiddling with the idling Tubo Di Tempo…
An almost silent power surge caught its robotic attention; and it turned to regard the futuristic, but faulty, device…
“Hmmm.” It hummed speculatively.
“Hmmm?” Heathrow inquired.
“Yes; hmmm.” The RoboSecGua replied…
…as it turned away. “I am in receipt of a really neat idea.”
“About Mincey?” Heathrow asked hopefully.
“Indeed, Heathrow, my surprisingly aerodynamic chum.” The RoboSecGua answered. “And I have applied logic to the task of finding the ghastly female too. Success is virtually certain. Follow me.”
At that precise moment the subject of the RoboSecGua’s quest was in the act of talking the ears off her father…
“Yes, and what’s more, when I’m in charge I can have a wonderful Dacha built for you in Siberia. It’ll be wonderful. You’ll be able to ride about on sleighs and shoot Caribou to your heart’s content.”
For a moment Sir Dodger was almost tempted. He raised a vaguely surprised eyebrow. “You certainly make your ascension to the throne sound most attractive.” He said quietly. “I certainly do enjoy loosing off powerful hollow-tipped ammunition in all directions. Tell me; this Dacha: will it have an outside Jacuzzi in the back garden?”
Little did either Muir know, but the RoboSecGua’s use of logic had proved fruitful. It had reasoned that Mincey would try to convince her curator father to help her. He also knew that, at about this time of day, Sir Dodger loved to get lost in the museum maze.
“Ah-ha.” It’s tinny voice box tried to boom. “Gotcha!”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018