I found Sheila on the concourse, dragging my most recent rogue service mech's head out of a firebucket. Its sensors were thoroughly fried; water's hard on live electronics.

 

"I bet someone told the stupid thing to go soak its head," she said. I nodded wryly and knelt to help, but this was a job for Maintenance. Without input, the robot wouldn't move on its own, and it was far too heavy to carry.

 

"I see promotion hasn't gone to your head, kid. Still willing to get your hands dirty. Good for you."

 

I flushed at the praise. Last time I'd seen Sheila, she'd been my boss on the colonial rocket project. She was still a contract troubleshooter for the Company, but I'd long since gone career and now was top dog here at the airship factory. She'd come at my request.

 

I filled her in as we walked. She listened intently, then asked, "Sabotage?"

 

"Looks it," I said. "Service bots throwing themselves into the trash grinder. Messengers diving headlong into bandsaws. Welders running amok on the factory floor. Every time a catastrophic failure, and all performed by robots."

 

"Ever caught one before it fried itself?"

 

"Twice now, yeah. Trimmer started cutting and wouldn't stop; it sliced six girders into ribbons before we shut it down. We sent it back to Applied Robotics for analysis. They'll send a report — in six months."

 

She echoed my grimace. "And the other?"

 

I shook my head. "It was in the supply shed, randomly welding things. We couldn’t get close, and eventually it tried welding an oxy tank to an acetylene. The whole workshop might have gone up. One of the guards put two rounds in its processor from almost a hundred yards. Hell of a shot."

 

"Nothing left worth salvaging?"

 

"Oh, sure," I chuckled grimly. "A new processor and it was good as new. No memory left, though."

 

"Hmm." She chewed meditatively on her lower lip. She was as beautiful as ever, and I'd never dream of telling her. That's not who we were to each other. But I could look.

 

We detoured to the cafeteria for a cup of high-test. As always, she kidded me about my customary pinch of salt.

 

"My doctor told me not to stress about salt," I said airily. She cocked an eyebrow at me; I clarified: "I think his exact words were, Stress kills."

 

I'd been saving that one up for over a year, and it got the chuckle it deserved.

 

* * *

 

"What I don't get is why," I said. "I mean, the EarthFirsters actually like us now we've gone solar. Some governments felt neglected when we were still constructing factories, but that's the distant past. Dirigibles are too slow to compete with air and rail, so it's not corporate. Everybody likes us!"

 

"Everybody?" Sheila asked archly.

 

I flushed. "You know what I mean: The usual suspects. Ecowarriors, corporate or government espionage."

 

"Applied Robotics, boosting parts sales?" It was only half in jest.

 

"All the bots are still under warranty."

 

"So it must be personal. I agree. Where does that get us?"

 

"Not far. I've gone over the personnel files and come up blank. Anyone with a grudge is hiding it well."

 

"I'll take a look anyway. Second set of eyes."

 

* * *

 

Three hours later we broke for more coffee. I'd called her "Boss" twice without thinking and both times she'd laughed at me. Old habits.

 

"Right. So where are we?"

 

I ticked off points on my fingers. "I've ruled out Bot Maintenance; they were the automatic suspects, but they're clean. Service staff — janitors and cooks — don't have access to production robots. Construction workers can't easily get to the service bots, plus they're too well monitored — theft had been a problem before I got here. That leaves Security, who lack the expertise, a handful of shift managers, and me."

 

"Theft?" Sheila raised an eyebrow.

 

I nodded. "Sure. Copper, cobalt, gold contact wire, platinum catalytic beads. All small enough to smuggle out in a lunchbox."

 

She grinned. "Hence the cafeteria."

 

"Exactly. Free food means no lunchboxes. Plus, now the coffee's free too. Bonus!"

 

She laughed, then her eyes unfocused. I knew that look well enough not to interrupt her.

 

* * *

 

Once she'd explained, setting the trap was easy. We put button cams on every light pole in the parking lot, stationed a couple of guards in a van with monitors, and waited for the next haywire bot. At Sheila's suggestion, we'd secretly hidden mini-detonators on the power feeds of every construction bot, so for once the shutdown took only seconds. I still made a show of storming around, throwing my hardhat on the ground, and pulling the security chief in for a 'talk'.

 

We snuck out the window and dashed over, but by the time we arrived it was all over. The second-shift electrician was facedown in the parking lot surrounded by glittering scraps of metal, which a frantic messenger bot kept trying to put back in its bin. Two armed security guards stood over him. And there was Sheila sitting on his back, twisting his arm straight up into the air.

 

"Glad you could make it!" she greeted me, a huge grin on her face.

 

* * *

 

"It was your question that solved it," she told me later over a celebratory beer. "Once we'd ruled out personal vengeance, it had to be theft. He used the malfunctions as distractions, smuggling out thousands of dollars in scrap using service bots he'd later destroy so there'd be no record."

 

"Doing millions in damage at the same time." I shook my head wearily. "You'd think top-end pay would be enough to keep a man honest."

 

"Some people are just born bent," Sheila said, rising.

 

I was dismayed. "You're not leaving? We've barely had time to catch up!"

 

Her eyes danced as she leaned in. "You can walk me to my hotel room," she whispered. "I'm not your boss any more."

 

Never argue with the boss.