Bowen picked them up and returned to the writing desk. He took out his wallet, extracted a five-dollar bill, and sat down. Carefully, he examined the robot's bills against his own.
Minutes dragged past. Joe licked his lips nervously, noticed that Barbara was doing the same thing, and they stared at each other. Then Barbara smiled, and he smiled, and—
"Mr. Linger," Bowen spoke sharply, "I want you to do something else—no, wait!" He rose and walked back to them. "Mr. Linger, let me try that robot thing!"
Joe glanced at Barbara, then mutely handed the globe to Bowen.
"Now," Bowen said, turning, "Barbara, get off the couch, will you?"
"Yes, father!" Barbara rose hurriedly.
"Um," said Mr. Bowen. He cradled the globe on his arm and pecked at the keyboard.
There was the swirling blue glow, the faint click—and a loud crack that rattled the windows. The air swirled about the room, reeking with ozone—
And where the couch had been was now an ugly, anti-tank cannon, squatting heavily on its rubber tires.