Why am I furious? I’ll tell you why. The maid let in three visitors this morning - all mechanicals. A strange, ill-assorted trio - one large bluish collection of odd shaped parts, one small tinhead and a stylized rotund cartoon cat. The tinhead said they wanted to discuss a financial matter - arranging a donation to a worthy cause. So I laughed and said “what do robots want with money, eh? Clear off.” “Oh it’s not for us personally,” he says, “it’s for a deserving human friend of ours.” “Well,”says I, “go and discuss your requirements with some benevolent society or other. I am a business man, not a charity.” “We’re well aware of that,” says he, “but as a business man you have a large amount of money at your disposal; and that’s why we decided to come to you with a proposal.” “In which I am not in the least bit interested.” “It concerns some of your business transactions the details of which you might prefer to keep to yourself…” “All my business transactions are above board, I’ll have you know!” “Well, the internet does leak at times and we have acquired some data that would seem to suggest the opposite.” “Rubbish. The door is behind you. Good day.” “It concerns a certain ‘Golden Handshake’ that seems to have been overlooked by the Inland Revenue.” That shook me. If they really had any information on that deal, then… “And precisely just what data do you think you have, then?” The tall blue robot handed me a computer print-out - with all the awful details and facts staring me in the face. Publication of what was on that sheet could ruin me! “Is that all?“ I sneered. “Oh no, sir, we have another dozen sheets like that covering some of your other ‘business deals’. Would you like to see them?” “You’re wasting my time. Get out of here!” “On your own head be it then, sir; we thought for a small consideration you might prefer to have these documents - and a confirmed erasure of all electronic data in our possession.” “Blackmail, eh? Robots using blackmail? And I pay you a little something, and you come back with more documents, eh?” “No. One payment and you’ll never see us again.” “And supposing I decided to humour you? What is this ‘small consideration’ you are suggesting?” “A million credits.” “You are out of your tiny little robot mind! Never!” “It’s an awful lot less than you’ll lose, if these documents reach the most influential Government officials.” Trouble was, the little tinhead was quite right; those documents would utterly destroy me and my business - and probably reduce me to a pauper. “Perhaps I might think about it?” “We can wait.” “Here?” “Until you say yes, or no.” Did I have any choice? No. “Cash.” says the little fellow. “I don’t have that much money here.” “You do, actually; your computer has, unfortunately for you; been hacked. You need much much stronger passwords. You’ve got a million and a half there in that safe behind the picture of the President.” That’s why I am furious. The minute they left with the money I sent my lads after them, but they were tripped up by a couple of rather heavy-duty bots waiting at the gates. One of these days I’ll catch up with those three and turn them into scrap!