A couple minutes ago I told Leckie he is fired from being Bob. He probably thinks I am joking or just talking crazy, but I’m not. I have been expecting too much out of him anyhow. Stubbins handed out too big a job when he made Leckie my babysitter. I’m blaming Leckie for not being there when I needed him, but you know, neither was Stubbins, and I thought he was my friend. I ought to fire him too. An ancient drunk booty call is all anybody thinks of now, and I need to clearly broadcast some clarifications regarding the present status. Not that its really anybody’s business at all. If I ignore the chatter, Orden’s soap opera will attract the attention of the masses and they will be distracted from me and my business.
I didn’t get any restful sleep on Toola. I was worried that Bishop2 would go off his nut and start killing cat people or try to kill me. He didn’t, and they didn’t decide to come for me in the middle of the night. One of them had been eyeballing me and I was afraid he was going to try something, but nothing happened. Maybe the vomit on my shirt smelled like dessert and he was hungry. I shouldn’t have promised the Toola that I would personally hunt down the fugitives. I am tired and beyond my limit. If Bishop was okay, he could do what I do. Hell, even Leckie has learned a few of my tricks. RB Ferris wants the fugitives heads. But I couldn’t promise they’d bring the fugitives back to Toola instead of bypassing Toola’s justice, whatever that might be. I don’t care what The Toola do to the fugitives. It isn’t my problem. I think there may be loud objections to that though, so it’s on me to be the Toola agent.
And we went thru what might turn out to be a one way door to another damaged world. At least Sim isn’t here with us. That’s one less thing to tip me over the edge again.
I want pie. I want home.