by Geoff Palmer
‘Tilt her.’
Tim did so. As the blob moved, the area beneath it shone through, shiny and clean.
‘Oh wow! That’s neat.’
The blob expanded, an action Tim knew to be the work of the microscopic machines generated by the calculator. They replicated furiously, copying themselves and clearing a path as they went. One quick slosh of the pan, and it was spotless.
‘That makes it easier. What now?’ The fizzing green bubbles reached the rim.
‘Pour into next.’
Tim did so and the process continued, except for the residue in the first pan, which continued fizzing, bubbling and expanding. He dipped it in the sink to rinse it. That slowed the process a little, but it continued again as soon as he took the pan out.
‘Er ...’ he said.
Alkemy looked at the calculator and frowned. ‘Where do you tell the nanomachine to get material to make more machine?’
Ludokrus gave her a long-suffering look. ‘From the pan of course.’
‘... um ...’
She pointed to the display. ‘You set it to take the atom from the metal of the surface, yes?’
‘A few only. No one will miss.’
‘... Hey guys ...’
‘Please define “few”. And how do they know when they are to stop?’’
He looked at her blankly for a moment then muttered, ‘Oh.’
With a distinct bloop, the bottom fell out of the frying pan Tim was holding. The bulk of the blob landed on the stainless steel bench where it bubbled even more furiously. Some droplets splashed on to the cream-coloured benchtop where they fizzled out for lack of raw material, but others found the metal parts of the taps, the toaster and the electric jug.
‘Oh no!’ Tim cried.
The shiny chrome sugar bowl was the first casualty. One thin side vanished, spilling a cascade of sugar across the breakfast bar. Tim grabbed a spoon to stem the flow, but the curved handle had been splashed with a tiny droplet. It seethed greenly for a second, then sagged. He watched in amazement as it bowed, bent, then broke in half.
‘Oops,’ Ludokrus said.
The whole sink bench was now seething with molecular activity. It looked as if its entire surface was engulfed in a weird green fire as nanomachines consumed the thick metal. Faint pops and crackles sounded as the fizzing mass reached the pots and pans stacked on one side and began dissolving them from below.
‘What do we do?’ Tim cried.
Ludokrus snatched the calculator back and began furiously flicking switches. Alkemy rushed from the kitchen.
The toaster collapsed in on itself like the shell of a burnt-out building. The electric jug, pulled off-centre by the weight of its plastic handle, tilted sideways and slumped to the benchtop.
‘Water!’ Coral pointed to the sink where the seething activity around the sides of the basin had stopped at the water line. Tim dipped a hand in and splashed, causing the greenish bubbles to slow markedly. He splashed again, sloshing water round the sink, then grabbed a plastic jug, scooped it full and tipped it over the bench.
The water wiped out most of the activity, washing a grey-green sludge into the sink and revealing deeply scarred metal peppered with small green blotches that flared again as the water drained away. He repeated the process. Again and again. It wasn’t a complete cure, but it was slowing them down.
Alkemy returned, dragging the laundry basket. ‘Cover, quick!’ she said, hurling T-shirts, socks and bed linen on to the bench, piling it as high as possible.
‘What ...?’ Coral said, but Tim caught on right away.
‘Nanomachines get their energy from light. Block it out and they shut down.’
‘Oh, right!’
Coral snatched the curtains shut while Tim and Alkemy emptied the laundry basket, covering every available surface and pressing down tightly. The others helped, leaning on it in the semi-darkness, fearful that the damaged bench might collapse beneath them.
A minute later they carefully peeled back the damp laundry. Specks of activity flared here and there, but were easily snuffed out. Alkemy gathered up the sodden garments, most now stained grey-green, while Coral opened the curtains to reveal the extent of the damage.
The frying pan was just a handle attached to a ragged circle of wire, while the pots stacked on the sink bench leaned like capsized boats, their bottoms and sides partially dissolved. All that remained of the kettle and toaster were odd collections of plastic bits. The sugar bowl had gone completely. The stainless steel benchtop and once-shiny taps were now deeply scored and pitted, as if eaten away by acid.
They stared at the devastation, open-mouthed in shock.
‘What the heck do we do now?’ Coral muttered.
Tim shook his head as footsteps sounded on the veranda outside. ‘Better think quickly. Someone’s coming!’
4 : Footprints
Glad stopped her red Mini at Dead Man’s Bend, the corner that marked the start of the steep, winding section of road leading down to the coast. At its apex stood Dead Man’s Pine, a tree that had been frazzled by a lightning strike years before. Its roots still clung to the side of the cliff, but its blackened top had acted as a signpost, a warning of the stretch of road to come. At least until yesterday, when the rear end of Fitchett’s Flyer — driven by Tim Townsend — slammed into it and snapped it off, sending the whole charred segment plunging down to the rocks far below.
‘What have we stopped here for?’ Norman said as Glad got out to look.
It seemed incredible. Glad was half-convinced she’d dreamed the whole thing. She went to the fence and leaned on one of the posts, looking out at the view of the rocky coastline and the sparkling blue of the Tasman Sea beyond. The Eltherians had fixed the fence of course, and the damaged bus. Made everything as good as new with those nanomachine things of theirs. But they couldn’t do much about the tree.
She looked back at the Mini. They’d fixed that too. And her. She slipped a hand inside her jeans and felt the spot near her hip where the killer robot’s bullet had passed straight through. Had she dreamed that too? The pain and shock? There was a faint dimple there now, that was all. After accelerated healing from one of the gel beds in their tiny spaceship, she was as good as new.
‘Mum?’ Norman got out behind her.
He’d been there as well, but had missed most of the action, buttoned in the pocket of her shirt, his mind still locked in the body of a mouse.
It must have been a dream, she thought. It was too incredible.
‘Hey look over there. I think I can see the crater.’
She followed the direction of his outstretched arm. Through the morning haze she could make out a faint indentation in the distance. A bare circle in the bush.
The meteorite.
She hadn’t dreamt that.
‘It did all happen, didn’t it?’ she said, partly to herself.
‘What? Yesterday?’ Norman seemed surprised at the question.
‘It’s just that everything’s been fixed up. Like it never happened.’ She rubbed her hip again.
‘Almost. But it looks like they missed a bit.’
‘What do you mean?’
He pointed to the stump of Dead Man’s Pine. A few flakes of green paint were scraped deep into the old tree’s bark. It was the same colour as the paint on Fitchett’s Flyer.
‘So they did.’ Glad said, smiling. ‘C’mon, let’s get down there and see what those “tourists” have got to say for themselves.’
* * *
‘Do something. Quick!’ Tim hissed as the approaching footsteps grew louder. He dragged all the mangled pots and pans into the sink and spread a damp tea towel over the damaged bench.
‘Why me?’ Coral hissed back, but she was already halfway to the door.
In a tone remarkably like her aunt’s she said, ‘I hope you’ve not come to disturb my kitchen.’
Frank’s voice: ‘Just come for the Gingernuts, your ladyship.’
‘Keep your boots on. I’ll g
et them.’
He leaned against the door jamb while Ludokrus and Alkemy dried already dry plates and did their best to block his view of the sink. Tim scrubbed an imaginary pot. It really was imaginary. It was nothing but a handle.
‘I love hard work,’ Frank said. ‘I could watch it for hours.’
‘Don’t get comfortable.’ Coral thrust the biscuit barrel at him. ‘You’re upsetting the staff.’
He gave her a mock salute. As he turned to go, tyres sounded on the gravel drive and a red Mini stopped in the turning circle opposite. A woman in her mid-thirties emerged wearing jeans, T-shirt and a big sloppy bush shirt that she wore like an unbuttoned jacket. A boy Tim’s age got out the other side. He had the same unruly mop of gingery hair as his mother.
‘Why, it’s the famous Glad Smith,’ Frank said. ‘Good morning. What brings our esteemed storekeeper out to these lowly parts?’
‘Me? Famous?’ Glad said. ‘You’re the radio star. I’ve come for your autograph.’
‘Well you’re just in time for coffee. If you leave your order with young Coral here, I’m doing signings out the back.’
‘Actually, we came to see the crater,’ Norman said.
‘You mean I’m not the star attraction after all? It really is only fifteen minutes of fame, isn’t it?’
Glad saw the faces at the kitchen window. ‘I’ll join you in a minute, Frank. I’ll just say hello to the others.’
‘No rush. Stay for lunch if you like.’
‘I’d love to, but I could only get Brittany in to mind the shop for a couple of hours.’
Frank headed off, tapping a tune on the lid of the biscuit barrel. Glad climbed the steps of the veranda and poked her head around the kitchen door. ‘We heard the radio. Are you all OK?’ She looked at the weary faces. ‘You scared us half to death. What happened? Did something go wrong with the take-off?’
‘We do not get that far,’ Alkemy said. ‘The killer robot blow up our ship.’
‘What? But it went off the cliff at Dead Man’s Bend.’
‘Must get smash but not destroyed. We think it crawl to ship and self-destruct.’
‘Oh god. So does that mean you’re stuck here?’ Glad stared at Alkemy’s pinched face and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say. But at least you’re OK. We should talk later. I better not keep the others waiting.’
‘D’you want coffee?’ Coral called after her.
‘Instant’s fine, thanks.’
‘Milk, no sugar,’ Norman said, taking her place at the door before stepping into the kitchen. ‘Holy crap! What happened here?’
‘Nanomachine mishap,’ Tim said, draining the sink and sloshing away the last of the grey-green residue.
Coral shoved Norman aside and rummaged in the cupboard. ‘I need something to boil water in.’
Tim held up a saucepan. Its bottom was sliced off at a forty-five degree angle.
Norman laughed.
‘It’s not funny you know,’ Coral snapped. ‘Unless you fancy explaining all this to Aunt Em and Uncle Frank.’
She found an old aluminium pan, filled it with water and set it on the stove.
‘Don’t stand there gawping,’ she told Norman. ‘Make yourself useful. Go through to Tim’s room and keep an eye on the adults. If any of them makes a move in this direction, report back immediately.’
The Eltherians hunched over the calculator, Ludokrus making adjustments which Alkemy kept correcting. Finally he gave up, thrust the device at her and stomped out.
‘What’s the problem?’ Tim said.
‘We have not enough raw material. All the metal that was dissolve is wash away.’
‘So what can we do?’
‘Make thin with what we have and hope it will be enough.’
‘OK. We should start with the obvious stuff like the sink bench and taps. Then the sugar bowl, toaster and kettle. We can always hide the saucepans till later.’
‘Sink and tap, no problem,’ she said flipping switches on the calculator, taking a partly melted saucepan, smearing a fresh blob around its bottom edge and setting it on the bench. ‘They take the layout from the existing shape and repair.’
The bottom of the pan began to melt, coating the pitted surface of the bench, leaving it shiny and smooth again.
‘Shapes of pans are standard also. But the other thing?’ She shook her head. ‘We have no plans.’
Tim swept up the spilled sugar and found a ragged metal disk buried beneath it. ‘Look at this.’ He held it up. ‘The sugar must’ve blocked the light and stopped the nanomachines from getting to this bit.’
‘Is all we need.’ Alkemy took it and pressed it against the calculator. ‘Can use for analysis to rebuild her.’
She was right about the kettle and toaster though. Both were now just collections of plastic bits.
Coral came through from the laundry. ‘That’s the washing on. Now for Glad’s coffee.’
Ludokrus returned carrying a cardboard box. He set it on the stove and took out a kettle and a toaster identical to the demolished ones.
‘Whoa! Where’d they come from?’
‘The caravan. Remember when we first build her? We need many things inside to make her look like she is proper and in use.’
‘That’s right! You copied Aunt Em’s kitchen stuff.’ Coral clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good thinking. We’ll swap them over and restore your stuff later.’
‘Or maybe not,’ he said quietly.
‘What? Why not?’
‘Fix first, news after.’
‘News?’
They looked at him curiously as he took the remaining pots and pans from the box, but his grave expression gave nothing away. Still, the mood in the kitchen changed, and they went about the business of comparing and swapping damaged pans in silence. Repairs to the sink bench and taps took longer, but as the minutes ticked past, the missing surfaces reappeared beneath bubbling blobs of foam. Finally the bubbles died, activity ceased, and Tim wiped away the residue of grey-green dust to reveal shiny unmarked surfaces beneath.
‘Well, that only took about twice as long as it should’ve done,’ he said.
No one smiled. All eyes were on Ludokrus as he put away the last of the damaged pans and closed the flaps of the cardboard box. He stood weighing it in his arms.
‘So?’ Coral prompted. ‘What’s the news? Why won’t you need to restore that stuff.’
‘Because we are leaving,’ he said.
5 : More Dishes
‘If it’s not music, what is it?’
‘It sounds like an alarm.’
‘An alarm ...?’
* * *
Alkemy pegged out the last of the laundry as Coral scooped up the empty basket and carried it back inside. The clothes line consisted of a fixed metal pole with a rotating top, and Alkemy, still on the box she’d been standing on to hang the washing out, gave it a push. It turned slowly, squeaking faintly above the whispered argument between Ludokrus and Albert.
‘But we are safe here,’ Ludokrus hissed as they dismantled the awning.
‘We’re not safe anywhere, Ludokrus. The fact that the Sentinels sent a killer robot after you all — in public — shows their level of desperation. We’re just lucky that this is such a remote spot and no one else saw it.’
‘But is gone now, you say yourself.’
‘Look at the manner of its departure. You’ve seen the crater. There’s nothing subtle about that. Do you think for one moment that if the Sentinels had some sort of missile or warhead they wouldn’t aim it straight at this farm now they know we’re still alive?’
Ludokrus said nothing as they folded the heavy canvas and dragged it into the caravan.
‘For all we know they may be preparing something as we speak. We can’t endanger the people here. They’re innocent bystanders. It’s nothing to do with them. We have to separate ourselves and go back to the reserve.’
‘Then what? Sit and wait to die?’
‘Not quite,’ Alb
ert said, gathering up the support poles.
Alkemy gave the line another push as Glad came round the side of the house. ‘I’ve got to get back to the shop,’ she called, ‘so I’ll see you guys later.’ They waved her off. Alkemy heard her brother mutter, ‘I hope.’
She listened to the sound of the departing Mini, seeing the faint trail of dust as it headed up the road. The brownish plume hung in the still air like the exhaust from a rocket, and she thought again of their lost ship.
She turned at the sound of other voices and was surprised to see Norman Smith still there.
‘Your mum has gone,’ she said.
‘But I’m staying,’ Norman grinned. ‘The whole weekend. Mr and Mrs Townsend said it’s OK. I’m going back with you guys on Tuesday morning on Fitchett’s Flyer. How cool is that?’
‘Great.’ She smiled, but without enthusiasm, thinking of Albert’s words and wondering if they’d live to see Tuesday morning.
Albert hitched the caravan to the Cadillac’s tow bar and waved them over. ‘Can I see you all please, after lunch, once we’re unpacked and set up? I have an idea, but it’s not something I can develop here, and I’m going to need your help to deploy it.’
‘Like a secret plan?’ Norman said. Albert nodded. ‘Yes!’
The Cadillac departed. Coral, Tim and Norman retired to the back lawn and took over the deck chairs the adults had vacated. Aunt Em brought out a jug of boysenberry cordial and a plate of chocolate biscuits to thank them for their hard work.
‘Those pots and pans are spotless. Whatever did you use?’
‘Oh, it was just some stuff they had in the caravan,’ Coral said.
‘I must get the name of it off Albert. It’s like having a brand new kitchen.’
Another car sounded in the drive. A door slammed and Alice appeared.
‘Have they gone?’ she said to Em, staring at the spot where the caravan had been.
‘Yes, back to the reserve. Albert insisted. Said he didn’t want to be in the way. Silly man.’
Alice looked relieved.
‘Do you remember Norman, Glad Smith’s son? He’s staying the weekend. My sister Alice, down from Greymouth,’ Em said to Norman.
