Lair of the Sentinels

by Geoff Palmer

  ‘Why not? Got anything else to do while we wait for your ship?’

  Coral returned with the form and said to Tim, ‘Alice says she’ll sign on one condition. She wants to talk to us first. Both of us.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘We can’t do that!’

  ‘Why not? We can tell her what she expects to hear. After all, she doesn’t know that we know what she thinks she knows.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘That interview she did with Crystal Starbrite hasn’t been broadcast yet. And we know what she said. But she doesn’t know that we know.’

  ‘Right, but—’

  ‘C’mon, it’ll be a laugh! We can wind her up. Who’s going to believer her anyway? It’s not like it’s being recorded or anything.’

  * * *

  Alice sat cross-legged on the ground, holding the leather bag in her lap. Tim and Coral sat opposite. It was a nice angle with the caravan in the background. Not that she would ever let them use the footage. Not of the children. Not after her promise to Em. But it would add weight to her own story. And maybe give her leverage when she finally talked to Albert.

  ‘I should tell you from the outset that I know exactly what’s been going on round here. I mean about the spaceship, and the mice, and what you did to them.’

  Coral’s jaw dropped. Tim watched her with grudging admiration. She was better at this stuff than he was. ‘How on earth ...?’

  ‘Never mind that. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what you know about the mice.’

  ‘Nothing really. Just that they’re visitors.’

  ‘You mean from another planet?’

  ‘Yeah. But we don’t think they’re really mice. They just took on that shape to explore the place.’

  ‘I see.’ Alice tried hard to suppress a smile. She’d been right all along. ‘And what happened to them?’

  ‘They escaped. We’ve been searching for them ever since. That’s ... what we were doing yesterday. Albert has this theory they’re headed south.’

  ‘And ...?’

  ‘Nothing so far. That’s where he’s gone today. We were supposed to go too, but we’re all pretty tired, and Alkemy’s got blisters.’

  ‘Tell me about the meteorite.’

  ‘There was no meteorite. That was an explosion. Their ship blew up.’

  Alice turned to Tim, swivelling her whole body his way. The bag too. ‘But you said you saw a flash of light in the sky before it hit.’

  ‘I ... um ... made that up.’

  ‘We had to say something,’ Coral said.

  Alice swivelled back. ‘Do you know why it blew up?’

  ‘Albert reckons it was on a timer so that if something happened to its inhabitants it would self-destruct.’

  ‘So by capturing its inhabitants, you effectively caused the destruction of their ship.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we know that now.’

  ‘Who is Albert? What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Dunno. All we know is he’s some sort of government agent. But he really is their uncle.’ She gestured at Alkemy. ‘He just borrowed them for a few weeks to add to his cover story about being a tourist.’

  Alice took a breath and tried to think of the sorts of things Crystal Starbrite would ask. ‘What would you say to the mice now if you could see them again?’

  ‘Sorry, I guess. About their ship and all. We didn’t know.’

  ‘But you’ve left them stranded.’

  ‘Well, maybe ...’

  ‘Only maybe?’

  ‘Albert reckons they’ll have a backup somewhere out in space. That when they’re safe they’ll signal for it to come and pick them up.’

  ‘So that’s why he wants to find them?’

  Coral nodded.

  Alice looked around the reserve. ‘Is he really gone for the day?’

  Tim thought about what Ludokrus and Norman were doing. ‘Dunno. He may be back for lunch. Or he might not be back till late.’

  ‘I see. Well, I shan’t wait round.’ Alice got to her feet and hooked the leather bag over her shoulder. ‘But a deal’s a deal.’ She took the form and signed it. As she handed it back she said, ‘There’s no need to mention our little talk to Albert, you know.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Coral said, suppressing a grin.

  * * *

  Millicent Millais held the phone away from her ear as tinny music erupted from the earpiece. ‘Can you believe it? They’ve put me on hold. Again.’

  Roderick Millais shook his head and helped himself to another slice of cake. ‘You are sure about this, aren’t you dear?’

  ‘Of course I am. I know what I saw.’

  ‘I was just thinking that if they’re the sort of people you suspect, and they realise it was you who dobbed them in ... well ... they might not look on it very kindly.’

  ‘Roderick! I’m surprised at you! Are you suggesting I should keep quiet out of fear of reprisals?’

  ‘Not in so many words—’

  ‘One should never, ever let oneself be intimidated, Roderick. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  The music stopped and she snapped the phone back to her ear. She covered the mouthpiece, whispered, ‘Someone senior at last!’ then spoke into the phone.

  ‘Yes, I’m still here ... Good morning Inspector ... Well, as I told your sergeant, we are a farming community and weapons are not uncommon here — for pest control and hunting — but it was the quantity that attracted my attention ... Oh I’d say fifteen or twenty crates ... Well that was the other thing. I can tell a shotgun from a .22, but the ones in the open crate weren’t like anything I’d seen outside of a war film. They had those curving magazines that plug in underneath ... Yes, that’s what my husband said. He’s much more into that sort of thing than I am.’

  ‘Semi-automatic assault rifles?’ Roderick whispered.

  She nodded.

  He looked pleased with himself.

  The voice on the other end said something.

  ‘Ah, now I didn’t realise the significance of that until I returned home,’ she continued. ‘It was stacked up in cartons beside the guns. One of them had been ripped open and you could see plastic-wrapped packets stacked inside. They were a sort of brickish colour and I assumed it was modelling clay — we use it all the time at school — though I didn’t recognise the brand name. That’s why I made a particular note of it. I thought it might be cheaper. We’re always looking to save a few— Yes, yes, I’m quite certain about the spelling: S, E, M, T, E, X.’

  Roderick looked at her expectantly.

  ‘That’s what my husband said. How foolish of me not to have known.’

  ‘Well?’ he whispered.

  She cupped a hand over the receiver. ‘You were right, Roderick. It’s not modelling clay at all. It’s high explosive.’

  50 : Making Friends

  Alkemy eased off the inflated leggings, wiped away the remains of the healing gel with a towel, and flexed her toes. Then she set her feet on the ground and, using the back of her chair for support, stood up and took a few careful steps.

  ‘How does it feel?’ Tim held his arm out and she took his elbow.

  ‘Strange. Like wearing new shoe. Only there are no shoe.’

  She slid on a pair of jandals and they made one shuffling circuit of the caravan, then another — this time without the arm for support. At the start of the third, she’d gained enough confidence to walk without watching where to step. She turned to him and said, ‘My memory is in pieces from the time I am in the tank, but I remember you come back for me.’ She touched his arm. ‘Thank you.’

  Tim looked at the ground and shuffled his own feet.

  ‘You save my life. I do not forget.’

  ‘Hey guys,’ Norman called as they passed the awning again. ‘Come and look at this.’

  Inside, stretched out on the workbench, they found the shiny skeletal framework of a mechanical man.

  Norman picked up a thin piece
of transparent plastic and slipped it over his left hand. It fitted snugly and was almost invisible against his skin. Then he raised it and waggled his fingers at them. They saw the outline of a number of control surfaces on the palm and fingers. He tapped a couple with his right hand and the figure sat up and turned towards them, its bare metal skull gleaming in the half-light. Alkemy and Tim stepped back in surprise. When it spoke, they almost fled the tent.

  ‘Hello,’ it said, ‘I’m Artificial Albert.’

  Alkemy clutched her chest. ‘The voice ...!’

  It sounded exactly like him.

  Tim looked round and found Coral grinning at them, a tiny microphone in her hand.

  ‘I must say it’s rather chilly in here,’ the machine said and rubbed its hands together. ‘I could do with some flesh on my frame.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Coming,’ Ludokrus muttered from the corner where he was crouched over an old paddling pool. He reached in and lifted out a long thick piece of dripping plastic, the colour and texture of raw meat.

  ‘Oh no. Too much!’ Alkemy cried and hobbled out.

  * * *

  ‘What is it now, Darling?’ the Director General said as his assistant hurried in brandishing a sheet of paper. ‘Another sit-rep?’

  ‘A UA from PHQ, sir. A PTA. But it does tie in with that earlier rep.’

  Johnson Johns closed his eyes. ‘In plain English, please!’

  ‘Police Headquarters, sir. An urgent advisory of potential terrorist activity called in by a GP — a member of the general public. Sighting of weapons and what appears to be a large quantity of explosives.’

  ‘Explosives?’

  ‘Situationally and locationwise, it ties in with that satellite hack.’

  Situationally? Locationwise? Johnson Johns wondered if such words actually existed. He studied the document. ‘Who reported this ... potential terrorist activity?’

  ‘Local school principal, sir. Head-mistress.’

  ‘What have we got on her?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing at all? We’re the Security Intelligence Service, man. We should have something on everyone.’

  ‘I’ve asked MinEd — the Ministry of Education — to email her file. My contact there had a quick recce. Seems she’s as clean as a whistle.’

  ‘So to all intents and purposes a solid and reliable witness.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Johns studied the grid reference, rose and walked over to the wall map where a small yellow pin now protruded from a remote spot on the West Coast of the South Island. ‘Do we know any more about that meteorite the other night?’ He’d reviewed the news clip his assistant had forwarded. ‘Anyone track it? Any other witnesses?’

  ‘No sir. Just that boy they interviewed.’

  ‘What if it wasn’t a meteorite, Darling? What if those potential terrorist chaps were trying out their Semtex?’

  ‘Exactly what I thought, sir.’

  ‘Better get the Prime Minister and the Chief of Defence Force on the line. Now, please.’

  51 : Artificial Albert

  ‘That right arm’s still a bit sticky,’ Norman said.

  ‘My fault,’ Ludokrus said. ‘I should not make him do the cartwheel.’

  ‘It was pretty funny though.’

  Artificial Albert turned his head and glared at them. ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Norman and Ludokrus had a control glove each. Coral had one too, but hers was just for head movements. She also had a whisper-mic — a fine wire strand tucked in her abundant hair. When activated by her glove, Artificial Albert would say whatever she whispered.

  ‘Not very natural, guys,’ Tim called.

  Albert was striding ahead of them, following the gravel road that led to the farm, but with his head turned completely backwards.

  ‘Oh chill out, Timmo,’ Coral said through Albert as Ludokrus made him dance.

  Alkemy shook her head. She didn’t approve of the undertaking and was unnerved at how life-like the replica had turned out. With flesh on the bare metal skeleton, some of Albert’s clothes, and a voice pattern copied from the memory bulb, the likeness was uncanny. At least until he started to break dance in the middle of the road.

  The robot actually walked more smoothly than Alkemy, and even though they adjusted their pace to hers, Tim could see she was struggling. She insisted she was fine, saying the sooner her new muscles got used to it, the better, but when he offered to find her a stick, she accepted gratefully.

  Round the back of the farm house, in the shade of a rata tree, they found a long trestle table set with plates, cutlery and a selection of side-salads. On one end was a mountainous pavlova topped with fresh strawberries and cream.

  ‘Yum!’ Norman said.

  Frank had taken charge of a smaller table covered with bottles and glasses.

  ‘There’s water, fizz and fruit juice over there. Help yourselves.’ He turned to Albert. ‘What I reckon you need is a beer.’

  ‘I reckon you’re right,’ Albert said.

  Frank poured him one and raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Coral whispered and glanced at Norman.

  Norman stroked his glove and Albert raised his glass.

  It stopped halfway.

  He stroked it again, harder.

  Nothing.

  And again.

  Alice and Em emerged from the house, carrying steaming dishes. Frank turned towards them as Albert’s arm suddenly engaged and flung the contents of his glass over his shoulder — most of which hit Coral.

  Frank turned back. ‘Now that’s what I call a thirst! Here, let me top you up.’

  ‘You did that on purpose!’ Coral hissed at Norman.

  ‘It’s that right arm.’

  ‘Well use the left! Look at me, I’m soaked. And you can stop laughing.’ She slapped Ludokrus, who laughed even harder.

  Lunch was serve-yourself, but Coral attended to Albert to avoid further mishaps.

  ‘More lamb?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Bean salad?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Tim grinned and nudged Ludokrus. ‘Talking to herself again. She’s a natural.’

  ‘Stop whispering, you lot,’ Albert snapped at them. ‘It’s not polite. And sit up straight, Ludokrus.’

  The three controllers were forced to pick at their food. They couldn’t eat much as they had to stay focused on manipulating Albert.

  ‘Don’t you want those chicken wings?’ Tim said to Norman.

  ‘Yes, I—’

  ‘Here, I’ll swap you for some brussels sprouts.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘More chips, Alkemy? I don’t think Norman wants these.’

  ‘I’ll get you for this, Townsend!’ Norman hissed.

  Albert apologised to Em and Frank for their late return the day before.

  ‘I have to admit we were getting a bit worried,’ Em said, ‘but you did the right thing in waiting out that storm.’

  Albert smiled and shoved a forkful of lamb into his chin.

  Norman snorted, then pretended to choke on his food, which distracted everyone long enough for Ludokrus to correct the mistake.

  ‘Still got a spot of gravy there,’ Tim said out the corner of his mouth.

  Norman made a wiping gesture on his glove, but nothing happened.

  ‘Use his left—’

  Norman did it again and Albert suddenly slapped himself in the face.

  Everyone stared.

  ‘Sandfly,’ he muttered.

  The meal continued.

  Alice, seated diagonally across from Albert, gave him a curious glance. Tim noticed, and had a look himself. It took a moment to realise what was wrong.

  ‘He’s not chewing,’ he whispered to Coral.

  ‘Oh give me a break. I’m trying to hold a conversation here.’

  ‘Yeah, well, someone’s noticed.’

  Coral corrected the problem. Then, when only Alice was looking, she made Albert swallow a
boiled potato — whole. It travelled down his throat in a lump, looking like he’d swallowed a tennis ball.

  Alice stared in horror. Albert grinned at her. She looked away.

  ‘Where’s he putting it all?’ Tim said to Norman.

  ‘You’re asking him?’ Coral grinned.

  ‘Hey!’ Norman said.

  ‘You want to know?’ Ludokrus said quietly. ‘Listen.’

  They heard a faint sloshing sound.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Look under table.’

  ‘Not all at once!’

  They took turns, sitting back in their chairs, glancing under the tablecloth. One of Albert’s legs was raised and he was shaking it vigorously.

  ‘Is the beer, I think,’ Ludokrus said.

  ‘Not the first glass. Coral’s still wearing that.’

  ‘Very funny. He’s got hollow legs. Just like Norman.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Actually,’ Coral said, ‘you probably don’t want to do that too much.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s beer. It fizzes.’

  A sudden froth of foam burst out of Albert’s nostrils. Norman tried to steer his hand to cover it, but the arm jammed halfway. The only thing Coral could think to do was stick out Albert’s tongue to catch it.

  ‘Oh, gross!’

  Em and Frank looked up the table. Coral turned Albert’s head away just in time, but not before Alice caught a glimpse. A look of mute horror crossed her face.

  They were laughing so hard that no one knew what to do. Fortunately, Albert’s head was turned towards them, the same way as the other adults. Unfortunately, foaming bubbles were still streaming from his nose. The sight of it made them laugh even harder.

  ‘What on earth’s got into them?’ Em said.

  Tim nudged his sister. ‘Open his mouth.’

  ‘God no, he’ll puke it out.’

  ‘He won’t, trust me. It’s a pressure thing.’

  ‘I’ll point him at you if he does.’

  Coral stroked her palm and Albert’s mouth opened. There was a faint hiss, like a sigh, and the nose foam stopped bubbling. Norman worked his left hand, bringing it up with a serviette, and Coral managed to make him shake his head in a disapproving, adult fashion.

  ‘I reckon they’ve been at my beer,’ Frank said.