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.’