by Geoff Palmer
Lair of the
Sentinels
Geoff Palmer
PODSNAP PUBLISHING
Wellington, New Zealand
Prologue
No one spoke. Silence hung over the landscape as they watched Albert’s distant figure disappear into the lengthening twilight, an empty petrol can in one hand.
Tim ran a finger over the bonnet of the black Cadillac as a fine grit from the explosion settled on it like a dusting of talcum powder. He glanced at his sister. Coral bit her lip. They both knew that amidst those blasted atoms were the remains of their friends’ spaceship.
The Eltherians hadn’t moved. Alkemy clung to her brother, her face buried against his chest, crying quietly. Ludokrus stared towards the reserve, his face expressionless.
A tui settled on a power line overhead. The white ruff of feathers round its neck glowed orange in the setting sun. It trilled a string of melodious notes before concluding with a harsh Crrrrrhh, a sound like an echo of the explosion. Alkemy looked up at it and bit her lip.
Coral nudged Tim. He followed her gaze in the direction of the farm. The direction Albert was heading. Across the open fields he caught sight of their uncle’s ute heading towards them.
‘What are we going to tell the grown-ups?’ Coral said.
1 : In Darkness
It was watching him, Tim could sense it. The killer robot. The Emissary. The thing without a face. It stood at the end of his bed, staring down at him through the dozen eyes — large and small — that dotted its pockmarked metal head. It had no mouth, no nose, just grilles where the cheeks should be. Tim could hear air moving through them. Some sort of ventilation, perhaps. It sounded like an old man’s rasping breath.
He edged back in his bed, feeling the pillows bunch up behind his shoulders, and kicked down the duvet to free his legs so he could run. But where to? Where could he go?
Suddenly the robot’s face began to melt. The grilles merged to form a mouth, a mouth that grinned at him then opened wide. The jaw hinged back revealing row on row of jagged, pointy teeth like those of a shark. Its hands closed around the wooden board at the end of the bed and it launched itself straight at him.
‘Whoa!’
Tim jerked awake, unsure if he really had cried out, and lay in darkness as his pounding heart returned to a more normal beat. He switched on the lamp on the bedside table and looked about the room. Dresser, wardrobe, the old kauri desk with his school books scattered over it. Nothing had changed. It couldn’t have. The killer robot was gone. Blown up. He knew that. Still, he couldn’t help himself. He took out his torch and checked under the bed and inside the wardrobe, just in case.
Sighing, he opened his bedroom door and headed for the kitchen. Starlight streamed through the kitchen windows as he took a glass from the bench, filled it with water and sipped in silence, staring at the stars. The night outside was bright and cloudless. Nothing stirred. He could see the outlines of his uncle’s cows huddled near the fence, sleeping. A line from a Christmas carol came to him: All is calm, all is bright.
Not even close, he thought.
On the way back to his room he saw a faint glow along the bottom of his sister’s door. He paused and tapped and opened it a fraction. Coral was sitting up in bed, her reading lamp on, a book perched on her knees.
‘What are you doing up?’ she whispered.
‘I ... just went to the kitchen. Saw your light.’
Coral nodded and turned a page, barely looking at the text or pictures. Tim recognised the book, Old Norse Myths and Legends.
‘I had a dream,’ he said. ‘The killer robot ...’
Coral turned another page. She wasn’t really reading. Her eyes were puffy with lack of sleep and her long blonde hair looked like birds had been nesting in it. At length she said, ‘It really is gone, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what Albert said.’
‘How can he be sure?’
‘He analysed the dust. Picked up traces of whatever powered it. Something called a micro-fusion generator. Besides, nothing could have survived that explosion. You saw the crater.’
‘So why can’t I get that through my thick skull?’ She tapped her head. ‘Every time I close my eyes, my brain goes into overdrive. The house creaks or a door bangs and it goes, “It’s back! It’s back!”
‘Then I think about how close we were. Five more minutes and we’d have been right there. If we hadn’t stopped at Dead Man’s Bend, if Albert hadn’t run out of petrol, we’d all have been blown to smithereens.’ She stared at her brother. ‘This is for real, Timmo. Those Sentinels want us dead.’
He went to the window and drew back the curtain. A crescent moon hung in the sky to the east. A thin sliver, like the blade of a sickle. Its cold light glanced off the roof of the caravan parked at the side of the house. Aunt Em insisted the visitors move it there the night before. Alkemy and Ludokrus readily agreed, even though it had been far enough from the explosion to only suffer a little scorched paint and a dent from a falling branch.
‘We should be safe for a while,’ he said. ‘They’ll think they got us last night.’
‘I hope so.’ Coral sighed and slumped against her pillows, but her look said she didn’t really believe him.
Tim didn’t really believe it himself.
2 : Country Air
It began as a faint murmur in the distance, growing louder by the second till it hit the house with a full-throated roar that rattled the windows and almost shook the fillings from Tim’s teeth. He leapt from his bed, still half-asleep, and raced down the hall towards the kitchen, the roaring keeping pace with him as he ran.
Coral looked up from the breakfast table as he burst in. She was washed and dressed, her hair neatly brushed, her face unconcerned. He suddenly realised it was morning and the house was filled with daylight.
The roaring faded, moving south, and he recognised the whup-whup-whup as the sound of a helicopter.
‘They must be looking at the crater,’ Coral said. ‘You know, from that meteorite yesterday?’
Her emphasis was slight, but it was a useful reminder for his sleep-fudged brain. Saying the explosion had been caused by a meteorite had been his idea. He even pretended he’d seen a streaking flash in the sky in the seconds before it hit.
‘Oh. Right.’
Coral gave him a knowing look. She’d seen the fear in his face. That noise ... Those dreams ... At least she understood.
He returned five minutes later, washed and dressed, and took a seat opposite her at the dining table. Eight places had been laid. Em and Frank Townsend bustled around at the other end of the kitchen, preparing what looked like an enormous breakfast. Tim realised he was hungry. He’d only pecked at his food the night before, unable to eat properly after all the excitement.
‘Well look at this,’ Frank turned. ‘The pair of you, up and dressed at 8:45 on a Saturday morning. A holiday weekend too. I reckon the country air is finally getting to you city-slickers.’
The helicopter finished its business at the crater and returned, the noise of its rotor blades rising to a screaming pitch as it headed north and passed back over the house.
‘That must be it,’ Coral yelled. ‘I mean, IT’S JUST SO PEACEFUL HERE, I’M AMAZED WE DIDN’T SLEEP ALL DAY!’
The whup-whup-whup fell away steadily and more normal countryside sounds returned.
‘Puss, puss, puss? Come on puss.’ Alice’s shadow passed the kitchen window. ‘Oh, don’t be so silly. It’s nothing to be frightened of. And it’s gone now. Come on. It’s all right. You can trust me. Smudge. Smudge? Oh I give up.’
She appeared at the back door carrying a bowl of cat biscuits.
‘New diet?’ Frank said.
She ignored him and t
urned to her sister. ‘She still won’t come out from under the house. She spent the whole night there after that explosion, and now that thing’s gone and frightened her all over again.’
‘She’ll come out when she’s good and ready,’ Em said.
‘And hungry,’ Frank added. ‘Like these two.’ He jerked his head at Tim and Coral.
Alice set the cat bowl down with a bang as she looked at the dining table and the eight places arranged around it. Her mouth pursed and she backed away. ‘Oh ... I ... um ... ate earlier.’
‘Really?’ Em said.
‘Yes, yes, I’m quite full up.’
Frank inspected the cat bowl and made a face. Em shot him a warning glance.
There were footsteps on the veranda. Alice snatched her car keys from a hook beside the door. ‘I think I’ll go for a drive instead and get out of your way.’
‘Are you sure?’
But she was already gone, heading for the blue Daihatsu parked in the turning circle outside the kitchen window.
‘Here comes the rest of the hungry horde,’ Frank said, gesturing towards the veranda.
Alkemy led the way, wishing everyone a good morning. She was dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, her wavy hair neatly clipped back, its silvery highlights glinting in the morning sun. She smiled, but it somehow didn’t reach her eyes which looked tired and downcast.
Ludokrus followed. He was two years older — Coral’s age — a head and shoulders taller. His cargo pants and sweatshirt looked like they’d been slept in, but he moved with an easy grace. Although he never seemed to brush his straight brown hair, it always looked just right, Coral thought.
They were followed by Albert, a tall, lean, middle-aged man with a shock of frizzy grey hair that could do with a trim. His clothes were clean but well-worn, and he had the look of someone whose mind was elsewhere, thinking deep, important thoughts. It was difficult to believe that beneath that haphazard exterior lay a mechanical heart and an electronic brain.
‘Sleep OK?’ Coral asked as they settled round the table.
Ludokrus blew out his cheeks. His chiselled features looked partially eroded. ‘The nighthorse keep me awake.’
‘Mare,’ Alkemy corrected. ‘Me also. And Albert work all night,’ she added in a lower tone.
‘Doing what?’
‘He finally have all the part, so he build the Temporal Accumulator.’
‘That thing you came here for?’ Tim glanced at the microwave. ‘Why bother? What good is it now?’
Alkemy shrugged.
Em and Frank began loading up the dining table. Dishes of bacon, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, sausages and hash browns. Pitchers of fresh milk and cream for their cereal. A big yellow slab of butter. Frank manned the toaster, keeping up a steady stream as everyone dug in. Tim licked his lips. His appetite was back with a vengeance, along with everyone else’s. Even Albert, who could draw energy from a number of sources — including sunlight — tucked in heartily.
Frank checked his watch, leaned across and turned up the radio in time for the nine o’clock news. It was preceded by a bird call. A tui. Alkemy smiled sadly in recognition.
There was the usual list of troubles from around the country and around the world, and then: ‘A family of tourists had a lucky escape late yesterday when a meteorite struck a bush reserve near their camp site. The impact, about forty kilometres south of Haast on the South Island’s West Coast, left a ten-metre wide crater. Nearby resident Frank Townsend, whose dairy farm is just a kilometre from the site, spoke to us earlier this morning ...’
Albert looked up sharply.
‘The wife and I were having a cuppa when we heard this terrific bang and the whole place shook,’ Frank’s voice said. ‘We looked out the window and saw this mushroom-shaped cloud rising in the distance. For a moment I thought they’d nuked Rata.’
‘Rata?’ the interviewer asked.
‘Nearest town. Twenty K away.’
Radio Frank went on to describe how some tourists — he didn’t say he knew them or that his niece and nephew were with them at the time — had been even closer to the scene.
‘The tourists, believed to be Norwegian, were still in shock and weren’t available for comment,’ the radio concluded.
Frank turned the volume down.
No one spoke.
Coral saw Albert’s mouth pursed in anger. Alkemy and Ludokrus had stopped eating.
‘When did you do that?’ she said to her uncle by way of distraction.
‘They called just after six. I was the only one up.’ He turned to Albert. ‘I’d have given you a yell, but you said last night you didn’t want to bothered by journalists. I’ve still got the reporter’s number though, if you want to call him back.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll bother,’ Albert’s voice was mild but his features were wooden.
Coral elbowed Tim. ‘What’s all that about? What’s the big deal?’
‘Uncle Frank’s just told the whole wide world the Eltherians survived,’ he whispered back. ‘The Sentinels included.’
3 : Out of the Frying Pan
‘I’m dying.’
‘I wish I only felt that bad.’
‘Was it the Snot Champagne? Or the Green Slime cocktails?’
‘I think it was your Mucus Beer.’
‘You didn’t have to drink it all.’
‘You didn’t have to help me.’
‘Still, it was quite a celebration.’
‘One of the best.’
‘Oh look, there’s been a message from our masters. Our evacuation craft has been despatched.’
‘Our ship! Our good old ship! We’re going home at last. I can hardly believe it.’
‘There’s even a message of congratulations.’
‘Yes, yes, very good, but turn it down please. That screen is rather bright.’
‘It is turned down. As far as it will go.’
‘And turn off that music too.’
‘What music?’
‘That bee-bop, bee-bop noise. Were we really dancing to that last night?’
‘Wait a minute. That’s not music ...!’
* * *
Norman Smith rolled over in bed and studied his alarm clock, luxuriating in the thought of the long weekend ahead. Monday was Rata Day, a local holiday to celebrate the founding of the town, so that meant three whole days of idleness. He’d help his mum in the shop of course, but Rata weekend was always quiet as many locals went away. He thought about what else he’d do. Some more on the electronics project he was working on, perhaps a start on next week’s homework — he liked to keep ahead — and maybe he could talk his mum into taking the Mini out for a spin. They could visit his friend Tim Townsend at his aunt and uncle’s farm out on the coast. It’d be fun to talk over all that happened yesterday and find out how the Eltherians’ launch had gone last night.
He reached up and clapped his hands. The radio came on. An electronics project he’d completed the month before. A simple thyristor circuit, but it amused him. Clapping twice turned it off again. It was like having a servant.
He was just in time for the nine o’clock news and listened with half an ear, clapping the radio on and off, on and off. Then he froze mid-clap.
Thirty seconds later he leapt from his bed and raced down the hall. ‘Mum! Mum!’ He burst through the beaded curtain that separated the house from RAGS, the Rata Area General Store.
Gladys Smith was serving a customer. Daisy Robson owned Feather Willow Lodge, the town’s only accommodation. Both women looked round at him and smiled. He realised he was still in his pyjamas.
‘Good morning, Norman.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Robson.’
‘I must say I like your PJs. Rocket ships and moons. Very fashionable.’
‘Er ... thanks.’ Norman coloured.
As they watched her go, Glad said, ‘What’s got you so excited?’
‘Have you heard the news?’
* * *
/> The hearty breakfast made a heap of dishes. Alkemy, Tim, Coral and Ludokrus stacked them up as the adults took the coffee pot and retired to the back lawn.
‘They have no dishwash?’ Ludokrus was incredulous.
‘They do,’ Coral told him. ‘Us.’
He blew out his cheeks and stared at the pile of cutlery, plates, cups, saucers, trays, pots and greasy pans littering the bench.
‘I’ll wash.’ Tim rolled up his sleeves and started filling the sink.
Alkemy picked up a tea towel. She’d hardly said a word since the news broadcast. Coral patted her shoulder. ‘It’s only a big a deal if the Sentinels listen to Radio New Zealand, you know.’
‘But other news will pick up also,’ Ludokrus said. ‘When we see the helichop before, we laugh because there is no caravan there. No evidence we survive. Now the whole world know the truth.’
‘Well it’s not Uncle Frank’s fault. He doesn’t know about you guys.’
‘Albert tell him no to journalist last night.’
‘For Albert, not for everyone. Anyway, the guy called him. What’s he supposed to say? This was always going to cause a stir, Ludokrus. That was a huge explosion. You’ve seen the crater.’
Ludokrus sighed, picked up a tea towel, then put it down again. ‘You have the calculator?’ he said to his sister.
‘Of course.’ She nodded to her pink school backpack slung over one of the chairs. ‘Always carry.’
‘At least that is not also blowed up.’
He unzipped a side pocket and took out a device that looked like a fancy scientific calculator. It had banks of switches arranged around a central display, each one marked by a symbol that glowed faintly. The switches sat in asterisk-shaped channels, meaning each could be moved in one of eight different directions.
Ludokrus pressed the device against the side of the nearest pot, studied the oval display, and began flicking switches. Then he indicated Tim should hold out one of the greasy pans, pressed a button, and released a small grey-green blob. It dropped from a hatch in the side and plopped into the base of the pan. Within seconds, it began fizzing and bubbling as if the pan was scalding hot.