by Geoff Palmer
Glad handed Norman an overnight bag. ‘Some things for your weekend away so you won’t have to borrow from Tim.’
‘Cool, thanks Mum.’
She kissed the top of his head and waved the Cadillac off.
‘You have a nice mum,’ Alkemy said.
‘Thanks. I think so. What are your parents like?’
Alkemy was silent for a moment. ‘Always busy. They have not much time for us.’
‘Busy?’ Tim said. ‘I didn’t think Eltherians had to work. Can’t you just make whatever you want with nanomachines?’
‘Of course. The nanomachine mean people are free to do what interest them most.’ Alkemy paused. ‘But our parent are not so much interest in us. Maybe they just find a new hobby.’
Tim thought about Albert, their guardian, and wondered how common it was for children to have syntho minders on Eltheria.
‘What do they do?’ Norman asked.
‘For the last few years they study archaeology. Research ancient civilisations on other planets.’
‘That sounds cool.’
‘Yeah, cool,’ Alkemy sighed, her gaze fixed out the window.
Tim recalled how she and her brother had set out to visit their parents for the Eltherian equivalent of the school holidays and ended up crashing in Earth’s solar system. There hadn’t been any search parties, and Albert had been forced to rebuild their ship on his own. It had taken years.
The rest of the trip passed in silence. Albert drove steadily. Alkemy kept her eyes on the passing countryside. Tim sensed a sadness in her. That she was looking at this stretch of road for the last time and trying to hold on to the memory of it. With the scanner block plan a failure, they’d have to move on, try to keep one step ahead of the Sentinels, and try to come up with some other way of communicating with their mothership.
Albert slowed as they neared the reserve, then sped up again, accelerating round the bend in Rata Road and sending a slew of gravel and dust over the turn-off.
‘What’s up? What was that about?’ Tim said.
‘There’s someone there. A film crew.’
‘Really?’ All he’d seen was a glimpse of green station wagon.
Albert’s eyes narrowed on the road ahead. ‘And what’s Ludokrus doing out here?’
‘Ludokrus?’
Tim squinted, but it was at least another two hundred metres before he caught sight of a faint speck lounging by a stand of cabbage trees near the farm gate. The speck straightened and waved as they drew nearer, resolving itself into the shape of his friend. Tim glanced at Albert, guessing he must have some sort of built-in telescopic vision.
‘You see the TV peoples?’ Ludokrus called. ‘They wait for Tim. Want to interview.’
‘Me?’ Tim said.
‘Your uncle and your sister also wait.’ He gestured towards the house.
‘Well if it’s all the same to you, I’ll let you off here,’ Albert said. ‘I think Alkemy, Ludokrus and I will do a little touring. In the opposite direction.’
Ludokrus took their place as Tim and Norman clambered out and headed up the drive.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Frank said. ‘I thought I heard the Caddy.’ His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a smart, neatly pressed shirt and tie over the top of his black singlet. It wasn’t tucked in and he wore his usual tatty shorts and gumboots.
‘My new look,’ he said, seeing their surprise. ‘What d’you think?’ He held up his arms and turned left and right like a model on a catwalk.
‘Um ...’ was the best Tim could manage.
‘Radio, now TV. A star is born. I might have to give up the farm.’
‘I take it they only filmed your top half?’
‘Yeah, like those newsreaders. You don’t think they bother with trousers, do you?’ Frank rubbed his chin. ‘At least I hope they only filmed my top half.’
Coral bustled down the steps. ‘Hurry up! Crystal Starbrite’s waiting for us at the reserve. Uncle Frank’s going to drop us off.’
‘Is that why you’re all dolled up?’
‘I’m not dolled up. I just had a wash and changed my blouse.’
‘You’ve done your hair too. And are you wearing make-up?’
‘None of your business. You should do something about your own hair. Ever heard of things called combs?’
Frank whistled to them from the ute. ‘All aboard the Interview Express.’
‘Can we ride on the back?’ Norman said.
‘I don’t see why not.’
Coral travelled in the cab with Frank while Tim and Norman crouched on tray, hanging on tightly, the wind in their faces. To Coral’s disgust, it made even more of a mess of her brother’s hair.
The first part of the interview took place near the intersection of Rata Road, right where they’d been when they saw the explosion. Tim and Coral repeated their walk, describing what they’d seen to Crystal Starbrite, while the cameraman moved backwards, filming them. Then they paused and answered questions.
Coral loved it, chatting easily with the reporter, and Tim was happy enough till the attention turned to him and he was asked to describe the flash he pretended to have seen moments before the nonexistent meteorite hit the ground. It was bad enough lying to his aunt and uncle. Doing so on national television seemed even worse.
‘Let me get some shots of you by the crater,’ Eric said. ‘Fill-in stuff. No sound.’
‘Can I be in it?’ Norman said.
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘You weren’t even there!’ Coral hissed.
‘I’m here now,’ he grinned.
Eric took shots from several different angles. The three of them standing on the crater rim looking down. Tim pointing, tracing the path of the imaginary meteorite through the sky. A view from the bottom of the crater looking up. The whole scene from a distance.
‘That’s great. Thanks everyone.’
Back at the farmhouse, they found the Cadillac in the drive and Albert, Alkemy and Ludokrus on the veranda chatting with Em, their arms full of provisions — a tray of eggs, vegetables from the garden, a bag of freshly dug potatoes. Albert loaded up the car and headed off, telling his two he’d see them back at the caravan.
‘Maybe you will start on dinner,’ Alkemy called.
‘I’ll start on something,’ he called back.
‘Still nothing on the scanner?’ Norman saw it protruding from Alkemy’s backpack.
She shook her head.
‘It’s all our fault,’ Tim sighed. ‘If only we hadn’t talked about your you-know-what problem in front of you-know-who. Where is she, by the way?’
‘Have not seen her since we arrive.’
‘Smudge!’ Coral exclaimed. ‘I almost forgot. I locked her in my room just before the TV people arrived. She’s been in there for ages.’
‘What did you do that for?’ Tim said.
‘I never told you, did I? About my evil plan?’
13 : Game on!
‘Evil plan?’ Tim said.
Coral beckoned them to the end of the veranda where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘I thought about what you said about Smudge, and it all makes sense. The Sentinels have got Cakeface in town keeping an eye on what happens there, but they’d really want someone out here too. After all, this is where the microwave is — the thing they used to lure you here in the first place — and Albert said he’s sure the second host isn’t one of the adults.’
‘Still, we cannot prove,’ Alkemy said.
‘Ah, but we can. That’s where my evil plan comes in.’ She crossed her arms and looked at them smugly.
‘So what is it?’ Tim said. ‘Or are you just going to stand there looking pleased with yourself?’
‘What do all Sentinel hosts have to do regularly?’ They looked at her blankly. ‘Recharge, right? Cakeface has a pink office she spends half her days in. If Smudge is a Sentinel, she must have something similar.’
‘But what? And where does she get?’ Ludokrus said. ‘Albert say he d
oes not find.’
‘Albert was looking for something human-sized. Cats are much smaller. They can go anywhere.’
‘But how does she make? Cats do not build or paint. Also, big farm. If we are looking for a small place, this could be anywhere.’
‘That’s why I locked her up. I want Smudge to lead us to it. She hasn’t had a zap for ages. She was in the lounge all afternoon, and now she’s locked in my bedroom. I’m guessing it’ll be the first thing she does when I let her out. Like a reflex. Automatic. Something she can’t help herself doing. And the Sentinels can’t tell her not to, not without sending out a transmission — which we’d pick up on the receiver.’
Ludokrus still looked sceptical, but Tim gave his sister a high-five and Coral took charge of the operation. ‘Norman, over there behind the milking shed. Alkemy, up the drive. Tim, round the back. Ludokrus, you go over by the chicken coop. I’ll give you all a minute to get in position then go in and let her out. I’ll cover the house in case she stays inside. Keep your eyes peeled!’
‘Yes sir, ma’am,’ Norman gave her a mock salute and they fanned out to their hiding places.
Coral heard faint scratching sounds as she headed down the hallway and a pink nose appeared in the gap the moment she opened her bedroom door. Smudge sniffed and pawed at the gap. Coral opened it wider and the cat shot out.
‘Game on!’ she said, following Smudge as she headed down the hall and out through the kitchen, straight past her food and water dishes.
‘Oh yeah!’
Coral jogged behind her, keeping close, but not too close, as Smudge trotted across the veranda and disappeared around the side of the house. She directed Alkemy and Norman to close-in with waves of her hands, before racing after her.
‘In the garden. Over there.’ Tim said, coming out of his hiding place by the vegetable patch. ‘Under those ferns.’
‘Does not come out my side,’ Alkemy said, joining them from the opposite direction.
Ludokrus and Norman arrived, and they all kept a careful watch, but the cat didn’t re-emerge.
The garden at the back of the house was a wild patch bordered by paving slabs. The outer edge was flowers and low shrubs, with larger plants closer in. They’d been trimmed back where they threatened to block windows, but mostly they’d been left to themselves, meaning the vegetation was dense and tangled.
‘Spread out, space yourselves equally and move in towards the house,’ Coral said.
‘Probably she is just going to the toilet,’ Ludokrus said.
‘Well be careful where you tread.’
Norman sniggered.
‘This is serious!’
They moved slowly, one step at a time, a broad semicircle that narrowed steadily, closing in a huddle near the house.
‘Nothing.’
‘I see no sign.’
‘Does not pass me.’
‘But that’s impossible. She can’t have disappeared. Are you sure she came in here?’ Coral said to Tim.
‘Positive. Right over there. She dived straight in.’
‘And no one saw her come out again?’
They shook their heads.
‘That’s just not—’
‘Hold on. Look at this.’
Norman squatted against the house, pointing to the low concrete wall that made up the edge of the foundations. The house was timber, set on concrete piles, and the wall formed their outer boundary. It was half a metre high with rectangular air vents spaced along it at regular intervals.
‘Look at what?’ Coral said.
He pulled back a wiry shrub and revealed a broken air vent behind it.
The opening was a perfect cat-sized hole, but there was no way they could get through it. Coral sent Tim to fetch a torch, but all that revealed was a patch of dry dusty ground and the undersides of floorboards.
‘Over here,’ Norman called.
He beckoned them further up the garden to where a human-sized entry hatch was set in the wall below Tim’s bedroom window. It was like a miniature gate, closed with a rusty bolt and hasp. He knelt, wiggled the bolt and drew it back. The hinges creaked as he opened it and cobwebs tore away from the sides.
They huddled round the opening, peering into the void. Grilled air vents, most shaded by shrubs, let in a little light, but it didn’t penetrate far. All the torch revealed was concrete foundation blocks in neatly spaced parallel lines supporting a crisscross of floor joists.
‘What is this place for?’ Alkemy asked.
‘Access to the plumbing and wiring that runs under the house,’ Norman said, ‘in case you ever need to get to it. Also, ventilation for the floorboards and foundations. Damp timber rots.’
Most of the space was open and empty. Nothing grew in the dark. There were some lengths of timber and old pipe near the entrance, and in the distance they could see the dark square shape of the base of the lounge fireplace. Closer in, away to one side, was another dark shape.
‘What’s that?’ Coral aimed the torch, but the beam wasn’t quite powerful enough. ‘That’s where the laundry is, isn’t it? There shouldn’t be anything under there.’
There was a length of timber on the ground in front of it. ‘Looks like it’s been pushed there,’ Tim said.
Coral thrust her torch at Norman. ‘Here. Go fetch.’
‘What? Why me?’
‘Because you’re the littlest. There’s not much space under there.’
‘It’s all yucky and cobwebby.’
‘You’ve got a change of clothes, haven’t you?’
‘What about the cat? She must be round here somewhere. She’ll probably claw my eyes out.’
‘If she does, you’ll be a hero.’
‘How d’you figure that?’
‘Because to make her attack you, the Sentinels will have to send her a signal. And if they do that, they’ll light up every scanner block in the district.’
Norman hesitated. He couldn’t fault her logic.
‘But if you’re too scared ...’ Coral reached for the torch. Norman snatched it back and scrambled inside. Coral grinned at the others.
He kept low, crawling on his knees and elbows to avoid banging his head on the joists. The others crowded round to watch his progress.
It was awkward in the confined space, but the earth was dry and his eyes quickly grew accustomed to the half-light.
‘It’s a cardboard box,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘On its side, facing away with the top flaps open.’
‘Bring it here,’ Coral said. ‘Let’s see what’s inside.’
He dodged a length of sagging wiring and approached the box from behind, intending to hook it towards himself with his free hand. But it was heavier than he expected.
‘There seems to be ... something ... in it ...’
‘Possibly the—’ Coral began as Smudge let out a yowl and bounded away into the darkness, heading for the broken vent.
‘I guess we know where she spent last night now,’ Coral said.
‘That’s better.’ Norman caught the carton by its bottom edge and dragged it towards him.
By the time he got it back to the entrance, he was filthy and covered in cobwebs. He crawled out first, groaning and stretching, his hair matted with a mass of silver strands. Coral nudged him aside and reached for the box.
It was made of heavy brown cardboard and had black lettering on the side. She tilted her head and read aloud: ‘Fieldstar Microwave Oven.’
‘Is that the box the microwave came in?’
‘I reckon.’ Coral stood it upright and opened the flaps. ‘And look at this.’
There was an old woollen blanket in the bottom, matted with cat fur. The whole of the interior — walls, bottom, even the insides of the flaps — had been painted pink. The same sickly shade as Cakeface’s office.
‘Oh, man!’ Tim muttered.
‘This is it all right.’ She turned to Ludokrus. ‘What do you say to that?’
‘Something is written.’ He pointed to one of the
flaps. ‘Looks like an address.’
Coral turned the box over and they read the faint script on the yellowing label:
Mrs M. Millais
10 Fernhill Road
Rata
‘That’s all we need,’ she said, turning to Norman, who was still plucking cobwebs from his hair. ‘You can put it back now. Exactly where you found it, mind.’
‘What?’
‘Get a move on. We haven’t got all day.’
14 : The Last Piece
‘I don’t get it,’ Tim said. ‘I thought Alice gave them the microwave.’
‘She did,’ Coral said. ‘It was a wedding present.’
‘But that label was addressed to Cakeface.’
‘Did you notice the edges? They were torn, like someone tried to peel it off. There was a squiggly line through it too.’
‘I still don’t see—’
‘Alice gave it to Uncle Frank and Aunt Em, but she bought it off someone in town. Someone who already had one. They won it in a competition, didn’t need a second one, so sold it off.’
‘OK, so Cakeface set the whole thing up. But how did the box get under the house?’
‘It’s only a guess, but you know how cats love cardboard boxes. I reckon when they unpacked it, Smudge dived in and just kept going back. But who wants an old cardboard box sitting round? So they shoved it under the house. Somewhere Smudge could still get at it if she really wanted to. Besides, once the Sentinels established that mind-control thing, they’d make her play merry hell if anyone tried to throw it out.’
Norman wiggled his shoulders and made a face.
‘What’s up with you?’
‘I don’t know. There were all sorts of creepy crawlies under there.’
‘If the Sentinels build the microwave,’ Ludokrus said, ‘how do they get it to the Cakeface?’
‘Maybe they delivered it then tweaked her memory to make her think she’d won it. They would have known she already had one and would probably sell it. Maybe they even gave her that idea too.’
‘But how do they know who will buy?’
‘They didn’t, that’s the point, and it didn’t matter. Whoever ended up with it would become the target for you guys. Every time they used it, it would send out a time signal. Like a beacon. Like the bait in a trap. All they had to do was take over a nearby mind to keep a watch on it.’