Too Many Zeros

by Geoff Palmer

  ‘Well?’ Millais said.

  Tim could hardly bear to look.

  ‘I ... don’t know where to begin,’ Alkemy confessed.

  ‘What’s the capital city?’

  She hesitated before saying in a small voice, ‘Oslo.’

  ‘How big is it? How many people?’

  It really was unfair. Her English wasn’t that good and Millais was firing questions at her like a quiz master.

  ‘Do you mean ... Oslo ... or the whole country?’ she asked.

  ‘Both,’ he replied in a challenging tone.

  ‘The ... er ... capital has maybe half of one million people, and the ... er ... whole country is four and one half million.’

  ‘Similar to New Zealand then.’

  ‘No, not really. In numbers only perhaps. Our capital is also our biggest city, but your biggest city is not your capital.’

  Millais raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Also we are bigger in area. Maybe twenty-five percent more.’

  ‘Say something in Norwegian!’ the Jones twins chimed.

  Alkemy thought a moment. ‘Alt for Norge.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Melody begged.

  ‘Is the ... er ... saying of our king. It means “All for Norway”’.

  ‘You have a king?’ Harmony said, wide-eyed, but Millais spoke over her, asking where Alkemy lived in Norway, where she grew up and where she went to school.

  ‘My brother and I are are born in Trondheim,’ she pointed on the map. ‘Is close to the circle of the Arctic, so in summertime we have almost no night and in winter we have almost no day.

  ‘D’you go to school in the dark in winter?’ someone called.

  She nodded.

  ‘How cold is it?’

  The questions became a flood: ‘Can you ski to school?’ ‘What’s your king like?’ ‘How do you say hello in Norwegian?’ ‘How many TV channels do you have?’ But Millais held up his hands and hushed them.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Kattflapp,’ he said curtly, his breezy manner gone. ‘You may return to your seat.’

  ‘But sir ...’ someone called.

  ‘You can continue your questions during break if you wish,’ he scowled. ‘Now, take out your English books ...’

  * * *

  They sat on Mount Moron eating their lunch, the air heavy with the smell of new-mown grass.

  ‘Ludokrus was so funny this morning,’ Coral exclaimed. ‘He had to give this talk about Norway and everyone was just cracking up.’

  Tim and Alkemy exchanged glances.

  ‘I also must make speech about Norway this morning,’ she said. ‘First period.’

  Coral arched an eyebrow. ‘That’s a coincidence ...’

  ‘Almost like someone was trying to catch them out,’ Tim said.

  Ludokrus frowned. ‘Does not seem likely. There is no connection between here and the microwave. Many kilometres.’

  ‘Maybe there is ...’ Tim said, recalling what Glad had told him about the Millais’ interest in newcomers to the area. ‘They reckon it’s to do with the school but Glad thinks they’re just plain nosey.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Coral said. ‘I knew there was something weird about that woman. She’s a Thanatos!’

  ‘But ... ’ Tim blinked. ‘Alkemy and Ludokrus said they were reptiles.’

  ‘So?’ Coral said. ‘I bet it’s all that make-up. There could be fur under there for all we know.’

  19 : Hydrocarbons

  ‘How come you know so much about Norway?’ Tim slumped beside Alkemy in the front seat of Fitchett’s Flyer as the country kids filed in.

  ‘Study,’ she replied. ‘After you say you know us so easy, we decide to make learn in case we are asked. Good job, yes?’

  He nodded and yawned.

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘A bit. Do you guys sleep? Eltherians, I mean. What with having two suns and all ...’

  ‘One is much small, like big street lamp in the night, so for only one month in the year do we get a proper sunset. But still must sleep. We are not so different, you and I. Except maybe you are more advanced.’

  ‘More advanced?’ That didn’t seem right.

  ‘By this I mean for the age of your people. In one hundred years you go from steam engine to spaceship, from coal to nuclear power. This is remarkable. For my people these transitions take much longer.

  ‘But we are much older and maybe wiser. You still make war on each other. You destroy your planet and do not seem to care. Maybe you will not survive.’

  * * *

  Fitchett’s Flyer stopped at the reserve and Tim and Coral followed their new friends to where the caravan and the shiny black Cadillac were parked, apprehensive at meeting the Eltherian syntho for the first time. The bonnet of the car was up and all that was visible were a pair of baggy dungarees, but as they approached the figure straightened, banged its head on the bonnet catch and greeted them with the words, ‘It’s nearly going!’

  ‘Good afternoon Albert,’ Ludokrus said sarcastically. ‘How are you? I hope you have nice day.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me,’ Albert blinked, nodding towards the visitors. ‘Good afternoon. And to you.’ Then he turned back to Ludokrus and exclaimed, ‘It’s nearly going!’

  Tim wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but Albert looked the most unrobot-like robot he could have imagined. Instead of some whirring construction of metal, wires and sensors he looked ... well, human. So human in fact you might mistake him for a tall, lean middle aged man with an unkempt shock of frizzy hair.

  ‘Listen!’ He reached under the bonnet and flicked a contact on the starter motor. The massive engine turned a dozen times and Albert regarded it with a rapt expression. It sounded healthy enough but didn’t catch. He straightened, banged his head on the bonnet again and counted off the items on his fingers. ‘It’s got lubrication, electrification, coolant, correct timing and adequate compression, and yet there still seems to be something missing.’

  ‘Petrol?’ Coral suggested.

  He stared at her blankly for an instant then his face lit up. ‘Hydrocarbons! Of course! Brilliant! Where can I get some?’

  ‘I’m sure Uncle Frank would lend you some,’ Tim volunteered. ‘He’s got a big drum of it in one of his sheds.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Albert darted into the caravan and returned carrying a plastic cup. ‘I’ll get a sample at once.’ He started up the gravel road.

  Alkemy ran after him. ‘Albert, Albert! You cannot borrow just a cup of petrol.’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ he paused. ‘I might spill it.’ He threw the cup aside adding, ‘I’ll call at the resource pit and find a suitable container.’

  ‘Big container,’ she yelled after him. ‘Remember where we are.’

  He waved an acknowledging hand and continued on his way while Alkemy picked up the discarded cup and shook her head.

  ‘He doesn’t look like a robot,’ Tim said.

  ‘Because he is not. He is synthetic person.’

  She explained that synthos had originally been created to act as servants and companions. They developed personalities just like real people, and could think and decide things for themselves — unlike robots. When nanomachines were developed, true robots were scrapped and concern was raised that synthos might meet the same fate. So the Robot Liberation Movement was born. A movement not to free mindless machines from the scrapheap but to liberate synthos from the dreaded term ‘robot’ and give them legal rights.

  ‘Could the Thanatos be using synthos?’ Tim said. ‘Maybe Cakeface and Snotty ...?’

  Ludokrus shook his head. ‘Underneath he is machine. Can be see easy with the x-ray. We make careful check before we land.’

  Alkemy pressed some buttons on the calculator and held it out to them. A slowly strobing yellow indicator winked in one corner of the screen. ‘Albert,’ she said

  ‘And you’ve done that at school?’

  ‘I check often. Always nothing.’

  Tim frowned. ‘Well if the mic
rowave is a trap, how are they keeping an eye on it? Hidden cameras? Spy satellites? What?’

  ‘Still we are trying to discover,’ Alkemy said. ‘But come. You must see caravan. We make many changes.’

  ‘And while we’re at it,’ Coral added, ‘you can tell us what you’ve been up to for the last twenty-five years.’

  20 : Forty Million Minutes

  Coral sipped her drink suspiciously and made a face. ‘It’s flat,’ she said.

  Alkemy looked puzzled. ‘But I got the sample ...’

  Tim opened his bottle. There was no tell-tale pssssst. ‘It’s supposed to have bubbles in it,’ he said.

  ‘You mean under pressure? Like Shushter Water from home,’ Ludokrus told his sister.

  Alkemy apologised and took the bottles back. ‘You see, not always samples are accurate. We take these from discarded bottle, but of course they contain no more gas.’

  ‘Ew, you mean they’ve got other people’s spit in them?’ Coral squealed.

  ‘No, no, the samples are for composition only.’ Alkemy tapped the side of the calculator with her finger. ‘She cannot do the biologic.’

  ‘You mean you can copy a rock but you can’t copy a plant?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What about rubber and wood and stuff that comes from plants?’

  ‘If cell is dead, she have no problem. But cannot copy living.’

  The device bleeped and released a tiny drop of something into Coral’s drink. Alkemy refitted the the cap and handed it back. She did the same with Tim’s. ‘Wait one minute and should be OK.’

  The caravan looked fine now. The carpet felt like carpet, the foam squab seats were soft and yielding, and the mirror on the wardrobe door actually reflected things. The kettle was fixed, the cupboards filled and there was an old TV on the sideboard. Stickers on the back window, a frilly lamp shade and a clutter on the sink bench made it look well lived in.

  ‘Sounds better,’ Coral pronounced as she unscrewed the cap on her Lemon & Paeroa. Ludokrus meanwhile had taken the calculator and produced a considerably larger drop for his own drink, explaining that he liked ‘Much bubbles.’

  ‘So,’ Coral said with a little burp. ‘Twenty-five years ago you drove into the wrong solar system, smashed into some rocks, and have been in suspended animation ever since ... ’

  ‘And this is much strange,’ Alkemy said. ‘When we wake we think it is only a few week. This is because all ships have special alarm. If there is damage to the chronocell, a Time Scream signal is sent. If something happen to a ship, the signal go automatic and rescuers are sent. But for us this did not happen. We think maybe the Thanatos block it. Albert wake us only as our ship is near to finish rebuild.’

  ‘And that took twenty-five years?’

  ‘Resources are much scarce out there. Hard to find. Albert first must make rockets to explore and find material. Then must be mined. Take much time. Finally we are woke — not because we are rescued but because ...’

  ‘Whoa!’ Ludokrus exclaimed, staring at his unopened soft drink. The cap bulged noticeably and the plastic bottle was making faint creaking sounds.

  ‘You use too much!’ Alkemy cried. ‘Out, out before it explode!’

  Ludokrus tiptoed toward the open door keeping the bottle at arm’s length, moving carefully while the others cowered behind him.

  As he neared the door the bottle gave one final creak followed by a tremendous phooot! as the cap was blasted into the air. Most of the drink followed, spraying out across the reserve. Ludokrus roared with laughter then drained the almost empty bottle.

  ‘Ah,’ he burped. ‘Good. Much bubbles.’

  Coral laughed.

  ‘Because ...?’ Tim prompted. ‘You were woken up because ...’

  ‘Because our ship is almost ready,’ Alkemy continued. ‘Only then do we find we have lost twenty-five year. Then Albert tell us it will take fifty more to get back home. We are stuck. What can we do? Only make the ship ready for her trip.

  ‘Then we see time signal from Temporal Accumulator, exactly the machine we need to charge our batteries. But faint, occasional only, it take much time to find. Almost one year. But it is worth, yes? Will save us fifty. Maybe even more.’

  ‘More?’ Tim said. ‘You don’t mean you can go backwards in time?’

  Alkemy shrugged. ‘Is only theory, but maybe.’

  ‘How would that work?’

  ‘When we travel fast we release spare time, yes? Maybe if we release extra, time go backwards.’

  Ludokrus snorted. ‘Now you must tell who have this theory.’

  Alkemy hesitated. ‘Albert,’ she said.

  ‘Albert?!’ Tim and Coral cried in unison.

  There was no need to spell it out. They were both thinking the same thing. This was Albert’s idea? Albert, who forgot engines needed petrol? Albert, who’d got them into this mess in the first place by mixing up left and right ...?

  ‘Can you save up that much?’ Tim asked. ‘I mean, that’s a lot of time. Like, twenty-five years to fix the ship, fifty to get back home, plus the year you spent tracking down the microwave. That’s seventy-six years!’

  Alkemy nodded. ‘Forty million minutes. About.’

  ‘And you have to get hold of it first,’ Coral added, ‘to copy it. Right?’

  Ludokrus sighed. ‘For this we need plan.’

  ‘Well it had better be a good one. If those Thanatos guys know you’re here and blocked your Time Scream signal and set it up as a trap, you’re going to have to be really, really careful.’

  ‘Why d’you say that?’ Tim said.

  ‘Because they’ve had twenty-five years to prepare a welcome.’

  21 : Faulty Earth

  ‘She’s a beauty!’ Frank Townsend exclaimed over the deep bass throb of the Cadillac’s massive engine. Em joined him on the step and the pair of them stood beaming at the gleaming black monster.

  ‘You sure you’ve got enough juice?’ he added. ‘It’s a good twenty K to town.’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine thanks,’ Albert replied.

  Coral glanced at Tim and made a face, impressed for the second time by Albert’s performance. Once he’d synthesised a tank of petrol and got the car going, he’d driven them back to the farm. They’d both been dubious, but Albert drove smoothly and well — all the more remarkable considering that neither he nor the Cadillac had ever been on the road before.

  ‘How come his English is so good?’ Coral whispered as Em and Frank went over for a closer look.

  ‘He was not in suspended animation,’ Alkemy reminded them, ‘so for twenty-five year he listen to nothing but the radio and television signal coming from your planet.’

  ‘She’s in beautiful order, Albert,’ Frank said, settling behind the wheel. ‘That radio’s never an original, is it?’

  ‘Oh it’s all absolutely original. Try it.’

  Frank turned on the ignition and fiddled with the radio. The sound of a crackly National Programme emerged from the speaker.

  ‘What a beauty!’ he repeated. ‘You just don’t get that sort of tone from these modern transistors. When Dad left me the farm there was a big old fashioned valve radio up in the cowshed. It never missed a beat in over twenty years. Only packed up a few weeks ago. Rambob in town says you can’t get the parts for ‘em any more.’

  ‘Have you still got it?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s sitting on the porch. Can’t bear to throw it out.’

  Albert walked over and knelt to examine the old radio. It was the size of a suitcase, with wooden sides, brown Bakelite knobs, a speaker grille covered in faded gold fabric and a large glass-fronted tuning panel marked with the names of ancient radio stations like 2YA, 3XC and 4ZB.

  ‘May I?’ Albert gestured.

  ‘Go for your life, mate,’ Frank said.

  Albert settled on the step and lifted the old radio on to his knees. He unlatched the large sheet of hardboard that covered the back and ran his fingers lovingly over the dusty valves and condensers insi
de. He seemed lost, his eyes half-closed, his lips moving silently, almost as if he was talking to it. Then he let out a faint ‘Ah’ and reached deeper inside.

  He looked up. ‘There you go. Try that.’

  Frank looked at him as though he was having him on.

  ‘A faulty earth,’ Albert explained.

  Still looking dubious, Frank took the plug, leaned through the kitchen window and plugged it into a socket on the stove. The light behind the dial went from a feeble glow to full strength as the elderly valves warmed up, then the speaker hissed and a second later the tail end of the six o’clock news boomed out.

  ‘How’d you do that?’

  Albert smiled modestly.

  ‘Jeez mate, you’re a gem!’ Frank clapped him on the back so hard that both Albert and the radio almost went flying down the steps. ‘Em, we’ve got to have these folks over for a meal.’

  Emma Townsend smiled broadly. ‘We sure do.’ She turned to Albert. ‘You wouldn’t believe how miserable he was when that old thing packed up.’

  * * *

  ‘Saw your light on,’ Coral said as she poked her head round Tim’s door.

  He lowered the book he’d been thumbing through.

  She entered and stood uncertainly at the end of his bed. ‘It’s all a bit weird, eh? Discovering aliens actually own you and stuff.’

  He looked at her standing there in her nightie. She seemed older somehow.

  ‘Does my head in, you know?’

  He nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.

  ‘Anyway,’ she glanced around the room before returning to the door, ‘I s’pose I should let you get some sleep. ‘night.’

  He watched her go: that was probably the last thing he wanted.

  * * *

  His heart pounded as he fought for breath but the thing had his scent again and he ran on, staggering and stumbling in the eerie twilight.

  The cobblestone road glistened wetly though there was no hint of rain in the starless sky. Street lamps loomed on every corner, bathing the place in a ghostly iridescence, yet each road he turned down looked the same. Identical brick houses stood side-by-side; vacant buildings with mournful windows and front doors that opened directly on to the footpath.