Chapter 2

Barney looked at his watch. If he cut through Tesco’s car park he’d just get back in time. He could still get home before his mother started calling his mobile. He started to jog. 

As he got to the entrance of the store he realised how thirsty he was. Perhaps he could buy a bottle of water on the way through. Damn! There was a long queue even in the less than ten items isle. The kiosk was still open though and the queue there was slightly shorter. And he really couldn’t go on without a drink. Barney stood behind the others who were waiting.

It seemed to take ages. He glanced at his watch. Ten to ten already. It couldn’t be. He took out his mobile to double check. Oh no! It was out of juice. If he wasn’t back in ten minutes, his mum would be calling his mobile. And then calling Nick’s house if he didn’t answer. The man in front of him was almost finished. He started to slip his change into his pocket, but then turned to ask the sales girl another question.

“Hurry up,” muttered Barney to himself. “Come on, come on!”

“Can I help you, love?” asked another assistant who had walked over from the lottery tickets. “Only we’ll have to be quick. We shut in five minutes.”

“Yes. Can I have a bottle of water please?”

“Of course you can. What size would you like?”

“Oh, um, large.”

“That will cost you 17p. That shouldn’t break the bank, should it?”

“Oh. I em.” Barney fumbled in his pocket. He’d forgotten that he and Nick had bought ice cream down at the shore. Or rather, he’d bought them both an ice cream. He doubted Nick would pay him back.

“The small actually cost more,” said the woman. “The large bottlers are loss-leaders.”  She stared at him as if she thought he was a bit mad.

Barney blushed. Then, thank heavens, he found a 20p piece in his pocket.  

 “Yes, please give me the large,” said Barney offering her the 20p. 

The woman nodded and handed Barney the bottle of water and his 3p change.

As soon as he was outside, he pulled off the top and took a large swig of water. After two more mouthfuls his thirst was quenched. Should he dump the bottle or take the rest home with him? It was still quite heavy to carry. He really ought to get into the habit of carrying water with him, though, and if he kept this it might save him having to buy more. Then again at 17p it was hardly extravagant.     

“Hey, Barney,” he heard someone call. He looked round. Then he felt his cheeks burning. It was Cynthia Paridge and some her friends from school. Cynthia’s hands smoothed down her short tartan skirt and Barney couldn’t help looking down at her slim legs. He felt himself getting even hotter.

“You been round Nick’s?” demanded Cynthia, her mouth working hard at the chewing gum which slurred her words.

“Er, yeah,” mumbled Barney.

“The poor thing,” Cynthia almost spat. “Is he all right then?”

“Not too bad,” Barney murmured. But Nick was bad. And getting worse. How could he tell them that? 

“You should bring him down the park with us sometimes,” Cynthia suggested. “Do you good. And him. See a bit of life, like.”

Some of the other girls began to giggle.

Barney could imagine just what sort of life Cynthia meant.

“It’s a shame, a good-looking fellow like you, cooped up all the time with poor Nick,” Cynthia continued, “you need a bit of fun now and then.”

She was now standing right next to Barney, her head almost touching his shoulder. Barney moved away quickly. She stank of cigarette smoke.  

“Oh, what is it Barney,” Cynthia whined, “don’t you fancy me?” 

The others giggled.

“Er, I’d better get going,” said Barney, looking at his watch.  It was almost five past ten now and he had been due home five minutes ago.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Cynthia. “Has he got to be home with his mumsy-wumsy then?”

The others laughed again. Except for one. Sophie Gray was just staring at him. Sophie’s pale blue eyes seemed to be looking right into him. She wasn't wearing as much make-up as the others. She didn’t need to. She was gorgeous. Barney suddenly wanted to put his hand out and touch her long wavy blond hair. It looked so soft.

“Oh, come on then. Let’s go and find some real talent,” Cynthia called to her gang.

They all followed her laughing and joking. Sophie dawdled behind. She smiled at Barney.

“Isn’t he any better? Is he really getting worse? I mean will he…”

It was her turn to go red.

“Yeah. That’s about right,” said Barney.

“Oh dear. It’s so sad.” Barney thought she was going to cry. “But wouldn’t he like to come out sometime?”

“Well actually,” Barney began. Why didn’t people realise that he and Nick often went out? It was just that sometimes Nick would get tired. And sometimes people were embarrassed. Barney hesitated before he carried on. It was so hard to explain.

“Yes, you see,” said Barney. “We do go out. We go and watch the boats in the harbour.” He suddenly realised he was almost shouting.

“Oh, good,” muttered Sophie. She was looking down at the floor now.

“Oi! You comin’ or not?” Cynthia was standing with her legs apart and her hands on her hips. She was still chewing and she was frowning at the same time.

Sophie shrugged her shoulders and set off. Barney wished he had said more, that he had tried to explain. Sophie seemed really nice. And that hair!

Barney looked at his watch again. Twenty past ten! There would probably be a row when he got in.

It  was raining when Barney got outside. It made it seem even darker. He pulled his jacket over his ears so that it almost covered his head. Then he ran . Fortunately it was downhill all the way to his house.

At least this running's good for my training, thought Barney as he pounded down the road.

The television was on in the lounge when he got back.

“Sorry I’m late, Mum,” he called. He could tell his mum was only pretending to be watching television. She wouldn’t normally watch horror films.

“Oh, and why are you late?” she asked. She was obviously trying not to sound angry.

“I stopped to buy a bottle of water. There was a bit of a queue,” explained Barney.

“You should think to take some with you,” said his mum. “That boy again. Always thinking about him and never about yourself. What you do for that boy!” She got up off the sofa. “Well, I’m going to bed now. And you should too. You’ve got to get into that pool tomorrow, first thing.”

Barney heard the study door open upstairs.

“Is that Barney?” called a deep voice.

“Yes!” answered Barney and his mother together.

“Well get to bed! You have got to beat your front crawl time tomorrow.”

Barney opened his bedroom door. The geography homework lay unfinished on his desk. But he would have to leave that. He felt very sleepy now. And there was that horrible early start tomorrow. Then he’d got to work on Nick’s pictures. 

He felt tired enough to go to sleep straight away. But then, after he had got into bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about everything that was going on. Nick was getting worse. He was never going to be good enough in the swimming lesson tomorrow. He couldn’t keep up with his homework.

 He remembered the scene in the supermarket. He had never really noticed Sophie Gray before. She'd always just been one of the crowd, and not one of the ones who stood out at that. But tonight she had seemed really special. And he had not known what to say to her.  He wished he knew how to talk to Sophie.

Sophie! That lovely soft hair and the pale grey-blue eyes. She was concerned about Nick. The others didn't seem to be. She was quieter than the rest of the girls as well.  So different from all of the others. AND the best of all was that she seemed just a little bit interested in him. Finally, he fell asleep.   

A Gallery for Nick Chapter 1

“There you go.” Mr Fletcher carefully swung Nick into the wheelchair. Barney shifted from one foot to the next. He never knew whether he should offer to help when Mr Fletcher was getting Nick out of the car. He always wanted to do something. But it was clear that Mr Fletcher knew what he was doing. 

“You can wheel him in if you like,” said Mr Fletcher.

“Oh no he can’t,” shouted Nick. He pulled the lever in the arm of the wheelchair and it whizzed forward. Barney went to open the front door. But he was too late. Nick somehow managed to drive straight at the door, so that it was flung open. Barney winced as it crashed back into the chair. Nick took no notice. He jiggled the controls again. He was frowning slightly and his tongue was poking out a little way between his teeth. Then the chair jerked forward so that it pushed the door again. He accelerated through.

“Come, on, what’s keeping you?” shouted Nick through the now closed door. Barney shook his head and grinned. Then he walked slowly in.

The wheelchair whirred along. Nick was already at the end of the long corridor when Barney got to the other side of the door.  Barney watched his friend stop the chair and then jiggle the controls on the arm rest. The chair pivoted to face the door to Nick’s room, and then Nick did the trick with the door again. This time, though, the door stayed open. The magnet on the wall held it in place. Barney stood and stared for a moment. How did he manage it?

“Are you coming then?” shouted Nick. "Come on."

Barney shook his head and then made his way into Nick’s room. Nick was already nudging the edge of the drawers with his wheelchair.

“In there,” he said, nodding his head towards the top drawer. “Close the door will you? I don’t want any-one else to know.”

Barney opened the drawer. He took the sketch book out and the small tin of water colours.

“Get the water,” commanded Nick.

Barney pushed Nick up to his desk. He spread the plastic sheet out for him and arranged the latest picture so that Nick could get to it easily. He unscrewed the tube of white and then opened the lid of the tin.

“Hurry up with that water, man!” Nick’s face was going red. That always happened when he got frustrated.

Barney hurried over to the sink with the jar. He had just filled it and carried it back, when there was a knock on the door. Barney covered the picture with a sheet of kitchen paper and opened the door. Mrs Fletcher was standing there with a tray of drinks and biscuits.

“Thank you, Barney,” she said.

Nick sighed.

“Mum. Do you mind? Barney and I have got things to do.”

“You need to drink, love,” Mrs Fletcher replied, quietly. “Barney, do you think …”

“Yes, it’s alright, Mrs Fletcher. Really.”

Mrs Fletcher nodded and smiled. Nick pulled a face.

"I grew out of baby cups a long time ago," he said, pointing to the invalid cup.

Barney walked over to the tray and took the cup.

"Don't let it get to you," he said. 

Nick didn’t resist as Barney held the cup up to his lips. He even managed to lift his hand up to the cup so that it looked as if he was actually holding it. Barney tipped a little of the fluid into Nick’s mouth and then straightened the cup up as he waited to hear Nick’s laboured swallow. At last it came. Then he was able to tip a little more into Nick’s mouth. Slowly, slowly, the cup emptied. Barney took a few sips of his own drink to keep Nick company.

Then Nick seemed to be struggling. There was a strange rasping noise in his throat. He was trying to swallow and couldn’t. He rolled his head from side to side in frustration. Barney pushed him forward and thumped his back.

"Come on now," he shouted. "Swallow."

Barney’s heart was racing. This was happening more and more often now. One day ….  No that didn’t bear thinking about. Then all at once, Nick hiccoughed and he was breathing freely again. He giggled.

“Stop doing that, you monkey,” said Barney, cuffing him on the arm.

Nick giggled again.

“Want a biscuit?” Barney asked.

Nick nodded. Barney broke a piece off one of the soft short cakes.

“Here,” he said, placing it in Nick’s mouth. “Chew it properly.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Nick.

Barney moved the kitchen paper back from picture. He stared at the small boats which seemed to bob up and down in the wind swept harbour. How could someone like Nick do something as clever? In fact, how could any-one?

“Did you take the memory card film out?” Nick asked.

“Yes, said Barney. “I’ll take it home and photoshop the pictures way for you. I’ll try to get them to you tomorrow.?” 

“Fine,” said Nick. “But make them high res.”

Imagining a Tower

Enmerkar looked steadily at the stranger.

“What did the King say he wanted?”

“He says he wants to discuss a plan for a new building, something very big. Perhaps the biggest he has ever planned,” the messenger replied. 

The man’s clothes were covered in dust. He had obviously been riding a long time. In this heat as well.

“You must be tired and thirsty,” said Enmerkar. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

The messenger nodded and bowed slightly.

“Mariam,” called Enmerkar.

His sister arrived. Her eyes met his, she smiled briefly, bowed to the messenger and then lowered her eyes. Even with her head covered and even though her diamond-like eyes were no longer showing, she was more beautiful than any woman Enmerkar had ever met. No, he didn’t have any improper thoughts about her. She was his sister and you just did not think that way about your sister. But it did make it difficult for him to take a wife himself. His sister was setting a high standard. Besides, he had to look after her until he had found a husband for her and she was married. That was proving difficult.       

Enmerkar smiled to himself, though, as he watched the man’s eyes grew round. His sister always had this effect. No man between here and Babylon was able to resist her. Despite his tiredness, this man, Enmerkar could see, was aroused.

“Fetch some wine, some olives and some of our best cheese,” commanded Enmerkar. “And wear a full veil when you return,” he whispered.

“She is betrothed?” asked the stranger after Mariam had left them.

Enmerkar sighed. “No, she is far too fussy. Much too grand to elect a mere messenger from the king.”

The man blushed.

Enmerkar regretted what he had said straight away. He was not superior to this man. Yes, he was a master builder, like their father had been. They were a well-respected family and were quite wealthy now but they were after all just workers, servants almost. Someone from the king’s court would actually be a very good match indeed for Mariam.  

“Do you have any idea what he actually wants?” asked Enmerkar as he watched the man eat and drink.

“No, just that it is a big project,” replied the man. “A little crazy perhaps.”

“And there is no other builder who can do it?” asked Enmerkar.

The man shook his head. “He asked for you.”

Enmerkar sighed. “Well, I guess we should set off at sunrise tomorrow. But I warn you, I shall have to bring my sister.”          

King Nimrod slowly paced up and down as he talked. He waved his long arms every time he spoke.

“It will have to be the grandest building ever made. It must be glorious. It must speak to God!” He turned to look at Enmerkar. “You will have your chance, my friend,” he said, “to show off your fine building skills. To use your little baked bricks. It will be your moment of glory.”

Enmerkar shuddered inside. The type of building project Nimrod seemed to be talking about would take years. He only had a few skilled men who knew how to make the bricks and how to slime them together. Even training up others would take months. And he daren’t use unskilled workers.

And Nimrod was being so vague about exactly what he did want.  

“Is there really no other builder you can use?” asked Enmerkar. But he already knew the answer. He was, after all, the master builder.

Nimrod stopped pacing. “I will even accept your sister as a wife for my youngest son,” he said. “Without a dowry.” Then he laughed. “Though with what I propose to pay you for this project you could give a handsome dowry for a dozen sisters.”

That would be something, Enmerkar supposed. Get Mariam off his hands. Surely she would not object to marrying a prince? Even if it was not one of the heirs to the royal title. In fact, Nimrod’s youngest son, Joshua was far pleasanter than the twins, Hunor and Magor.  He’d even seen Mariam talking to him and laughing – without her face veil, the hussy – so perhaps already something was there. Perhaps this young man could make her happy.

He would have to accept this challenge. The building was going to be difficult. At least his sister would be settled and maybe he too would have time to seek out a wife. Maybe a fine one, here at the court. And with the sum Nimrod was prepared to pay, he would never have to think about money again.

“Very well,” he said. “But only if I have full control over the design, the choice of materials, the choice of workers and the pace at which the work is completed.”

“Indeed, my friend,” replied Nimrod and embraced Enmerkar.

The king was a tall, muscular man and immensely strong. Enmerkar could barely breathe as Nimrod squeezed him.

“Now let us send for our young relatives and let them know the good news,” said the king, finally letting Enmerkar go.    

It was even hotter here at the palace than at home. Enmerkar was finding it difficult to think straight. He dreaded baking the bricks for such a project. Would it be easier to have them made at home and transported here? It would be cooler there. A little at least. 

Home. Ah! This would be his home now. For years. Yes, years, not months.

There was one consolation. Mariam had accepted Joshua as a husband with only a little protest. “Oh, but why not Magor or Hunor? Think, brother, your sister as a queen!” In the end, though, she’d settled for Joshua. And he’d been right; they were falling in love. He’d even caught them lying together and had had to play the angry brother – though not too much so, because he was dealing with the king’s son. Secretly, though, he was pleased. So, a wedding had to be planned too. The sooner the better perhaps, if that couple were to carry on being so promiscuous. A prince’s bride should not be with child when she marries. Planning a wedding anyway was a welcome distraction from planning this impossible tower.  And there was something further that was also occupying his mind: the friendship he was enjoying with Naomi, the king’s niece. Could it be… would she be the one? She didn’t excite him, hardly aroused him even, but she was certainly pretty enough. Good company, in fact. He presumed love would grow …

But now he must get back to the tower. If he made it 5433 cubits, if he made it taper… then surely the bricks at the bottom wouldn’t collapse. He wanted it to be a sort of Ziggurat, Nimrod had said, but much bigger than normal. Just how many bricks would that need? How much clay would he have to find and how many men would he need to fetch the clay, shape the bricks and then put them together? He had some calculations to do now. He must not be distracted by the thoughts of weddings and of women.   

Soon he was absorbed again in his mathematics. The base was going to have to be huge so that the tower could taper and still be useful at the top. No one had been able to tell him - not even the sages Nimrod had asked in for advice – just how high he would have to make the tower so that it would touch the sky. But if Nimrod really wanted a true Ziggurat… well the spiral pathway up the tower would be so wide that he would be able to place small lodgings at the sides… maybe even small fields for the animals. And of course, people walking to the top or travelling by ass would need places to rest and take some refreshment. It wouldn’t just be a tower. It would be a whole city.

The noise of someone clearing their throat broke his concentration.

“And so how is it going, my fine friend?” asked Baltuus.

Enmerkar recognized the man he had dined with the night before. He was one of the sages who knew a lot about mathematics

Enmerkar sighed. “It is going to take a lot of clay, a lot of fire to bake the bricks and a lot of men. And no end of time.” He looked down at the notes he had made. “Seventeen years. And only then if I can find enough good men to train and if their training works.”

Baltuus shook his head. “Why must he build the tower so high? What does he hope to gain by it?”

“He wants to show what man can achieve,” replied Enmerkar.

“But why not just build a fine city?” asked Baltuus. “Won’t that do just as well, be more useful, and in fact much easier to build?”

“He wants to stretch it to Heaven, so that even Yahweh will have to admire how great man is,” replied Enmerkar.

Baltuus shook his head, as he examined Enmerkar’s calculations. “That will never work, my friend.”

“The bricks won’t hold, you mean?” asked Enmerkar.

“No, no, no, not that,” replied Baltuus. “Your calculations are correct. I’m talking about trying to impress Yahweh. Look around you. Look at the mountains and the seas. And the trees and the beasts. Now that is an impressive creation. Your tower is nothing in comparison.

“Now if you said that you were building the tower so that you could talk more easily with Yahweh, that might be a different matter,” said Baltuus.

“It would make him angry,” answered Enmerkar. He could just picture Nimrod’s answer to that.

Baltuus nodded his head and tapped Enmerkar’s shoulder. “Take care, my friend,” he said. “You are right. This tower will cause anger.”   

Despite the heat, Enmerkar shivered.

The Tower Zandra

Gengis Hall 231 was just like any other meet venue that Kaleem had been in – either here on Zandra or on Terrestra. Boring, but particularly so when your meet partner was running late. Kaleem stared at the holoscene which showed through the window. At least it was convincing. You really felt as if you were looking at a view through a window, just like you might on Terrestra. It was storied from a real place: one of the infant forests, complete with bluebells, ice-bells and all the rest, one of the very forests that his father was working on.

He gets everywhere, thought Kaleem. He wished Edmundson would hurry up. He needed to find out what he wanted. He was beginning to imagine all sorts.

The dataserve whirred into life. Edmundson’s face appeared on the screen.

“Listen Kennedy,” he said. “I’m going to be another fifteen minutes at least. Load the stuff about acorn and vaccine exchange. You tell me what those statistics mean.”

“Of course,” said Kaleem.

Edmundson was still not giving anything away.   

The screen blanked over before Edmundson said goodbye. In fact, Kaleem, supposed, he probably hadn’t said goodbye. Edmundson never wasted time on superfluous words.  Before he even thought about what he’d been asked to do, the screen suddenly started showing the Supercraft at London Harbour and Zandra Dock 1. He was now watching similar scenes to the ones he’d seen yesterday. He didn’t bother, though, this time asking for the Figurescript version of the statistics. He was fairly certain that Edmundson couldn’t read Figurescript.

It was quite mesmerising listening to the robotic voiceover. “Day 116 3520, acorns imported 7500, vaccine exported 5679. Viability in package from day 116 3519 96%. Vaccine to date 97% effective. Forecast for new needs, Day 118 3520, 17,000 acorns, 18,644 doses of vaccine. Forecast for reciprocal needs met Day 220 3527…”

Goodness, if I ever can’t sleep, thought Kaleem, I’ll load some of this stuff up.

It struck him as he watched the split screen picture of London Harbour and Zandra Dock 1 that although Zandrian droids and Supercraft were not quite the same, there was more the same about them than different. The Supercraft were more or less the same shape and had the entrances in exactly the same places, the droids were the same height and walked in the normal slightly stiff manner and the metal containers being loaded at either end were exactly the same size, colour and shape, but the Zandrian ones had a green cross on them to show that they held medication and the Terrestrans had green hexagons to show that they contained plant life.

“Do you see what’s missing?” a voice behind him asked.

Kaleem jumped.

He turned to face Don Edmundson. The man was even scarier in the flesh than he was usually on screen. There was absolutely no expression on his face at all.

Kaleem shook his head. He just couldn’t think with Edmundson staring at him like that. 

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that there are no people around?”

Kaleem looked back at the screen. Well there were people, but only a very few. Most of the work was being done by the droids.

“I mean, getting on and off the Supercraft,” said Edmundson.

“Forecast daily rate for this lunar period,” the robotic voiceover droned on.

“Fine, we know,” said Edmundson, looking pointedly at the dataserve screen.

The screen went blank immediately and the serve itself gave a final bleep.

Edmundson nodded to Kaleem that he should sit down and took one of the not-so comfisessels himself.

“Everything is going according to plan,” said Edmundson, “as far as acorns and vaccine are concerned. But another part of the bargain was a greater connection between the people of Zandra and Terrestra. I don’t see it happening.”  

“What do you mean exactly?” asked Kaleem.

“I mean that we need people, Terrestrans, to come to Zandra now. And we need to get Zandrians on Terrestra.”

Yes. Of course. Kaleem had known that all along. In fact that had even been his excuse for coming here. Or that was what he had told everyone including his parents and his grandparents: he was here on a Peace Child mission. He had to oversee the first visits to Zandra from Terrestrans and then increase the number of visitors from Terrestra to Zandra. There had been just a few – himself, his mother and the small team that had come across on the first mission to Zandra in search of the vaccine against the Starlight Racer disease. If he was honest, though, he had really come here to get away from Rozia and everything associated with her.

“Well? said Edmundson. “Do you have any concrete plans yet?”

“No,” said Kaleem. “You can imagine how carefully we have to tread with Terrestrans.”

“I don’t have to imagine,” replied Edmundson quickly. “It’s all too obvious. It was part of the original agreement that an exchange of persons as well as materials would actually take place. You and your mother are hardly enough. And besides, that is not an exchange: there are no Zandrians on Terrestra.”

Kaleem knew he was absolutely right. He would have to do something and soon. He would probably have to ask Razjosh for ideas.

“I suggest,” Edmundson continued, “a person exchange. Six people go from here to Terrestra, and meet with six Terrestran delegates. They travel back to Zandra with our people. Not too much to ask is it, just for a start?”

No, it wasn’t. But Kaleem knew he would be pushed to find six. Maybe Pierre and Stuart. Razjosh was too old really and probably wouldn’t count as he’d been before. Rozia, he knew, would come like a shot. He daren’t ask her, though. He wouldn’t be able to cope with her being there. Not now that she was with Julien. Abel and Kevik – but they were too busy in the Z Zone. Saratina maybe? But how would they react to her here? No, he shouldn’t think like that.

“Well?” asked Edmundson.

“It sounds reasonable,” said Kaleem. Reasonable but almost impossible.

“Good,” said Edmundson. “I’ll get Emmerline to show you the ideas we’d had.”

Kaleem shuddered. Edmundson’s secretary droid was famous. It was always difficult to remember that she wasn’t a real woman. She was so life-like and always carried so much authority. But of course, not being human she never tired.

The door swished open and in she came. Only the slightest jerkiness in her movements and the data that started streaming across the screen as she moved into the room gave away that she was a droid and not a sexy young woman. She moved her hips as she walked and her long straight blond hair flowed behind her as she moved. She was connecting directly with the dataserve, though. Soon images flickered and flashed making Kaleem blink. So, she was a droid after all.

“Data download is now complete,” said Emmerline. The voice was astoundingly human. No way was she a droid. Why was Edmundson the only one to have something as sophisticated as this? She tossed her sleek hair back and smiled at Kaleem and Edmundson. 

“Talk him through it,” said Edmundson.

“Yes, certainly.  A delegation of about six persons should go to Terrestra. Kaleem should help decide who. They should have a diplomatic tour, stay in a good hotel but also have direct contact with Normal Zoners and of at least one in the newly integrating Z Zone. They should have ample opportunity to sample Terrestran food…”

“What would you know about that?” whispered Kaleem. Droids didn’t need food – well at least not the same sort that humans needed.

“It’s a most important part of human life,” said Emmerline, staring at him. The pupils on her artificial eyes widened as if she was trying to take more of him in.

Great elders, she was scary. The scariest female that Kaleem had ever met… not that she was really female, he reminded himself. She was just a machine.

“Essential, in fact,” continued Emmerline. “Fundamental. And also extremely puzzling why food is so much better here on Zandra than on Terrestra where you have better raw materials.”

Kaleem had to concede that one. And he had no idea how they did it either.

“Naturally, we would also like to learn more about your diastics systems,” continued Emmerline. “My searches reveal the following academics may be able to give advice.”

Movie clips of Terrestran scientists showed for a few seconds each on the screen.

And to think all you need is microchips and some good programming, thought Kaleem.

“We would also like to arrange a discussion between the delegates and a committee made up of heads of service and elders. And yourself of course.” She flashed Kaleem another smile. She flicked her hair out of her eyes and her pupils grew even larger as if she were flirting with him.

For a few seconds Kaleem was almost convinced that she really was human and that it was just some trick of Edmundson’s and a female friend of his. Edmundson seemed to be finding it all extremely amusing.

“Show him the timetable,” he said to the droid. It was clear he could hardly keep his face straight. 

A chart immediately appeared on the data screen.

“These show the timings,” said Emmerline. “Red is for food discussion, blue for investigation of scientific matters, yellow for social activities and purple for further negotiation of the peace.”

Now Kaleem wanted to giggle. This was just too much. It was much too precise.

Edmundson suddenly looked stern.

“Stand-by,” he ordered Emmerline. “You see, she really is a droid.”

“No, no,” said Kaleem. “I just found it all too neat and tidy. You can’t do things that quickly.”

“Hmm,” said Edmundson. “But it ought to be a lot more focussed than you’re making it.” He turned back to the droid. “Continue,” he commanded. “Show Terrestrans on Zandra.”

A movie clip loaded on to the screen. Kaleem gasped. There were Pierre, Stuart, Saratina, Rozia, Sandi Depra and Ben Alki. They were here, on Zandra, looking at one of the oak plantations. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of those two? 

“It‘s all right,” said Edmundson. “She can read your mind.”

“But I never thought of Ben Alki or Sandi Depra,” Kaleem murmured.

“Good, isn’t she?” continued Edmundson. “She can even read your subconscious mind.” He was grinning.

Here we go, thought Kaleem. Another mission impossible.

The droid whispered something to Edmundson. The executive’s face went pale.

“Really? He said. He turned to Kaleem. “I’d get home as soon as possible if I were you. You don’t want to be caught here with me with what might be about to happen.” What was he talking about?

“Go on, I mean it,” said Edmundson, his face now red. “Skedaddle.”

Kaleem could see that he meant business. He set off home.