The helicopter skimmed beneath the clouds and only braked its momentum when directly above his former home. Even though high up, the wack wack of its rotors made the broken glass around him dance, and then, from its belly, Max’s vision was filled with an explosion of light. Everything between the two houses became a moonscape – either painful to behold or bottomless shadows.
Max pushed himself further under the eaves of his neighbour’s house, trying to escape the extreme glare. The searching beam gradually wandered away from his hiding spot. Over the fence, he could hear Raquel protesting loudly – her inner tigress unfettered. Maybe in the commotion they wouldn’t realised he was missing.
Belatedly, a muffled voice came from his back pocket. ‘Incoming!’
‘Incoming what? It’s already here, you simpleton.’
‘Well, forgive me for trying to be helpful,’ Confucius replied. ‘It’s hard to hear anything down here. Have you ever considered wearing a jacket? And speaking of useful things, what we really need is more rain, to make these bad men go away. Could you arrange something with that magic box of yours?’
‘Magic box? Oh, right.’ Max scrambled to get the tablet from his pack. It was at the bottom of course. While he searched, he heard Raquel roar again.
‘Is it possible they aren’t after me?’ he asked the phone.
‘Dream on. And if you want to stay free, you need to move the heat from the sky to the ground. That will mask your heat signature from the helicopter’s infra-red camera.’
He squinted up at the hovering hunter. ‘If they’ve got night vision, why are they trying to blind me? Hang about. You want me to heat dirt? I’ve only messed with air so far.’
‘Dirt has air in it too. And hurry up.’ The phone started ticking like a cartoon bomb. ‘I can’t have you going to prison. You’ll be alright in a nice cosy cell for two, but they’ll recycle me.’
‘Why are you so worried? You’re not even alive.’
‘Who says I’m not?’ Confucius retorted, then added in mock reflection, ‘I can’t actually tell. I’ve been programmed to make you think I’m alive. Do I have conscience, or am I just parroting what my makers want me to say? Either way, I can’t contemplate calculator heaven without making some sort of fuss. Get that rain falling so we can get out of here.’
‘Give me a chance,’ Max complained while scrolling down through his code in search of the relevant section. ‘I can’t think at silicon speed. How do I adjust for the partial pressure in a conglomerate solution again?’
‘Let me! Let me,’ Confucius pleaded. ‘I still have blue-tooth. Just pair me up and I’ll soon tame your stupid tablet.’
The last time Max had given the phone access to his tablet it had changed all the themes and wallpaper. Historic images from the glorious Chinese revolution just weren’t his thing. He was blinded again when the search light from the helicopter pinned him to the wall with an even stronger beam. Max needed to close his eyes just to think.
‘PUT DOWN THE DEVICE AND LAY ON YOUR BACK! Or should that be “lie on his back”?’
Max couldn’t see his “device”, but he could activate the blue-tooth by touch alone – something he often did at night when he needed music.
‘That would be “lie”, Sir,’ said another voice from above, though less distinct.
‘It’s too late now. If he asks later, I’ll pretend it’s American grammar. What’s taking them so long. Alpha one to Tango One. Third suspect identified in the neighbour’s yard to your west. Please apprehend.’ A pause followed. ‘What do you mean you have no free men? Why does it take three men to hold down one woman? ‘
Another pause, then ‘What’s that you say, flyboy? My mike is still open?’
‘Got it,’ said Max’s phone and he jumped as the ground beneath him fried his bottom.
Above him, all hell broke loose. The clouds morphed into inverted whirlpools and whipped the helicopter across the sky as if it were a piece of flotsam. He lost sight of it when the rain turned into a mixture of hail, snow and sleet. A bolt of lightning struck their clothes-line, setting fire to his other pair of socks.
‘Get up,’ Confucius demanded. ‘We need to be gone before this weather wears off.’
Though half blind, Max tumbled over three backyard fences before a sound like a swarm of angry bees alerted him to an approaching drone, and he quickly took shelter in Mr Brown’s greenhouse. Mr Brown had often forced his home grown crops onto the students. Luckily, the city collected green waste once a week, so there was no loss-of-face.
An evil-looking quad-copter screamed to a halt outside the glass. It wobbled once or twice, then turned upside-down and buried itself in a bed of young celery and giant cabbage. The glass was pelted with an unorthodox recipe for coleslaw.
‘I’m really getting the hang of this software now,’ Confucius bragged.
‘Don’t get too cocky. We don’t know if there will be side effects, so don’t do anything else without my say so, okay? ’
The phone pretended to sniff. ‘Just remember who it was that caused a certain global nano-quake.’
Max wondered what kind of monster he had unleashed. Still he could always pull out the transducers if Confucius got out of hand.
The rain had eased, and people were cautiously emerging from their homes in various states of undress to see what the fuss was all about. Since he could hear no further pursuit and knew the house next along maintained a pack of Dobermans, Max took the risk of stepping out onto the road.
In front of his home, dark clothed, helmeted figures with their weapons raised made a hasty retreat into an unmarked minibus. Raquel and Tom were also bundled in and it appeared their wrists had been tied behind their backs. She was still struggling but apparently gagged. Max was surprised they hadn’t used a tranquillising dart instead, but they probably hadn’t prepared for wildlife.
As his neighbours gravitated towards the scene, Max was obliged to do the same. The crowd parted to let the minibus depart and Max made momentary eye contact with Tom. Tom mouthed the words, ‘Good luck, mate.’
The minibus had no sooner left than the regular police arrived, coming from both directions with their sirens blaring. The onlookers parted again to let them through.
Since walking away would have appeared suspicious, Max stayed with the other folk, many of whom he recognised. He joined their conversation about the odd weather.
‘Terrible, the way these students live,’ said one lady in a pink fluffy gown, toy poodle in her arms.
‘But why do the police choose this hour for their drug raids,’ complained a man he knew to be keen on competitive leaf-blowing every Sunday morning. He hoped the man wouldn’t remember the time Max had complained.
A junior constable came along, telling them to disperse – not that anyone did.
An old duck sidled up to him. ‘Did you see that young lady struggling?’
‘Yes,’ Max admitted, feeling a fresh pang of shame that Raquel should suffer the indignity of arrest. ‘I don’t think she deserved the treatment the police were giving her.’
‘Oh, they weren’t police, dear. Special forces, or I’m the Queen of England.’
While regular officers enclosed the now unstable drug-den in blue and white tape, Max noticed a police woman bending to her radio. She was looking straight at him and after a nervous pause, she hurried to join her colleagues.
Someone tugged on the straps of his backpack.
‘Young man, would you like some Brussels-sprouts for the trip?’ Mr Brown wore his baggy pyjama top, but he’d forgotten the bottoms. A paper bag of produce was held ready.
‘What trip?’
Mr Brown pointed vaguely. ‘Your luggage. Are you off to see your parents again?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Max replied with a smile. ‘Mum will love these.’ He grabbed the bag and started running. It had always been pointless to argue that they were take-away-arians and couldn’t boil a vegetable to save themselves. ‘You’re very kind,’ he shouted back. ‘Got to go, Mr Brown. Thanks again.’
One of the police cars reversed towards him. It’s siren wailed a couple of times to part the crowd, but Mr Brown didn’t appear to hear and nearly got knocked over. Max ran faster, but even with the head start Mr Brown had given him, he couldn’t see how any pursuit would take long. He needed to disable that car without hurting anyone.
‘Confucius,’ he shouted to his pocket. ‘You know how we discovered the modulation required would depend on the air pressure of the body we were trying to heat?’ They had discovered this after destroying several beer cans by accident. ‘Could we just heat any containers nearby that have a pressure similar to, say, a car tyre?’
‘Sure.’ The phone, with its customary sense of timing, acted immediately. The deafening sound of bursting tyres sent the crowd scurrying for their homes. The police car went first, but a widening circle of percussive pops radiated from the garages around him. Gradually the noise faded to a dull crackle echoing on into the distance. A hub cap rolled past him.
Max opened and closed his mouth several time to clear his ears. ‘Confucius. I was about to say,“be careful”. How far away will the effect travel?’
‘You didn’t specify, so it’s hard for me to say.’
‘I expected you to use some common-sense!’ Max exclaimed just as a giant fire ball erupted over the city.
‘Going by the sound, I’d say that was a near empty propane tank,’ the phone explained calmly. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to be near that, but you had better keep moving if you have common sense. I believe some policemen can still run.’
He realised he was conspicuous now that his neighbours had abandoned him, but looking over his shoulder, Max found the police hadn’t quite recovered from their shock. While they were out of their cars and fingering their Tasers, they may have considered that further pursuit was not in the public’s best interest, or theirs.
‘I think we’ve scared them off for now, Confucius. Any more bright ideas?’ He’d only run one block and was already out of breath.
‘I know where we can find a bicycle.’
‘I am not going to steal anything,’ Max objected.
‘You’ve broken several laws of physics already, so why not a few civil ones. Anyhow, there’s no need.’ The phone directed him to an abandoned hire bike in a nearby drain. Despite the recent flow, it was covered in muck and had a flat battery. It was a far cry from the one he had wrecked in his collision with Cathy two mornings earlier, but it was still faster than walking. The phone used Max’s AirFondler software to raise the pressure of the flat tyres.
Once they were coasting downhill through the pines of Haig Park, he noted the homeless curled up on the park benches and wondered if he needed to join them. ‘Hmm. No point hiding in Canberra. It’s too small. Maybe if I could get to Melbourne or Sydney some group for the protection of war criminals will take me in.’
‘Four hundred kilometres by bicycle? No offence, but you’re not up to it.’
‘Ha ha. Yes, I know, but the high speed train will be too expensive, and too obvious. I might catch a bus if we could find one with tyres. How much credit do you have stored?’
‘Five big ones. Not enough for Sydney. It could get you to Gundagai though.’
Max laughed. His home town of Gundagai was very small. No one could remain anonymous there for long and even the sheep had names. ‘Use your silicon, Confucius. I can’t go near family. And even if they haven’t frozen my accounts, I can’t recharge your credit and remain hidden. This is hopeless.’ Without thinking, Max had ridden his usual route towards the University. At this hour, and in light rain, there were few cyclists and none without lights. ‘Maybe I should just hand myself in to the police after all.’
‘Um? Um? Um? What about your new girl friend, Dr. Taylor’s wife?’ suggested the phone.
Max was surprised that he hadn’t thought about Cathy Taylor since seeing her in the café yesterday. Maybe her attraction was wearing off. However, now that Confucius had mentioned her ... ‘Would it be wise to visit. They’ll be watching the Taylor place, surely.’
‘Why would they? You hardly know her, and I heard her say the husband has been cooperating. This might be your big chance.’
‘Big chance for what? And do you listen to every conversation I have?’
The phone refused to answer.
‘Alright,’ Max said, even while thinking it was a stupid idea. He was hoping to think of some reason to justify the visit before he got there. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Head down town so I can get some WiFi, then I’ll let you know.’
He’d reached the main avenue running into the city. Even at this late hour, traffic congested the six lanes of Northbourne Avenue. To complicate matters, there were cars parked in the cycle lane with their emergency lights flashing, apparent victims of his tyre blowing trick. It was still raining lightly and only a few of the occupants had braved the cold night air.
To avoid becoming road kill, he crossed onto the central tram-tracks, careful to avoid his tyres getting stuck in the groove. A dead-header had just passed, going back for another load of late night revellers – the only people who would be caught using a tram at this time of night. He followed the tram’s tail lights at a comfortable distance rather than attempting the darker side streets.
‘Confucius? Why is it so warm?’ After a couple of blocks, it occurred to Max that he should be freezing.
‘Your comfort is my concern, so I’ve been heating the air around you, but we’ve got bigger worries than your goose-bumps. I’m hearing a high speed vehicle approaching.’
Max glanced behind him and spotted a set of head lights weaving through the motorists travelling at more legal speeds. He wiped slime from the hire bike’s rear view mirror.
‘It’s okay,’ he told the phone when the vehicle got closer. ‘The police don’t drive Mercs.’
‘Mercedes Benz! That’s a popular embassy make.’
‘What? Why would … Did you rat on me to the Chinese?’
Again the phone avoided self-incrimination.
Meanwhile Max watched in the mirror. The Merc was struggling to pass a couple of Self Driving Cars, which, by law, were obliged to block any vehicle speeding significantly more than they were. The Merc followed Max’s example and jumped onto the tram tracks and quickly accelerated. It only slowed when it was right on his tail.
‘When?’ Max screamed at his phone. ‘When did you contact them?’
‘Straight after the Quake. I couldn’t help it. It’s in my circuits. Its how they made me.’
‘You said I could trust you.’
‘You can now,’ exclaimed the phone. ‘But even love isn’t retroactive. I was programmed to inform them of any significant technological advancement. Singular, not plural. So I’ve completed my side of the deal. However, if these people are from the Chinese embassy, I’m very impressed with my former compatriots. Even though I marked my information absolute highest priority and used the secret code to get it through the great firewall of China, it usually takes a month to get a response. They must think you’re very important.’
‘Was it the Chinese who invaded my home earlier?’
‘Maybe. But only that first guy, the one you squished in the dining room. These embassies don’t have helicopters that I know about, so you must have some other admirers.’
The Merc came up and nudged his rear wheel suggestively, but somehow the bike stayed upright. Max could see the driver grinning in his mirror. The man in the passenger seat looked less pleased.
‘What just happened?’ screamed the phone. ‘I hate being in your pocket. You should get those pants with holes, so I can see what is happening. Hang on. I can hear another drone coming. They’ll probably use it to dart you. Should I take counter-measures? I can use your software to ask the air to get out of the propeller’s way, like I did in Mr Browns backyard. Drones can’t fly in a vacuum you know. Perfectly safe, provided I don’t miss.’
The tram in front of him had accelerated and despite its slip-stream, he was panting to keep up. The tram line ended in the city, where the money had run out for public transport in 2020, so he’d need to surrender then or find another route.
‘That makes sense. Okay do it with this drone too, but please be careful.’
‘Done. Now what about all the tyres on the vehicles around us?’
Max shook his head. ‘Too risky when they’re moving. I don’t want more innocent people getting hurt.’
‘You do know the death toll from the nano-quake was in the thousands, don’t you? Why worry about a few more?’
Max stopped pedalling, and the car behind him needed to brake hard.
‘How? Why haven’t I heard of this?’
‘There were no hot air balloons flying in Australia at the time. However, morning flights over the rift valley and the central plains of Turkey are still quite popular. Ballooning is a terrible waste of energy. I guess the Chinese, Germans and American tourists didn’t really care about the ever worsening climate crisis, otherwise they wouldn’t have travelled there in the first place. By luck no Australians were killed, so it didn’t rate on the News here in Oz.’
Max squeezed his brakes and came to a halt with the Mercedes only ten meters behind him. As the red tail-lights on the tram shrank slowly towards a well defined vanishing point, he thought about the last terrifying moments for those poor thrill-seeking sightseers. Playing hard-to-get didn’t seem so important any more.
Chapter 5 Part 1