Author's Note: Thanks for the welcome, everyone! My inbox has flooded with favourites, follows and reviews. Thanks for all your comments, especially the 'Don't kill everyone this time' ones. I think it's not too much of a spoiler to say that this story isn't quite as death-ridden as the previous one, so you can relax. Slightly.
Saving Private Soldierbot
Prologue Two: Meet The Administrator
One of the teleporter discs flashed and a man just appeared out of thin air. I'm sure I must have flinched or jumped back. It was the truck driver I had met earlier, and he nodded at me in greeting.
"Well, who do we have here? Is this our guest?"
"Yes, and you already met her. Remember? You gave her a lift in your truck." The woman said pointedly. I kept my face carefully blank. It wasn't hard, since I was still staring at those teleporters.
"Sure did." The man paused and then gave a grin that had a hint of wickedness. "I just stopped off to shave off my beard in the meantime, right?"
Odd Thing Number... I had lost count by this point.
"Something like that." The woman replied with a defeated sigh. "This is Dr Conagher, Miss Aquilina. He designed the teleporters, plus a few other things we're still working on."
"But this is incredible!" I burst out. "I don't think even the Australians have technology like this!"
Conagher smiled disarmingly. "I just get these ideas and make 'em work. It's what I like to do. Want some company?"
"No, please continue with your work." The woman ordered. To my surprise, he nodded to us both and left. I felt just a tiny grain of suspicion beginning to form in my mind, not enough to be more than a tickle at the back of my head right now. "Step on the white teleporter, Miss Aquilina."
I tried not to hesitate, swallowed and stepped forward. To my surprise I felt... nothing. There was a flash of light and then I was simply somewhere else. There was the smell of bleach and metal, mixing and making my nose tickle, and I blinked a few times and took a wobbly step forward into what seemed to be some sort of cross between a lab and a hospital. There were beds, pretty uncomfortable looking ones, and all sorts of equipment beeping and buzzing.
The teleporter flashed behind me as the receptionist joined me, but my eyes were riveted on the truly enormous man lying on an examination table in the centre of the room. He was big- not fat, but built like a wrestler or a boxer. I did my best not to stare.
"Sergei, stop dripping on zhe floor! I just cleaned it." A strongly accented voice said, and I looked beyond the huge man to a doctor in a labcoat. He had very light blonde curly hair, almost white, and a long, chiselled face built to frown. Next to the giant in the bed, he looked tiny, but I suppose he was actually normal size.
"Cannot help it, doktor." My mouth dropped open again at the large man's accent. Russian. Had to be.
"Vell, try not to bleed so much."
"Will try."
The woman cleared her throat discretely and the two men startled and looked up. The doctor gave me a too-wide grin, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. I forced myself not to take a step back and instead do my charming journalist smile and nod in reply. I was suddenly glad that the receptionist and Russian were there- if they hadn't been, I had a feeling I'd have been strapped down and my organs removed.
"Ah, zhis must be our journalist!" He said enthusiastically, striding over and grabbing my hand, pumping it hard enough my shoulder hurt. "I am Gerhardt Weiss, and it so happens my friend here has cut himself. Zhis gives me a great opportunity to show you zhe medigun."
"Yes, he just happened to get injured." The receptionist said with a soft snort.
"Is alright." The Russian said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Is for good cause and I do not feel pain much."
"Are you Russian, sir?" I asked.
"Nyet, am from Brazil." He replied in a bored-sounding voice.
"Ah," I replied, rummaging through some little odds and ends of knowledge. "Zdras'vortye tovarisch, as they say in...Brazil."
His small eyes narrowed and he glared at me for a moment, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, but he suddenly opened his mouth and gave a great booming laugh.
"Da! We do!" He said, giving a wide grin that seemed just as insane as Dr Weiss'. "You are thinking 'Is he spy?'. I am not spy for KGB. Too big and obvious to be spy, yes?"
"And you don't smoke enough." The receptionist added. They all laughed, and I assumed this was some sort of inside joke.
"So, zhe young lady is here to see zhe medigun?" Gerhardt asked.
"I am here to see everything, so I'd love to see it."
"Sehr gut! Let me explain vhat it does and how it vorks..."
"No." The receptionist said. I mentally nodded. Yes, she seemed to have a lot of power...
"I guess this is classified?" I asked, tapping my hand to the recorder in my pocket.
"Yes." She said firmly, but then, surprisingly, gave me a sideways wink. I blinked back in puzzlement. "If I let him, Gerhardt would explain everything in great detail and...at great length."
"She might be interested!" Weiss protested. He made a peevish hmph noise. "I suppose I can at least demonstrate it?"
"Of course."
"Sergei here has, alas, been vounded, as you can see. He vas cleaning his...his..."
"Kitchen." The large Russian, Sergei, added. He held up a dripping hand with a deep slash across it. I don't normally mind the sight of blood- but this was nasty. I could see the sides of the slash wobble. It was a really deep cut. I could see stuff in it- little white bits. I'm no doctor, so I had no idea what I was looking at, but it made me feel a little light headed. "I put away knife and hand slipped. Do not go so pale, leetle woman, is not so bad."
"Vatch zhis." Weiss said, pulling a nozzle-shaped piece of equipment down from the ceiling. He pointed the nozzle at the large man's hand, and then flicked a switch.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then I realised that there really was a line of glowing white mist reaching from the nozzle to Sergei's cut hand.
What happened next was amazing, but nearly made me throw up. Nowadays it wouldn't phase me, but then, well, I was pretty green, literally at that moment. I saw the white bits disappear as layers of dark red meat covered them up, and then the skin zipped up as neatly as a pair of trousers. You know, it doesn't sound too bad when I describe it like that, but you try watching it sometime. I almost lost my lunch. Deep, long breaths, I told myself. Deep, long breaths.
"Good as new." Sergei said in satisfaction, flexing his hand.
I swallowed, finally finding my voice. "But...that's impossible! It just...healed? In seconds?"
"Zhe medigun can heal any trauma and also help vizh symptomatic relief of many ailments." Weiss said proudly. "I can bring people back from zhe brink of death if I have to."
I admit I lost it at this point. I'm not proud of it, but forget professionalism- I just gaped like a fish.
"Now you can see why we have been so secretive." The receptionist said quietly. "We want to bring these things into the world, but we have to do it carefully. We're not in this for profit. I'm sure you see."
For a moment longer, my mind was blank, but I realised what she meant. What if one country got their hands on this thing, and nobody else did? Or it was available to some people and not others? This 'medigun' was an amazing thing, but it could be very, very badly abused. Surely you don't have to be a journalist to know that no government is nice behind doors, right?
"Yes." I said at last. "I see."
"Are you feeling faint, Miss Aquilina?" Weiss said in concern. His voice seemed miles away.
"Come on, let's grab a coffee. Thanks, Gerhardt." A couple of small but firm hands grabbed my shoulders and marched me away. I guess we must have gone through the teleporter again, because we were suddenly in a small lounge. There were more sickly pot plants, a coffee machine and some comfortable sofas and chairs. A large window looked out over the sea. I was steered to a chair and sat down. The buzz of the coffee machine was such a mundane sound I suddenly snapped back to every day.
The room seemed so normal. Too normal.
"Black or white?"
"Black. One sugar." I stated, running a hand through my hair.
"So, there you have it." The woman said, handing me a cup and saucer and sitting down opposite me, looking at me carefully.
The cup rattled in the saucer as I picked it up. The liquid was warm and soothing in my throat. It was very good coffee- rich and full of flavour.
"Well," I replied weakly, "I've certainly got a story."
She gave a half-smile. "You certainly have." She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "So, do you have any questions?"
"I...did have, but they seem to have all gone." I admitted. I swallowed and decided to go for broke. "I have one question though."
"Yes?" The woman's eyes narrowed and there was a look of amusement and hope in her tight smile.
"Why do you pretend to be the receptionist?" I looked at her tiny hands circling the teacup. "Miss...Pauling? Or is it Doctor?"
The Administrator threw back her head and laughed delightedly and then clapped her hands together in glee. "Oh, well done! Our sources said you were good. You're right, that is my name, and to answer your question: because receptionists get to see what people are really like. When they're not pretending."
"Nice trick." I said with a nod, trying not to look as if I had cold sweat trickling down my back and soaking into my bra at the front. "You ought to be a reporter."
"Hmm. I think I'd get bored." She said, tapping her fingers against her cup for a moment. "I've been thinking, and I have an offer to make."
"Yes?" I asked, taking another sip of my coffee.
"I've been watching you."
"Of course." I replied with a shrug.
"Of course." She agreed. "This is off the record now, ok?"
"Ok." I said eagerly. I didn't know if I even had a story, since no one would believe what I had seen. The only people likely to buy this whole story were the sensationalist rags, so I didn't care much at this point. I just wanted to know more.
"You notice things. All the little things that don't add up here, don't you."
"Every place I visit is different." I stated calmly.
"Good answer." She said with an approving nod. "We need a public voice- to help us let people know what we want, when we want. None of us are...really that tactful, truth be told. So, my offer is this: You get to act as our PR officer, in return for which I'll pay you, and you get to know everything. You live here, and be a part of this. What do you say?"
I blinked for a moment, thinking of my New Jersey apartment, and my boyfriend. I couldn't leave that behind, could I? The...shabby, tiny flat, the admittedly sexy man who always came home with someone else's lipstick on his collar, smelling of drink...
I saw something tiny shoot past outside the window. It looked like a plane, but it was only the size of a man. It shot up into the air and sparkled in the sun for a moment. Another invention? I wondered idly. Another thing I'd never know about if I left now...
"Yes." I heard my own voice say.
"Good." Miss Pauling replied, draining her cup. She held out her hand and I shook it. She stood up and I followed her into an amazing new life I could never have imagined.
So, will that do for your story?
...Oh.
Yeah, right, of course not. You want to hear about the robots. With the recent Grey Pride March and the Equal Rights for Metal Men movement, that's all that everyone wants to talk about. Not how the cure for the common cold was developed, the testing of the Teep network, or the dinosaur park. Just the robots.
Ok, ok. How about I tell you a story about the first robot ever made? I know a great one: the story of the best and worst mistake he ever made.
Now, where do I begin?
Oh yes: This story begins the same way it ends: with a life-or-death race against time.
In Chapter One: The Twin Scouts are running away- but from whom? And why?