"In that case, yes, you are permitted to make calls."
"Thanks."
"The cost will be deducted from your wages."
Harriet sighed. If someone could install a slot in the top of Bernie's head, she'd make the world's best piggy bank. There was no use arguing, so she went to her desk to look up the nearest security firm.
"Hi. This is Lock'n'Bolt security. Our office hours are Mondays from two to three p.m. Callouts are by appointment only. Have a nice day!"
Harriet declined to leave a message, and called a different firm. All she got this time was a disconnected tone. Then she tried a third company.
"Hi, this is the Mega Laundry. How can I help you today?"
"I was looking for Mega Locksmiths."
"Oh, we dropped that business. No demand."
"But I need some new locks."
"What, on Dismolle?"
"I know, but—"
"Sorry. How about a special on your weekly laundry?"
"I'll pass, thanks." Harriet tried three more firms, but they'd either closed down, or they'd moved into other services. That was the trouble with living on a peaceful retirement planet: You could get all the aged-care products you needed, but try and buy a school bag or a baby's cot … or new locks … and you were in for a long wait and a huge price tag.
Harriet thought for a moment, then decided to try another tack. She got up and walked to the grocery store in the reception area, where the elderly owner, Dave Birch, was sitting behind the counter with his customary sheaf of loose pages. She often saw him scribbling in the margins, muttering to himself, and she'd never thought to ask what he was doing. She assumed, from his intense concentration, that he was working on the shop's accounts.
"Dave, can I ask you something?"
"Give me a couple of minutes," said Birch, without looking up. "Got some specials on the second rack. Take a look while you wait."
Harriet went to check them out, and returned a few minutes later with a folding penknife and a couple of chocolate bars. She didn't need them, but the shop hardly got any customers, and the items were pretty cheap.
"Now, what can I do for you?" asked Birch, as he rang up the sale. Then he took a second look. "Rough night?"
Harriet tried to smooth her hair. "Alice took my damned hair brush again."
"Maybe you should call the cops."
"Yes, well, speaking of security … I need some new locks on my place."
"Sorry, I was never one for the tools. Whenever I cut a corner I end up in surgery."
"Do you know anyone who might help?"
"I used to know plenty of people who could remove a lock in thirty seconds flat. Installing them, not so much." Birch thought for a minute. "There might be someone I can call. What sort of thing do you need?"
"Just the basics. A couple of deadlocks, a hall camera, a lens in the door—"
"You call that basics? Is there a crime wave I should know about?"
"A guy came into the station yesterday looking for Alice. I sent him off, but when I got home someone had been through my apartment."
Birch frowned. "Is he bothering her?"
"It's not like that. She told me this guy shot her uncle right in front of her, when she was a kid."
"And that's why we live on Dismolle," said Birch, shaking his head sadly. "It's a horrible galaxy out there."
"Yeah, well I don't want him getting into my place again."
"I'll find someone for you, don't worry."
"Thanks, Dave. Will I need to meet them? Only I can't get away until evening."
Birch grinned. "Don't worry, she won't need keys to get in."
"I won't ask too many questions, then."
"And I won't tell her you're a cop."
Harriet sighed. "I thought I'd end up in real estate, or teaching, or something in aged care. I just don't feel like a real Peace Force officer."
"You're good at what you do, Harriet. You have no resources here, and almost no backup, and yet you're making a difference."
"What about Alice? I dragged her into this with me, and I can't help thinking—"
"I was wrong about Alice," said Birch. "I told you not to take in any strays, remember? You ignored my advice, but you were right. She needed a family and a home, and you're both of those things to her. She does you credit."
"I can hardly look after myself, Dave. Now I have her on my plate, too."
"She's tougher than you think, and you're not her parent."
"Yes, but—" Harriet was about to continue, but at that moment the front doors opened and a customer walked in. "I'll leave you to it," she said, and headed for the office. She'd only taken three steps when she heard the customer speaking to Birch.
"I wonder if you can help me? I'm looking for a girl called Alice."
Chapter 5
"Trainee Alice, I have a mission for you."
Alice was busy doing as little as possible with her essay, and she felt a ray of hope as she looked up at the robot. "A mission? Me?"
"Indeed, and it is of the utmost importance."
Stunned, Alice could only stare at Bernie. She'd been certain there would be punishment for her little escapade with the case of the stolen wallet, but this sounded more like a reward.
"Are you familiar with primary schools?"
"Of course."
"Excellent. At one-thirty this afternoon, you will proceed to the address on your screen. Your contact is Maria Travers, the headmaster."
"What's the crime? Has one of the kids been snatched or something?"
"Maria will explain when you get there."
"Not even a clue?"
Bernie eyed her for a moment, then relented. "Reaching out to the community is a vital part of Peace Force work. Therefore, you will give a speech to the fourth-grade class—"
"I can't do a speech!"
"—on the importance of following orders."
Alice closed her mouth. So, that was her punishment for running off on a case. There was no two ways about it, Bernie was a sadist.
"You'd better
