"Thanks, Scrap. The table must have a wobble."
"Of course it does," said the robot diplomatically. It replaced the glass and poured juice from the jug. "Would you like some?" it said to Harriet, studying her with its yellow eyes. There was good humour and intelligence in its glance, and she was momentarily taken aback. She was used to Bernie's eye plate, which was capable of expression … in a fashion. This robot was almost human by comparison. "Thanks, er …"
"Mr Flint calls me Scrap. Amongst other things."
"Why?"
"He says it's because I put up a good fight."
"Oh! I thought it was—"
"—a comment on my somewhat battered exterior? Mr Flint would not be so unkind."
Harriet nodded and sipped the drink. It was delicious … tart from the fresh lemons, with just enough sugar to take away the sharpness. "Hey, that's good!"
"Thank you," said the robot solemnly, and he looked pleased.
"Scrap makes it himself," said Flint. "He's a damn good cook, too."
Where do I get myself one of these? thought Harriet. Her cooking was so bad Alice had threatened to have a go … a sign of true desperation.
"So, what's the occasion?" asked Flint. "You didn't drop by for Scrap's lemonade."
Birch started telling him about Darting, and Flint's expression grew serious. Halfway through Birch's explanation, Scrap touched Harriet's elbow. "May I have a word in private?"
Harriet eyed the robot. "Er, sure."
They strolled away, until they were in the shadow of the hedge surrounding the small garden. Scrap eyed her thoughtfully. "I assume you're here to enlist Mr Flint's aide?"
"That was the idea." Harriet watched Birch and Flint speaking together. They were animated as they discussed the situation, and the years seemed to have fallen off them.
"In that case, you're wasting your time," said the robot evenly. "He is unwell, and incapable of exertion."
"We only need his experience."
"Ms Walsh, my orders are to care for Mr Flint until the day he … he no longer needs me." A pained expression crossed the robot's face. "This means shielding him from daily stresses and strains, and nothing is more stressful than a Peace Force investigation."
"We're just talking to people. Seeing who can help, not forcing them to join us."
"Mr Flint will not be joining you. He's not strong enough."
"Don't worry, Scrap. I can see that for myself."
They rejoined the others, and Birch smiled over his glass. "Great news! Flint's agreed to run the Peace Force office for us."
"What?" said Scrap. He shot an accusing look at Harriet, who made an apologetic face.
"Isn't it great?" said Flint, beaming at the robot. "It'll be just like old times."
"But … you cannot work!" protested Scrap.
"Sure I can. It's only admin."
"A Peace Force station is no place for a … a …"
"An old wreck like me?" said Flint. "Don't fuss, Scrap. This will give me a whole new lease on life."
"Leases expire," said the robot, with a frown.
"I'm going, and that's flat."
The robot studied his expression, saw Flint was determined, and gave up the fight. "Then I will accompany you."
"Good. You can teach these Peace Force newbies how real coffee is made." Flint turned to Harriet. "When do you need us?"
"We're trying to get everyone together as soon as possible."
"Give us a couple of hours. Birch said you need supplies and equipment, and I might have one or two other items you can use."
"Thanks. We really appreciate this." Harriet shook his hand, apologised quietly to the robot and left. On the way to their cab, she glanced at Birch. "Are we doing the right thing, here? Flint looks a bit frail."
"Is that what the robot wanted?"
"Yeah. He's worried Flint will overdo things."
"He's probably right," said Birch cheerfully. "Still, better to go out with a bang, eh?"
"That's not quite—"
"Anyway, Flint's not frail. Just wait until you mess up. He'll give you a roasting you'll never forget."
"I've got Bernie for that."
"Not in Chirless." Birch gestured at the cab, and the doors opened for them. "Back to the station?"
"Yes. And let's hope Alice is back safely."
Chapter 13
The cab drew up at the Peace Force station, and Harriet frowned at the red paint daubed across the front of the building. "I wish we could get rid of that."
"It's like they've taken a dump on our doormat," muttered Birch. "Why don't I try and organise someone to clean it up?"
"Thanks, but we've got more important things to worry about."
They got out, and had barely entered the station when Alice came over. She looked pleased with herself, and Harriet got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. When Alice was happy, it usually meant bad news for everyone else. "What's up?"
"I found the enemy's base. Arnie spotted the van I shot up yesterday."
"That's great! Where?"
Alice explained where the building was, and Harriet frowned. "Did they see you?"
"Er, yeah. You could say that."
"Dammit, Alice. We're not ready! If you've provoked them, they might drive over here any minute."
"I don't think that's likely," muttered Alice, with a sidelong glance.
Harriet's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing!"
Still not convinced, Harriet tried another tack. "What happened? How did you find them?"
"I told Arnie to scan for black vans, like the one we saw yesterday. We spotted a couple but they were just regular tradies vans, and then we saw a bunch in this car park, outside a warehouse. We hovered overhead, then left when they started shooting."
Harriet swore. "They actually fired at you?"
"Yeah, they hit Arnie's wing." Alice saw Harriet's expression. "It's fine, didn't even scratch his armour."
"I'm not worried about the damn jet. They might have killed you, Alice." Harriet frowned at her. "No more flying. Got it?"
"But—"
"I mean it! Now they know we've got a ship, they might go looking for bigger guns … or missiles. No flying."
Alice nodded. "Okay, I understand."
"This isn't one of those say one thing and do the opposite kind of deals," said Harriet quietly. "Do you promise?"
"I swear I won't fly Arnie without your permission."
"Thanks." Harriet gestured towards
