Once the leg was connected, Jeremy turned his attention to the chest. He replaced the tubing, then filled a reservoir inside the chest cavity from a small plastic bottle. When he was satisfied, he set the bottle aside and took up the newly polished chestplate, crouching to make sure the lugs were lined up. Then he fastened it down, checking each of the little compartments opened and closed properly. Finally, he took a rag and wiped his hands. "Okay, we're ready for testing," he said. "Let's get this guy booted up."
Alice saw Flint's nervous expression, and she felt a certain amount of nerves herself. Robots contained a lot of energy, and if any wires were crossed it might go off like a bomb.
"Do you want to do the honours?" asked Jeremy. "Just turn it on here, inside this compartment."
Flint approached, and with shaking fingers he activated the switch. At first, nothing happened, but then there was a beep and light gleamed through the robot's joints. Seconds later, Scrap opened his eyes and looked up at them. Then, without assistance, he sat up on the bench. He examined his chest, then twisted his new foot from side to side, before raising and lowering it. The motors whirred smoothly, and when his inspection was done, he turned to Flint. "I hope you've been taking your pills."
Flint gave a shout of joy, and enveloped the robot in a big hug. Then he helped Scrap to his feet, and watched, entranced, as the robot took his first few steps. Scrap walked to the office and back, moving freely apart from a clunk-clunk-clunk every time he moved the new leg.
Flint laughed. "You want to be careful, or I'll start calling you Clunk."
"I've been called worse," said Scrap, with a wry smile.
— ♦ —
Harriet ran up the steps to the grand entrance of the Chirless Residents' Association, with Dave Birch right behind her. She walked straight past the reception counter, pushed through the double doors leading to the rear of the building, and headed for the carpeted stairs leading to the next floor.
"Hey, you can't go up there!" shouted the receptionist, but she was far too late. "Security. Security!"
Harriet found the door she was after, and burst into Foster's office unannounced. There was a startled oath, and she saw Foster with a slice of cake halfway to her mouth, about to take a big bite. The older woman put the cake down and gave Harriet a poisonous look. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just—"
"Shut it," snapped Harriet.
"This is an outrage! I'll have your badge!"
"Stop speaking, or I'll jam that cake in your face so hard they'll still be digging it out next week."
Foster swallowed fitfully, but said nothing.
"You're done with treating the Peace Force like scum," said Harriet evenly. "We just saved your city from a major threat. Three days facing almost certain death, and you're sitting here tucking into cake!"
The door burst open and a couple of uniformed guards charged in. Quick as lightning, Birch covered them with his blaster, and they stopped in their tracks. "We're just here to talk," he said pleasantly. "Let's not turn this into a shooting match, all right?"
They nodded.
Harriet hadn't taken her eyes off Foster. "I don't care what you do with your restaurants and your fancy offices, but you're going to find room in your budget for some proper Peace Force funding. Is that clear?"
"You want us to pay … for you?"
"Exactly."
"But … our funds are limited!"
"So close your fancy restaurant, or move out of this place into an abandoned warehouse. Your association is a parasite feeding off this planet, and it's about time you did some good with all the money you're collecting."
"Very well! I'll, er, table a motion at the next meeting. I'm sure we can set up a working party to consider—"
"No working parties, no meetings," snapped Harriet. "Bernie will send through an estimate, and you'll pay it. I'm sure you're used to rubber-stamping things, so I'm betting it won't be held up."
"But—"
Harriet leaned across the desk, eyes narrowed. "You'll do this, or I'll report your little agreement with Darting to the Peace Force top brass."
"Wh-what agreement?" said Foster. "We had no agreement!"
"Lady, you need to brush up on your poker face." Harriet took out her commset, scrolled through the menu, then hit play. Harriet's voice played through the speaker, as clear as a bell.
"You can't just turn up and appoint yourself sheriff."
And then it was Darting's voice.
"Why not? Nobody else wants the job." There was a pause. "I've already spoken to the Chirless Residents' Association, by the way. They intend to make this official at an upcoming meeting."
Foster stared at the commset, and she couldn't have looked more surprised if it had grown a pair of wings and flown away. "That's illegal," she said at last. "You can't record conversations."
"Actually, I can. Peace Force directive eight-niner-two dash six." Harriet prodded the desk with her finger. "Now, if you don't find room in your budget for the Peace Force, I'll have you arrested and jailed, and then I'll take over your exclusive little club myself."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Don't tempt me. I could certainly use a free restaurant."
Foster deflated like a punctured tyre, her bluster gone, and in a low voice she agreed. "Very well. Send through your estimate, and I'll make sure it's included in our budget."
"Thank you!" Harriet straightened. "It was a pleasure doing business. I hope we don't have to meet again."
And with that, she and Birch strode out.
"That felt good," said Harriet, as they left the building.
"I could
