Alex snorted. "Not too fresh, I can tell you! Your average engineering student spends as little time here as possible." He slid the cover off to reveal a strange insect like machine, about the size of a single bed. "No batteries! Old Val must've taken 'em out. Back in a minute."
While he was gone, Arthur bent to look at the device. At one end was a vague moiety of a human form, like a bizarre suit of armour without a head or a back. This was connected at its rear by a complex joint at about waist level to a chassis bearing a small aluminium tray, under which were several more pairs of legs.
Alex soon returned, wheeling a small trolley carrying two heavy batteries, and accompanied by a middle aged man in a much laundered grey dust coat, with a round smiling face topped with minimal wisps of blonde hair, small eyes and an effusive manner.
"Arthur Park, Valentine Culjak. Val looks after this shop, and protects me from the faculty. Val, Arthur's my boss on the Barrage project. He's a real engineer; not like the impostors upstairs!"
"Please to meet you Valentine. You're an engineer?"
"Toolmaker. I from Czech, but do my training with Sulzer in Switzerland many many years ago."
Arthur turned to Alex, "You should be a bit more discreet in what you say Alex..."
"Is too true what he say though, Arthur," chuckled Val. "Impostors! Ha! They should like to close this shop, save money. But Alex," he said, wagging his finger under Alex's nose, "You are too much saying what you think; not enough the, the err...," he suddenly frowned with concentration, "The Machiavelli!" he produced, triumphantly, to Alex's surprise.
Val and Alex slid the batteries into their cradles under either side of the aluminium tray, and Alex connected the terminals. Then he swung off his backpack, and drew out the laptop. "Just got to stick the program in; it loses all settings without the batteries." He jacked a lead from the machine into the computer's back and typed the commands into the laptop.
"A Waldo!" Arthur suddenly said.
"Yeah, yeah," said Alex, distractedly. He hit the return key and looked up at Arthur, "Yeah, a Waldo, that's what they're called. In science fiction stories."
"Funny, they've never really been developed," said Arthur.
Alex closed the laptop and unplugged it. "Ready to roll, or rather, to step. I'll have a go first. Make sure it works."
He sat on the edge of the tray and swung his legs around, lowering them into the partial suit at the front, then standing up in it. First, he pulled a kind of metal headband on, connected by a lead to the rest of the device. He quickly reached down and flipped velcro tags around the backs of his knees, then fed his hands into the skeletal arms, carefully pushing them into the massive gloves. "It's like a straitjacket 'till you turn on the power," he said. Below his chin was a panel with several large buttons. He swung his head and used his chin to push a big green one on the right. There was a rising whine from a small hydraulic pump. "The big red one in the middle is the kill switch, naturally."
"What's the yellow one?"
"You'll see in a minute. Stand clear, gentleman, I'm a 'comin' out!"
The other two moved away a little, as Alex shuffled out sideways, the rear sets of legs suddenly resolving as four close set pairs, following the motions of the front pair in a delayed timing. "You see the how the legs are? Gets around the old lift-all-the-legs-on-one-side-and-fall-over problem." "How do you turn?" asked Arthur.
"The headband," was the reply. Alex raised his arms to indicate it, accompanied with tiny hisses, silver reflections from the hydraulic actuators, and the arching of black control cables, "If I turn my head, the centre legs only go in a straight line, but the rear ones do the opposite sideways movement of the front." He demonstrated by turning his head and shuffling sideways. The whole assembly pivoted around the immobile centre legs which screeched on the concrete floor, while the rear ones shuffled in the opposite direction.
"Hmm," said Arthur, rubbing his chin.
"Yes, it's crude," said Alex, coming to a halt, arms drooping, "But it works."
"No no, I'm impressed! What you've done is pretty damn good for the resources you have here..."
"Huh," snorted Alex. "You should have heard the riot it caused with the Admin! Squandering scarce materials they said, and then forced me to nominate it as a group project to cover their arses. Naturally all the dickheads with connections got their names on the list of collaborators! Anyway, enough whinging. I'll show you some other stuff."
He marched off towards the workbenches. Pausing in front of one, he said. "And now, for the next amazing feat!" He turned his head to the left and pushed the big yellow button with his chin. There was a click, and he stepped forward, leaving the tray and its four legs immobile behind him, while Arthur was able to see he was still connected by a hydraulic line feeding out from a reel under the tray. On the workbench was a large metal toolbox. "Whad'ya reckon it weighs, Arthur?" Arthur guessed sixty kilos. Alex shuffled forward until his knees contacted the bench, reached forward, and grasped the handles of the toolbox, and then carefully bent backwards a few degrees. "You've really got to watch your balance with this thing, especially picking up something heavy in two-legged mode." He took the weight of the toolbox and slid it towards him until it touched the front of the suit, which Arthur had noticed was faced with a well scratched plastic wear surface. Then he lifted it off the bench and spent a few more seconds tilting back and forth a few degrees until he was satisfied. "Of course it would be a lot better if you could automatically compensate for load: easy enough to do to do, but..."
He now swung around and waddled back alongside the tray, then turned and dropped the toolbox in the middle. In a few moments he had backed onto the suit connection and was marching about the workshop with the load on the back. "It'll carry two-fifty kilos," he shouted above the clatter and whine of his progress. "Your go now Arthur!"
"Sorry about you getting stuck on the stairs," said Alex. "Sorry about the coffee here too. There's better coffee upstairs in the Faculty Club, but I can't afford the membership."
"That's OK son, it's just the sort of coffee you get in any site office on any job anywhere in the world. Best not to develop a taste for the good stuff! And I was a mug to climb the stairs."
They were sitting in a small, shabby and otherwise deserted student lounge, drinking out of chipped mugs. They had spent a rather more strenuous hour than they had expected. Alex had persuaded Arthur to try the machine, and he had promptly climbed a set of stairs only to get stuck on the landing, unable to negotiate the turn. It was then discovered that walking the machine backwards downstairs was impossible, and Val had to wheel a small crane over and lift it down.
"What are you going to do when the Barrage is finished Arthur? Are you staying for the New Venice stage?"
Arthur sighed. "No, I'll be retiring after this one. Thirty years I've been in the game. Time for me to have some good coffee!" They both laughed. "I've got a little place up the country, up near Meredith. My son runs an irrigation equipment business in Geelong, and my daughter's not far away at Meredith, so it'll be good for the wife and me to be close to them. I'll just potter 'round, help my son, I guess. Babysit the grand kids." He was silent for a moment. "What about you son? Where to from here?"
"Don't know, Arthur. I'm going to graduate with good results, but jobs are so hard to get now."
"Well, they are around here, but maybe internationally..."
"What about space stuff? I'd love to get into that!"
"It might be worth trying, but the slowdown has really affected things there too. It may be a case of not being too choosy for a bit, until things pick up a bit."
"What about all the mining and construction stuff on the Moon though?...I've heard there's good money in that too."
Arthur sat back and waved an arm. "Maybe, but mining and construction are a tough game up there, as they can be here. There are a lot more accidents than you ever get to hear about. When you count up the risks, the money is pretty damn ordinary, and anyway you've got to be in good physical nick: I'm beyond it!" he chuckled, patting his rotund stomach. "When I was young and single I had a go. I did construction in Nigeria; before I was married. I was straight out of college. That was damn tough. Two years I was there. Ended up spending three months in hospital with dengue fever: nearly bloody killed me! That was enough adventure for me. When you're young you think you're immortal, but believe me, your health is bloody important, and you want to look after it. You've got a good name with the company. If you apply, you might get onto the New Venice stage."
"What do think about the New Venice project Arthur?"
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, there seems to be a fair bit of opposition to it politically."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Personally, I leave politics to the politicians. There's always people opposing things, but whether they are right or wrong, it's always a dangerous business getting mixed up with 'em. I have heard some people oppose New Venice on the grounds it's only for the rich, but the sad truth is the poor have never given me a job. Look, I come from a pretty poor background. My dad was an illegal immigrant from Korea who worked fifteen hours a day, seven days a week for years and years, picking fruit and cleaning toilets to put me and my two brothers through college. The poor have it bloody tough, and they have my sympathy, but you've got to make your own way in this world son, and do the best you can, and so my advice is leave politics and fine emotions to those who can afford 'em."
"But what about the Deep Ecologists; the Earth Firsters? Aren't the environmental issues they've been talking about important?"
Arthur looked around, and leant forward. "There's politics, and there's playing with fire. Those Deep Ecologists...be careful, son. They are very clever, very persuasive. But unless you've got a burning desire to learn all about secret police interrogation techniques, stay right away. Once you get labelled as one of them, you're outside the law, and your life isn't worth a pinch of shit. Look, you're a good kid, and a bright one. If you play your cards right, you could have a fine career ahead of you. Don't stray off into weird politics: don't even talk about it, and stay clear of people who do."
"Yeah, right," said Alex. "Anyway I've got a job that'll last a few months over summer. The demolition up the top end of Bourke Street. They need a supervising engineer and I got it! The money is not great but it'll give me a start."
Pairan and Alex stepped out of the seemingly endless concrete stairwell at the twenty-fourth floor. In a functional building there would have been a door which would have been impossible to open from the fire escape, but as they made their way down the building, Pairan's demolition crew had removed the doors of each floor they were working on. Alex looked around at the remains of the level. The ceiling had been removed and was stacked against the lift well, revealing gaunt concrete beams supporting the floor above. All wiring and piping had been stripped out. Now the Indonesian crew were removing the windows: to Alex, who had little head for heights, a ghastly job. Somehow, while shouting non-stop ("Lagi, lagi! Tutup, tutup!"), they would lever the glass out of its frame and imprison it in a sling hanging from ropes draped down the face of the building, then lower it to the ground so far below, with one of the crew riding down with it. His job was to see that the foreman from Markham's, the prime contractor on site, would sign the chit showing an intact pane had been delivered into his hands. After that small but vital ceremony the sling-rider, in this case Darmisi, a tiny, aged man with no teeth, would ride back up again to the floor they were working on, lifted by the counterweighted rope system, while the pane of glass would begin another journey on a horse-drawn dray to Markham's yard in North Melbourne. Darmisi was a person of consequence in the crew. He had won the over thirty-fives section of a race held on Australia Day, which had been a bolt from the bottom to the top of the building via the stairwell. This had been, according to Pairan, because Darmisi had never married.
Alex walked around the floor and saw that the windows were still in place on the western and southern sides. Half a dozen women were squatting on the floor surrounded by large coils of rope. They were busy plaiting new sections in to replace those showing signs of wear. In the corner of the floor sheltered by the remaining windows some more women were preparing the midday meal on a charcoal brazier. A lot of the space was taken up by rough looking tents the crew had set up to save themselves the tedious trip up and down the stairs at the end of a long day. For the duration of the job they lived here, some with their entire family.
Alex's job was to assess the condition and type of materials which were salvageable and write a report up each day detailing the crew's activities for the City Council, who were overseeing the demolition. It was an easy job which occupied at most a couple of hours. The rest of the time he talked Pairan, learned a few words of Indonesian from the women and watched with interest as the crew went about their business.
"Minum kopi, Mr Alex?" The crew were taking their morning break and Marieta, one of the wives, was offering Alex a coffee. Alex had never drunk much coffee until he'd worked on this job and it had now become an important part of his day. He decided whatever he did in the future, good coffee would have to be a part of it.Alex was only staying half the day because it was Saturday and Carlo and Ingrid had rung Alex the evening before, inviting him to come to the football with them that afternoon. It was Aussie rules, a match between the Reds and the Greens at Calvary Stadium. It was expected to be a good game as it would determine which team would make the final six, and they'd each won games against one another during the year.
Alex said his goodbyes to Pairan at midday, declining the offer of a ride down with another pane of glass, much preferring instead the tedious descent via the stairwell. He carried the new shoulder bag which had arrived from 'Universe of Knowledge' during the week. It was much better than his old canvas sack and fitted the university laptop he kept with him very neatly. Then a brisk fifteen minute walk brought him to his rendevous with Carlo and Ingrid outside the looming bulk of Calvary Stadium.
They climbed the steps of the stands with the rest of the brightly dressed crowd, well rugged up because although there was little wind, it had been a cold and foggy spring day. Alex rather liked the light you got on those sorts of days, where the shadows were soft and colours seemed to stand out clearly. The air was filled with the smell of frying snacks being offered by hawkers patrolling the stands, and Alex couldn't resist a couple of satays and some paneer nan. Carlo and Ingrid had brought a bag with some wine, cheese and paté too. Alex was surprised to see it was the same as his bag, and Carlo, with his mysterious smile, indicated he'd been sucked in by the blonde women's con on the same night as Alex. They sat down among the buzzing crowd, high in the Northern stand. This section was mainly composed of middle ranking professionals, who despite their generally non-Christian or Buddhist allegiances, were Green supporters. The Green's main support base however was from inner urban working class Trinitarians, whereas the Reds were the team of the self-employed tradesman class who were solidly Monophysites. Most Aussie Rules teams were dominated by one sect or another. Soccer tended to be more cross faith, as it had more Hindu and Muslim supporters, but it had fewer followers in Melbourne.
In the past, matches between the Reds, Greens and the other teams allied to various sects had been the occasion of bloody riots between their respective supporters. These tended to peak at around election time, and had so far been a potent factor in preventing an effective Christian coalition from forming to gain power in the State Assembly, thus allowing the secular Social Democracy Party to continue its forty year domination of politics, although it only had real support from the technos and non-Christians.
Alex had played Australian Rules as a schoolboy, but had been too small and his eyesight too bad ever to make a good team once he'd reached his late teens. He'd taken little interest once he'd stopped playing but now found himself caught up again in the excitement of the game. Both sides fumbled at first and the quarter ended with only a few points on either score. But after the break, the pace quickened and there was a tit-for-tat episode of goal scoring. Just before the half-time break one of the Greens players marked just below where they were sitting, with a difficult, angled shot at a goal which would put them in front for the first time. The excitement of the crowd rose to fever pitch. The player slowly ran forward for his kick then suddenly turned and aimed it for a group of players in front of the goal mouth. One of his team mates rose out of the pack to take a graceful mark, only to receive a blow to the back of the head from a giant Reds player which levelled him to the ground.
Instantly there was a melee of battling players as the umpire ran forward, vainly blowing his whistle. While he struggled to restore order, Alex noticed a flurry of activity at the boundary where the Reds supporters were massed in their wire fenced enclosure. There were puffs of smoke and suddenly a number of spectators began streaming through a break they'd made in the fence, running onto the ground. While security attempted to round them up, a small group began running around the boundary towards the Greens section.
Moments later there was a loud bang below them followed by screams. Thick smoke began billowing up. Carlo shouted to Alex, "This looks bad! I think we'd better get out before it gets worse!" He grabbed one of the bags and Alex grabbed the other, and they pushed their way along the terrace to the exit and the stairs downward. Some of the rest of the crowd were already leaving so there was a crush at the top before they could begin their descent. As they reached the first landing Ingrid, who was just ahead of Alex, cried out in pain and fell to the ground. "I've twisted my ankle!" Carlo helped her up and they managed to hobble down the rest of the stairs and onto the concourse below, with Alex following and carrying both bags.
Carlo turned to Alex. "We need to get some crutches. They'll have some at the First Aid section around at the southern entrance. D'you think you could get them? I'll stay with Ingrid and guard the bags."
Alex nodded, handed over the bags and plunged into the crowd. It took him a long time to fight his way through the crowd around to the southern side, where despite his best efforts he could find nothing resembling a First Aid station. He found himself a quiet corner and rang Carlo on his mobile.
"Can't find it!"
"Look, thanks Alex! Sorry to send you on a wild goose chase! I must have muddled it up somehow, but it doesn't matter now. An ambulance has just turned up here and the paramedic thinks Ingrid may have broken her ankle and he'll take her with the other injured to hospital right now and have it checked. I'll have to go with her. I'll take the bags and give you a call as soon as I can, so we can meet up and I can give yours back."
"Oh...! Oh, Ok! Hope she's alright..."
"Yeah, look sorry mate the day has turned into such a muddle! I'll call you as soon as I can. Just hang around somewhere nearby until I do."
Alex found himself a park bench a few hundred metres from the stadium and sat down. He noticed the roar of the crowd within had changed: obviously the game had restarted and he toyed with the idea of going back to watch but then instantly dismissed it. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being separated from his bag containing the laptop. He hoped Carlo didn't lose it and thought for a moment he should ring him to make sure but then realised he was being ridiculous. Of course Carlo would look after it! Nevertheless it was a difficult half hour until his mobile rang and he heard Carlo's voice.
"Can I meet you at Southern Cross in twenty minutes?"
It was only a few hundred metres away, so after another anxious wait, Alex saw Carlo come through the ticket checkers with his bag on his shoulder.
"Here you are mate. Sorry about all that. I'll have to get back to Ingrid. She's waiting in casualty and you know how long that can take! I'd better get back..." He left and Alex checked the bag. Phew, everything was still fine! He felt stupid all of a sudden. Maybe he'd better head back to the college. It would be nice to go back and watch the rest of the game but he felt as though he'd had enough excitement for one day.
Carlo
Glad to hear everything worked out so well! You didn't need the other bag in the end. Improvisation! You'll be pleased to know we have got exactly what we needed. Now we just need to work out the timing.
Cheers! Your comrade
Joe
