{fb1000000McGraph closes the lift door, and limps up to the next floor. After pressing the button, the lift arrives a few seconds later, and she steps inside. The doors close automatically with a buzzing sound. Nothing happens. She presses at the buttons again. Still nothing happens. The lift shudders a little, but doesn't ascend. McGraph stabs at the button large green marked 'Open' and steps out mumbling obscen- ities. The lift's doors close with a sudden bang, and it drops to basement level. It switches out it's light and tells itself it's not going 'up there' again until, well until it bloody well feels like it!
Partly dejected, confused and in considerable pain McGraph climbed the stairs to the next floor. Twenty minutes later and now in incredible pain, feeling dizzy and sick she decides to call for help. She taps on the keys of her Mini-Comp to hook-up with the terminal in her room.
{fb1904000"Please don't let them have damaged it",{fb1000000 she whispers to herself.
Her prayers are answered immediately as a link between the 2 machines is opened. The screen in her room and that on her Mini-Comp are connected. The close proximity of both machines is a great help, but the interference from the lifts unstable neuro AI (Artificial Intelligence) patterns is noticeable.Faces of deceased 20th century politicians and pop-stars in their underwear fades in and out on the small Mini-Comp screen. The machine stabilises enough for her to post a message for help on the Net, before she passes out and rolls part-way back down the stairs which had she only just conquered.
{n2
{fb1007000Chapter 5
{fb1000000
Bomber answered a knock at the door, opening it partly to stick his head through.
{fb1904000"Special delivery for you sir."{fb1000000 announced the messenger.
{fb1904000"What?"{fb1000000 exclaimed Bomber.
{fb1904000'Who the hell knows I'm here?'{fb1000000 he thinks.
{fb1904000"Mr Duane Bomowski?"{fb1000000 asks the young boy.
{fb1904000"Yes that's me."{fb1000000 replies Bomber grabbing the packet and slamming the door.
The messenger knocks at the door again, and asks the angry man to sign for the delivery.
{fb1904000"Have a pleasant evening sir"{fb1000000 says the messenger as he turns, and walks briskly across the gravel to his waiting motorcycle. Bomber closer the door again and can hear the noise of the bike engine disturb the quiet night air.
Bomber turns over the contents of the small packet in his hands wondering what it can be. And anyway, who knows he is here?
{fb1904000"Who was that?"{fb1000000 asks Tara entering the room towel-drying her hair.
{fb1904000"Er, delivery boy..."{fb1000000 says Bomber slowly as he examines the object he's just unwrapped.
{fb1904000"Delivery! Who from? No one knows we're here!"{fb1904000 says Tara anxiously.
{fb1904000"Well that's supposed to be the plan, but someone knows I'm here at least, and they like to play games too"{fb1000000 says Bomber turning the object over and over in his large hands.
{fb1904000"What is it then?{fb1000000 asks Tara.
{fb1904000"I dunno, some sort of electrical component I guess. Here look."{fb1000000 and tosses it onto the bed.{fb1000000
To be precise, it was the heart of an Anti-Matter Generator, but neither Bomber or Tara could have known this at the time.
An Anti-Matter Generator could, and would in time produce solid objects by thought projection. For instance if someone wanted a material gain in the form of, a new spaceship, what they had to do was imagine exactly what it would be like and it would appear. This is rather a simplistic explanation as every component, nut and bold of the craft must be envisaged perfectly, otherwise you would end up with a pile of metal 'which might be hammered into the shape of a spaceship' over a few years with a team of skilled workers with spaceship building knowledge!
Bomber had the ability to project a spaceship, but he didn't know it at the time. Nor would he for years to come. Not until each piece of the generator had been delivered to him.
As Tara examined the object which Bomber had thrown onto the bed, she found an inscription on the underside. It read Mini-Corps AMG. Part No 3737. Obviously this meant nothing to either of them and they decided it must be some weird joke one of the guys at the depot where Bomber worked must be playing on them.
After the second bottle of wine they totally forgot about the 'mystery object' and went to bed, only to be disturbed by a wrong number and a silent telephone caller later that evening. Again they put it down to someone playing a practical joke on them.
