“The transmitting device is basically the size of a laptop computer, fits in a briefcase. The van is still a good idea because it gives you privacy and you can hook up some larger monitors. The idea is to bring up an image of the target on the monitor or enter a GPS location. You also need to be in close proximity to the target when you want to transmit. My preference is to use the van but the other way is fine.”

“How close do you need to be?”

“Within about seventy metres.”

Ten minutes later they turned into the property. Starkey was raking up dead leaves and twigs from under a large Moreton Bay Fig. He leaned the rake on the tree trunk and walked over to greet them.

“Greetings. Windsor, you can’t stay away from this place. What brings you out here? I’m sure it’s not just for a Sunday drive.”

“You may be right, Starkey. Grab some beers, and let’s sit out here and have a chat.”

Windsor sat down. He looked around to see if he could locate the mob of kangaroos he saw the other day. It was more peaceful out here than in the city. He’d never noticed that before. No kangaroos, but he saw a horse in the next paddock with a white bird standing next to it.

Starkey placed the can on the table.

Windsor turned and looked up at Starkey. “I’m just not used to nature, Starkey. Why’s that bird hanging around the horse?”

Starkey looked over to see what Windsor was talking about. He smiled. “It’s called a Cattle Egret. While the horse grazes, it disturbs insects and things that the birds feed on . . . saves the birds a bit of work, makes the insects easier to catch.”

“Smart birds.”

“They even come when we cut the grass—there’s bugs flying everywhere when you do that.”

“Definitely smart birds.”

“Well designed.”

“Of course. God is clever.” Windsor pondered something. “Do you believe that animals have souls?”

“That’s a deep question, Windsor.” Starkey paused and had a sip of his beer. “They’re programmed to do things, they have a set of instructions they follow. But do they have a moral awareness? I don’t believe they have a spiritual aspect. So I suppose if you keep soul and spirit separate you could say they have a soul which holds the design package together.”

“Interesting how you talk about a design but don’t seem to seek out the designer. As humans, we have a moral awareness that some say it is written on our hearts. But who wrote it? And about seeking out the designer—animals don’t do that. They seem satisfied with their lot but we humans are uniquely curious about our origin, purpose and meaning.”

“Good point, Windsor. Morals. Gets complex doesn’t it? What we’re doing with the transporter—we believe it’s morally correct, but others don’t.”

Windsor pondered Starkey’s point. He turned and looked out towards the paddock again. The horse and bird were doing what they were designed to do, grazing and eating. They weren’t seeking out purpose and meaning; they weren’t trying to fix up a mess. But man, what a mess he had made of things.

“Now, Windsor, you didn’t drive out here to discuss morals. What did you want to chat about?”

“Yes, you’re right . . . I know we’ve touched on this before, but how do we change the receiving location of the transfers?

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for that question. At the moment, the only way we can do it is by placing some switching equipment at the location where you want to receive the bodies. We have three devices. They can all be used as senders or receivers, but for a transfer to take place, at least one device needs to be set to receive. They’re easy to configure. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Bodies sound too negative, Starkey. Entities sound better.”

“Does it?”

“I think so . . . could you show me the equipment?”

Chapter 25

MONDAY. A NEW WEEK.

There was some urgency to Windsor’s plan.

Windsor’s wife used to volunteer as a church receptionist. She told Windsor that Monday mornings were always the busiest, with people wanting to speak to a pastor—seeking forgiveness for the sins exposed at Sunday services. Then the rug would be slowly pulled over to cover the sin as the week progressed and the cycle would start again. He had laughed at her theory and hoped it wasn’t true today.

“Hello. City Community Church,” came the greeting.

“Hello, I was wondering if I would be able to speak to Reverend Peter Thomas?” Windsor asked.

“I’m sorry, but Monday is his day off. Could anyone else help you?”

Monday was the busiest day, yet the Reverend had the day off. What was the world coming to? Windsor took some deep breaths. “Would I be able to make an appointment to see him?”

“He’s a busy man at the moment. Could I ask the nature of your meeting?”

The lady was irritating Windsor. “It’s a private matter.”

“Well, sir, as you can appreciate, Reverend Peter is somewhat popular at the moment. I need to assess his appointments for him.”

Windsor translated this to mean filter his appointments. “I understand. Look, my name is Grant Windsor. You may know my name; I’m the Minister for Urban Movement. I wanted to have a chat with the Reverend about traffic control around the Church on Sundays.”

She was silent for a moment. “The best I could do would be Thursday at ten o’clock.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

Well, maybe Thursday was better as he needed to relocate some equipment that he had borrowed. Yes, Thursday would be better. It would give him some time.

On Tuesday evening, he would go for a drive and visit his son. He would leave the equipment there then.

<°)))><

Aaron stared at the pile of magazines on the table next to his seat. He bent over and looked at the spines—they covered every topic known to man: fishing, gardening, golf, house ideas, cars, boats, gossip . . . the list went on. None grabbed Aaron’s attention, not today anyway. He looked over at Mackenzie’s parents. He was happy to accompany them to the hospital. Hopefully Mackenzie would be coming home today.

Aaron got up and walked over to a drink machine. He had two choices: Coke or water. He pondered. His mind was elsewhere. He looked down the corridor. The security guard at the entrance to Mackenzie’s room reminded him of Lucas—not his physical appearance, but his uniform. The guard nodded to Aaron. Another guard stood further down the corridor, next to the door at the adjacent room. Aaron saw the door to the second room open. An officer from Department of Defence walked out. He looked familiar.

He was just about to pass Aaron when he stopped. “Fitzpatrick?” he asked.

“Yes.” Aaron remembered him from the tour of Afghanistan, but couldn’t remember his name.

“Johnson . . . Ted Johnson.” He shook Aaron’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I know the girl. She’s a close friend.”

The officer nodded. “Apparently she’s fit and well. I’ve just been in with the man. He’s also fit and well. Not sure what they’ve been through. Can’t say too much, but it’s pretty weird. We’ve been here a couple of days and now have to go write a detailed report . . . good to see ya . . . take care, see you around.”

Aaron watched Johnson walk over to the nurses’ bay and start taking notes. Aaron sensed movement, turned, and saw the other officer come out of Mackenzie’s room. He didn’t know him. Still at the drink machine, Aaron pushed the button, retrieved a bottled water and walked back over to Mackenzie’s parents—they didn’t want a drink.