She found a small room that supplied water from a silvery nozzle and filled the very last of her signi-pods with water. Transmuting it to the deep red as usual with a swirl of her finger she slammed the lid shut and placed it back in her pack. Finding a raincoat and a hat she put these on and made herself visible. In her hand she held a small black box which with a flourish formed the shape of a formidably large projectile weapon she had seen used in the other large continent called America. It had a solid tripod and would normally weigh a vast amount. The energy that the ‘black box-turned-gun’ produced could be far more lethal than a real version of the gun could ever be, but if necessary she could make it appear to fire bullets. Although like every thing she was supplied with it was cheap crap. Kicking open the inner door she stepped in behind the attendants and roared a challenge, waving the gun about. Gesturing to the splintered door ahead she had little trouble in persuading the people to leave. The building emptied in seconds. The protectors of these people would be here soon with their pretty lights but it mattered little. Aiming the gun at the offending wall she opened up a smoking hole with a high energy blast and then with smaller blasts ensured the wall was cleared right down to floor level. Brick and plaster dust billowed around her. Turning, she sprayed the glass partition with bullets, shattering it instantly. She placed the gun on its tripod so it was pointing at the door. It immediately seemed to take on a life of its own and began tracking the door and the adjacent windows. She then set to work. The pod was retrieved from her tool-pack and placed base down on the floor after a gentle twist had been applied to activate it. The flare of rainbow colours shifted over its casing and the ball of webbed lightning flashed briefly and then slowly at first the signi-pod began to burrow itself directly downwards into the earth below the building. It would stop at about 30 metres. Sirens and flashes of light indicated that the protectors had arrived. A hummed tune issued from her mouth lilting along in time to the repetitive wail. She shifted bits of rubble and ensured that the barely noticeable circular patch of looser material left by the passing of the pod was totally hidden. The gun behind her released a few controlled bursts of bullets and as a window was blown from its frame she assured herself that it would be shooting to miss. Twisting on her haunches she reached up, pulled the gun from the countertop, reverting it to its black box shape and shuffled back through the rear door. Carefully placing the hat and coat back on its hanging device and brushing some of the brick and plaster dust from its shoulders, she turned, dematerialised and walked out, gingerly stepping through the shattered sheet of glass in the front door and away through the thong of onlookers, protectors, lights and noise that surrounded the building.

She reclined in the tattered cockpit seat of her travel craft and set the auto-controller to power the ship up through the atmosphere and away. Looking at a monitor she surveyed her next two jobs. “Dangerous, do not enter” at Destil V. “Caution, High Voltage” at Lowlart minor, a strangely electrical world now used as a power plant.

In order to have a last check of her handy work she flicked on the view-screen. There, marked out in points of energy across a large part of this side of the planet earth, and also repeated, out of sight on the far side of the globe in the established communal language of the Galaxy was her humble masterpiece.


“FEET,….FEET!, Damn!!!” She kicked the viewscreen off with her foot and sighed. A stupid mistake. The meaning was still clear surely?, people would get it wouldn’t they? Even if the spelling was wrong. Damn. As it was her reputation was already in tatters and her work needed to be perfect. Growling with displeasure, she slipped the auto-controller into reverse and Sign Writer Tridi Jukk (grade 4) retrieved her tool-pack from the back of the Cockpit.