Chapter 3

I was in my office before nine the next morning. There was two full weeks' worth of 'while you were out slips, ' mostly trash. I sorted through them, retaining about a half-dozen. When Mona arrived I asked her to sit down so that we could chat.

"I need some advice."

"Gordy, you're the Professor, you're the CSIRO officer, you're pretty much a national hero. What in the world can I help you with?"

"Reality."

"Reality?"

"Yes. This past two weeks aren't real. Twenty years ago I spent all my time being Allan Quatermain or Richard Hannay or Rudolph Rassengyll or Professor Challenger. Now I've not been in Scotland nor in Africa nor in Ruritania, but I've been on a real adventure ... and been wounded like Dr. Watson and Quatermain. But I'm not a fictional hero. So I need a way to moor myself. And I want you to help me."

"I wouldn't know what to do. I don't even know who some of those people are. And in many ways you are a hero."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what's a hero? Certainly not Superman or one of those cartoon folks. They're not real in any way. They're fantasy. Quatermain was a hunter who went on an expedition that was written about – he didn't go looking for criminals. Rassengyll went off on holiday to fish, if I recall. He was sucked into the whole Zenda adventure. You went off with Mr. Scott to help him. And you got pulled in and wounded. Folks all over Australia look at you and realize that they could be going about their everyday lives and get sucked into something. Like Jimmy Stewart in 'North by Northwest'. So you're it."

"Oh." (I didn't tell her that it wasn't Stewart in "North by Northwest.")

"No one expects you to go off and rescue maidens or fight duels. But you helped that Navy bloke up in Monkey Mia and with that body in Queensland."

"That was just knowing about arthropods. Nothing special."

"Special to others. You got the medal."

I thought a bit. "So I'm living my own adventure?"

"And when you were younger, you lived other people's. I'll see what's on the answer-phone, Sherlock." She got up and left. I thought a bit more, looked at the phone slips again and pushed buttons.

"Evans."

"Hi! It's Gordy."

"Hey, big man! We saw you on the telly."

"Yeah. That's my problem."

"The government after you?"

"Not that I know of. But I'm worried about Perk. And he's a friend of yours."

"True. But he's a big boy. And I don't think he did anything wrong. Didn't he tell you not to talk?"

"Yes."

"And you only spoke to Weena?"

"Yes."

"And she got Sue interested and went on the tube?"

"Yes?"

"And you didn't say anything until after it was on Question Time?"

"Right."

"I must be missing something. You didn't do anything until it was made public. And Perk didn't do anything until Sue called him."

"Couldn't he get in trouble for letting me keep the dingus?"

"Only if he had been ordered to recover it. And I'm certain that wasn't thought of. Now, how's the arm?"

"Not bad. It's healing 'nicely' according to my resident sister."

"Great! And Patrick? He looked fine."

"He's really good. Talks a lot."

"We may have news soon. Willy's got me practising quite frequently."

"Aubie Evans, Jr.?"

"Not on your life!"

We laughed and got off. I looked up to see Martha at the door.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"No, Gordy. It's just I've hardly seen you and this morning I got here an' 'bout a million folks have already asked if I don' live with you. An' they're going on about you an' Weena an' Patrick on television with Sue." She took a breath. "So I thought I'd come an' see you."