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commercially available. We called it an immersion chamber. There are two more. It’s linked to the computer.” He crouched and wiped some dirt from the glass. “You seem very interested in the technology.”
    “I’m naturally curious,” she replied. Her gun was leaning against the liquid storage device in the other room, forgotten.
    “You see the stuff at the bottom of the chamber? It looks like sand, but take one of those grains and look at it under a microscope and you’ll see a little robot. They look like metal bumblebees. There are billions of them. When the chamber is active, they engulf the user in a cloud. They work in unison. If the user steps forward, they will form a hard surface under each foot and allow him to move as though walking. By becoming immovable, or charging into the user, they can mimic any surface in the same way, and mimic any consistency – liquid, gas, solid – and, through vibration, temperature.”
    There was a pause. In the distance, some concrete settled. “What about a knife blade?”
    David shook his head. “You don’t even try to get away from that military stereotype, do you?”
    “I suppose I’m a fatalist. How are you going to breathe in there?”
    “There’s a mask. It’ll cover my face.” He looked at his watch. “There’s an hour and fifty minutes left.”
    He took off his hat, coat and one of his jumpers. When he undid his trousers, Caroline stepped back.
    “Relax,” he said. “The user goes naked. That’s what the microbots – those little robots – are configured for. When I appear in the computer, I’ll be given clothes automatically. Virtual clothes.”
    David kicked off his boots and removed his coat. He removed his shirt and jeans. Disconcertingly, Caroline did not look away. “Look,” he said, “Something may go wrong. The emergency release for the chamber is that big red handle over there.” He pointed across the room. Carole shone her torch obligingly. “If you see me make two claps above my head like this –” he demonstrated – “then pull the handle. Understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    David smiled crookedly and entered the immersion chamber. It was the size of a coffin. When the door closed and the rest of the dark laboratory became an indistinct blur, he said, “Go,” and the dust storm began. A mask descended and he attached it to his face. The seal was airtight. By now the tiny particles were flying about him in a rage, and on the interior of the mask, a picture began to form.

The Maker of Hats
    Saskia felt the sweat run down her back. It itched. Her foray into the building’s security records had come to nothing. The records were blank. Somebody had erased them. From her desk, the picture of Simon stared. Saskia was not in the photograph. She scowled and rubbed her back against the chair.
    “Computer,” she said. “I...” Her voice trailed away. She looked into the corners of the ceiling. Tiny cameras followed her movements.
    “I beg your pardon, Saskia?”
    “Computer, you use those cameras to help disambiguate spoken commands. Do you record the footage?”
    “Yes. The footage is kept for one week, to use as a statistical aid for difficult utterances.”
    Saskia tapped her blotter. It became reflective then changed to display a graphical user interface. “Show me on my desktop.”
    “Certainly. It will take a moment.”
    Another icon appeared on the blotter. She tapped it and turned around to face the window. “Play it on the window.”
    The window darkened as the liquid crystal elements arranged themselves into a display with four equal sections. Each showed the view from one of the four cameras in the main office. They held Saskia’s face in extreme close-up. The computer had no cameras in the bathroom or kitchen.
    “Go back to Friday.”
    “Done. This is 12:07 p.m.”
    Saskia watched. All four cameras were trained on her secretary, Mary. From the limited background, Saskia guessed she was seated at her small desk