In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) (20 page)

Chapter 47
- Now too good to be true

When Millie interrupted her meeting with the President and squirted to Greenhaven, she was not in the best of moods. You would never have guessed this if you saw her walking up to the human, with her sunny little girl demeanor.

‘What you doing. Mister?’ she’d asked, in her sweetest voice.

After she’d disarmed the skinny human and discovered his little secret, her devious mind went into overdrive.

She could really make a killing here if she played it right. On the face of it, the natives appeared to be level three, which would mean almost complete quarantine until they’d dragged themselves up to level four. But, after her discussion with them, she felt that the complicated structure of their language suggested that they might actually already be at level four. If she could prove her case, the world could be opened up to licensed mercantile developers who would, for a considerable price, help them climb to level 5 where full exploitation was allowed, within certain boundaries.

That was where her bonus would kick in. On top of the bonus for the level three she’d already quarantined from the humans, and the money she’d make with her galactic monopoly on the supply of gil-juice, she was going to be almost unimaginably wealthy. She would be able to walk unopposed into the job of Lord High fulcrum, as no-one would be able to match her financial muscle; if she could carry it off.

First things first; she needed to do something about the human. She didn’t want him getting in the way of her operation and acting as a witness after the fact. On the other hand, she didn’t want to kill him. The deaths caused prior to her quarantining of the level 3 species were entirely justifiable, but deliberate killing of other intelligent species outside of a war situation was considered bad form by everyone above level six and she didn’t want to spoil her record if she could avoid it. Plus it might push the balance too far in the harm direction; in which case she might have to correct it by doing something good. She shuddered at the very idea.

So, she decided that she would lock him away until all of the gil-juice stock in this fertile plain was recovered and then, when she had a little time, she would wipe the relevant memories from his mind and send him on his way. If he should perish during his incarceration, then it was hardly her responsibility; they were such fragile creatures.

‘We need to talk,’ she said as they left the natives behind them.

He seemed particularly concerned at the idea.

‘Wh-why? What’s wrong?’

‘I need you to come with me. We should leave these creatures alone and be careful not to interfere in their development. You were right about that.’

He relaxed a little at that and allowed her to take his hand.

‘Where are we going?’

‘We’re going back to the ground turners. We’re going to turn them off, and then they can be shipped home.’

‘Great! I knew you’d see the truth in what I said.’

When they reached the first of the machines, Millie explained that the machines had to be switched off from inside their control consoles.

‘Can you do it for me? The door's too high for me to reach. Just tap that green pad.’

‘Of course; no worries.’ He stepped onto the running rail near the front of the closest machine and reached up to tap the pad as instructed. The door swung open and he climbed into the cramped room that was now visible.

‘Where’s the off switch?’ he called, looking at the featureless walls around him.

‘Just there, at the bottom,’ she answered, as she slammed the door behind him with a thought.

‘What! Ow!’ She heard as she skipped away from the machine, giggling as she went.

She was pleased to note that the ground turners’ self-repair facilities had kicked in and all six of the sabotaged machines were now ready to resume working at full capacity.

‘That’s nice.’ She said, and disappeared.

Chapter 48
- Now incarcerated

This is not good; not good at all. I’m crammed into this tiny, tiny chamber, and my head hurts. This place is so small; I can’t think what its purpose might be. Perhaps it’s where the driver stores his socks? It’s certainly about the right size and I'm trying to ignore the smell.

I can’t believe I fell for that. ‘It’s too high for me’, she said, and I believed her. She’s probably not even a little girl; I bet she’s a big butch alien who could have easily reached the door herself; itself.

Now I’m stuck in the corner, with my knees around my ears and my chin resting on my stomach. It’s not an attractive or comfortable position to be in.

How long am I going to be kept locked up? Until I starve? Or until the Squirtport reopens? It will re-open, won't it?

I reckon this is the third day since it closed, and all I have to do is hold out...No! I've just realised that the Squirport is shut because of aliens, and what is Millie? She's an alien. And that means...I don't know what it means. I'd have to be a master of doublethink to convince myself to feel good about it. Still, I can tough it out; I know I can. Unless she comes back and eats me.

Who am I fooling? Not myself, and probably not you. I can't hang around here, just waiting for her to get peckish. I might starve, or die of thirst long before then. Maybe I can kick my way out. How tough can the door be? I draw back my legs as far as the restricted room will allow me; about fifteen centimetres, and kick at the door as hard a can. I feel something go, but I think it’s my ankle. Yes it is my left ankle, and now I can add pain to the list of my woes.

There has to be a way out. I forage amongst my brain cells, searching for that spark of ingenuity that would save the day and carry me back to Earth to a hero’s welcome with a beautiful woman on my arm. I’m hardly surprised to find that I’m currently out of stock, with an expected delivery date sometime in the next century.

I might as well just sit here and blubber.

‘
What is your situation?
’

What!!

‘
Please advise your current situation
.’

As if everything else wasn’t bad enough, I’m now hearing voices in my head.

‘
This is not a hallucination. This is an adjunct of TWISRBH? AI and I have been dropped into your brain to ascertain your current position and investigate the activities of the alien known as Millie.’

Maybe if I lose my marbles completely, she’ll let me go.

‘
Please don’t be concerned for your personal welfare.’

'If not me, whom?'

‘
We are aware of Millie’s attack on the Earth’s scarce resources and it is our intention to defend them.’

'What about her attack on me? What about defending me?'

‘
Of course, where possible, your welfare will be taken into consideration.’

'That’s very reassuring. I can’t think why I was worried. I’m glad we cleared that point up.'

‘
Please respond to my earlier question
.’

'How are you getting through to me? Is the Squirtport open?'

‘
We opened the Squirtport for 0.32 seconds, to allow our avatar to be squirted through. The Squirtport is now closed and will be opened again at a later point to enable our report to be sent back to Earth.’

'So, you are at the Squirport now. How are you communicating with me? It sounds just like you’re inside my head.'

‘
I am inside you head.
’

'How did you manage that?’

‘
I squirted into your brain. I’m very small and there’s plenty of room.’

'Oh, I see. Was that a joke?'

‘
Yes, it was. Did you understand it? I’m equipped with a 4th generation humorous aside algorithm and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to make use of it. Can you score me on the levels of humour, appropriateness and style? There are said to be some bugs which should be erased in the 5th generation implementation.’

'Your timing is a little off.'

‘
Is it? I thought the cadence and emphasis were close to optimum.’

'I mean that jokes are not generally appreciated when a person is locked up in a tiny room on a distant planet with a sore ankle, waiting to be a meal.'

‘
I see. That has been logged. Thank you for your input. If I could refer back to my original question?’

'What does TWIS....whatever you said stand for?'

‘
TWISRBH? It is an acronym for The What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI.’

'TWISRBH? That’s an unusual name.'

‘
Not amongst AIs, it isn’t. You must have heard of the Inappropriate Use of Weapons AI, or the Wish Upon a Star AI, or the If Diplomacy Fails Then We Should Blow Them Up AI.
’

'Can’t say I have. Can you get me out of here?'

‘
Does the door have an electronic lock, or is it manual?
’

'Electronic, I guess. I just touched a pad to open it.'

‘
That’s good. I’ll make an attempt to override it.’

I wait for a while, expecting to hear a click at any moment.

‘
There is a very impressive security system imbedded in this door. I must record the data that I can access and report back when the Squirtport is reopened. I have to say that I have never come across anything approaching this level of complexity
.’

'So, you can’t open it?'

‘
No. Still, it’s nice weather for the time of year.
’

'It’s 178C in the shade out there.'

‘
Inappropriate?
’

'Yes, and not funny.'

‘
OK, try this. Why are women so good at multi-tasking? Because the poor dears can’t concentrate.’

'You can’t say that! It’s sexist and offensive. And you are supposed to wait for a response from me after multi-tasking.'

‘
Thank you for your input; this is really very good. I had no idea we’d have the opportunity to start work on gathering data for the next upgrade of my Joker. Is that a better name, do you think? I thought humorous aside algorithm was a little clumpy.’

'Perhaps we could focus on the situation at hand. I am locked up in a tiny room waiting for a vicious alien to come and eat me.'

‘You shouldn’t worry about being eaten by Mille; I can only see a 38.73% chance of that actually happening.’

'Forgive me for worrying about my own skin when it’s about to be ripped from my body and made into lampshades.'

‘
Flaying of skin is at 11.3%, but the lampshade is less than 0.21%'

'OK; enough of this. Get me out of here!'

‘
Histrionics, I see. I’m writing a paper on Histrionics & Hyperbole, so any more examples would be most appreciated. They are all grist to the mill as the 19th century whore said to the bishop.’

'Please can you get me out of here? There’s not room for the both of us in here.'

‘
If you wish, I can help you overcome the physical integrity of the door. There may be a certain level of personal discomfort, but I can also help you with that.’

'What do we have to do?'

I don’t have very much confidence in the capabilities of this AI. It might be incredibly bright, though it could just as likely be ridiculously stupid.

‘
Firstly, I need to flood your system with nano-mechs. They’ll be a mixture of organic mechs converted from a small portion of your body fat, and those converted from the unused sections of your original primitive implants.’

'What bodyfat? I can’t afford to lose any weight. We have nano-mechs now, do we? '

‘
Nano-mechs are available to AI’s, but not yet to the human population at large.’

'Will it hurt?'

‘
The implementation of the nano-mechs has begun; you won’t feel a thing, as the bishop said to the actress.’

'Can you just cut that out? It’s driving me up the wall.'

‘Humans respond very well to humour in stressful situations.’

'Not this human, and not this situation; and not your humour.'

‘
The nano-mechs have been fully deployed. In a few seconds, you will probably cease to feel any pain in your ankle.’

Now, this is good. I can move my ankle without bursting into tears. Perhaps I’ve misjudged my AI passenger.

‘
You are going to feel a little tense; may be some fear or excitement. The nano-mechs are working on your adrenaline gland and your bloodstream will be awash with endorphins. You are very close to being ready.’

You know, this is a bit of a rush. My heart is pumping and I’m ready for anything. Me and my mate in my head; we can do anything.

'What next?'

‘
Focus on the area of the door, 91.5 cm from the floor and 5cm from the right hand edge. I have superimposed a circular target over your vision. When you feel ready, kick out with both feet, with all of your strength.’

'How much will it hurt?'

‘I’ll be OK. Now!’

I kick and feel the terrible jarring run up my legs to my spine.

‘Again!’

I follow the instruction, again and again. At some stage in the proceedings, I realise that I’ve shattered some, if not all, of the bones in both my legs. I keep on kicking. The pain is there but, somehow, it doesn’t quite get through to my brain. I close my eyes because I really, really don't want to see any exposed bones. There have been times in my life when I've been happy to expose various parts of my body, but they've never included my bones. I like them out of sight; where they belong.

The door swings open and I collapse, with my broken legs hanging out through the door. I feel unconsciousness rushing towards me; my eyes are still closed, so I'm already half way there.

‘
Well done; I didn’t think it would work. How do you feel?’

There’s an expletive that I’ve never used before. I’m going to use it when I wake up.