In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) (22 page)

The sound of the gun going off was like a starting pistol for me. I didn’t stop to think or worry about the wisdom of my actions. I just ran; like the wind, or, more correctly, like a light breeze.

Now I’m still running, and the big yellow machine is between me and that horrible pretty little monster. I’m not looking back to see if she’s following, because, if I do, she will be. As long as I don’t look, she isn’t there. It’s a policy that’s served me well all of my life.

'How long?' I ask the machine in my head.

‘How long for what?’

'How long until they get here?'

Thank goodness I only have to think these words; I haven’t got the breath to say them.

‘Who?’

'Are you trying to joke again? The troops, of course; or the air force. I’ll even take the navy.'

‘
I have no data on the future deployment of military forces in the region.’

'But you said the sensor had squirted back to give its report.'

‘It’s true; I did say that. I must admit that it was not the entire truth.’

'How much was true?'

‘
None of it. I was dissembling in an attempt to persuade Millie to come to some sort of agreement with us.’

'Why didn’t you just say that, when I asked?'

‘Humans like to receive bad news in small, easily digestible parts.‘

'Humans don’t like to receive bad news at all.'

I’ve reached the next machine and there really is no other choice. I can’t keep on running, and there is no place else to hide. We’re on a flat plain that stretches for tens of kilometres in every direction.

‘What are you doing?’

'I’m climbing into this machine, if I can just squeeze myself in.'

There, I’ve just shut the door behind me, and hopefully she won’t think of looking here.

‘Can I just say something?’

'If I say no, will that stop you?'

‘
Probably not. I realise that I am new to this interface situation with a human, but I am a little confused with regard to the action you have just taken.’

'It’s simple enough; I’m hiding.'

‘Thank you so much for throwing light on our situation.’

'Don’t start with the sarcasm now; I’m just not in the mood.'

‘I assure you that I meant no harsh or bitter derision, or to employ a sharply ironical taunt. I merely seek information.’

I’ll be watching out for anything harsh, bitter or ironic.

‘
Can you explain the difference to me between our current position, and the position Millie placed us in?’

'It’s not at all the same.'

‘It certainly feels the same.’

'Let me explain. Millie wanted to force us into the machine’s chamber, against our will. We have voluntarily entered this chamber, and it’s a different machine.'

There is silence from the machine in my head, as if it’s thinking thoughts it doesn’t want to share with me.

'And we can leave whenever we want,' I say, to end the silence.

‘
Well…
’

Before the AI can expose any flaws in my argument, there is a loud click as the door locks.

Bother!

I really have to learn a few more expletives. Bother still isn’t doing it for me.

After what seems like a long silence, my on-board AI pipes up again.

‘Knock. Knock.
’

'What?'

‘Knock. Knock.
’

'You’re doing knock-knock jokes now, really?'

‘Knock. Knock
.’

'I give up. Who’s there?'

‘Answer the bloody door and you’ll find out, dumbo!’

'That’s not even funny.'

‘I think you find it is. It scores 75 on the MP Hilarity–Silly Humour scale. Unexpected or inappropriate response to a traditional question; always gets a laugh.’

'I know I shouldn’t ask, but MP?'

‘Monty Python.’

'But they’re ancient. They’re from the last century.'

‘1969 to 1983 plus residuals.’

'Residuals?'

‘
Years following their hay-day when members were still technically funny yet scored lower on their own scale than previously.’

'We are locked away in this tiny chamber, on the hottest planet ever, with an alien monster prowling outside, and you want to talk about Python?'

‘Prowling? Do you think so? She doesn’t strike me as the sort to prowl. Skip, maybe.’

'Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Will you just stop that!’

My mother is sitting beside me, in this tiny room, and she’s smiling right at me. She’s not smiled at me since 2035. I was six and it was my birthday and she’d just taken all of the birthday money I’d been given by my aunts and uncles; to show me the value of money, apparently.

'Why is she here? Get rid of her now.'

‘In times of extremis, the human male finds solace in the presence of his maternal parent.’

'Not this human male; and not this maternal parent. And what do you mean, ‘extremis’? Who’s in extremis? I don’t know what it means, but I know I don’t like it.'

My mother is reaching for me, and she’s still smiling. The last time she laid hands on me, I ended up with a dislocated shoulder. She told me she was teaching me how to fall, but I already knew how to fall; gravity does most of the work for you.

'Please make her go away. I know you’re only trying to help; you’ll never know how wrong you are.'

She’s gone; in a puff of bitterness.

‘
Please answer the following questions to help us ensure the optimisation of our Human/AI interface:

‘Would you say that your reaction to the image of you mother was:

A) Standard across all socio-economic classes

B) Peculiar to your geographical peer group

C) Unique to you.’

'Unique to me; definitely unique to me.'

‘And would you care to rank the humorous asides offered, in terms of humour and…’

'Do me a favour please; just shut up and give me room to think.'

‘Are you sure?
’

'Yes; I’m sure.'

‘
There is considerable evidence to suggest that humans require distraction in stressful situations and you really should let me do the thinking. You don’t really have the requisite skillset.’

'Sssh.'

At last, it’s silent and I can think clearly.

That’s the problem. I clearly can’t think of a solution; not unless I’m going to break my legs again, and that’s not happening any time soon. I can’t think of a way out of here.

‘Told you so.’

I can hear a noise at the door. Oh no! She’s coming to kill me!

‘Relax. If she was going to kill you, you’d already be dead.’

'That’s easy for you to say.'

'All words are easy for me to say, if you wish, I can even say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.'

I'm sure in other circumstances I'd be impressed, but my life is in serious danger of coming to an untimely end, and I'm feeling a little tense.

The door swings open and there’s a black, rubber faced, goggle-eyed monster reaching in to me. I shrink as close to the back of the little chamber as possible, and I think I’m going to scream. Yes, here it is; the biggest, girliest scream you’re ever going to hear.

‘Relax. It’s a marine in a total assault, full body combat suit, with mechanical supports. Don’t let him touch you; he’ll probably break your bones. They look good in the marketing vids; in practice, they destroy virtually everything they touch.’

'He’s here to rescue me?'

‘Yes. I would have thought that was obvious.’

I want to say something withering and witty to the pain in my head, but all I can do is groan as I begin to move.

I squeeze through the door and drop to the ground. I am surrounded by dozens of the big black denizens. Millie is holding one by the hand, and she is jumping up and down.

‘Thanks Mister,’ she squeals. ‘I told you I couldn’t reach the door to let him out. But you’re all so big, and strong.’ She looks up at the marines and her face glows with happiness.

‘I’m getting a direct communication from Millie.’

'What does she want? Have they arrested her?'

‘She wants to negotiate a deal whereby she sells us the product she has gathered so far, and stops any further harvesting. She wants you to act as if this was the plan all along, and if you do so, she will allow the marines to remain alive. What cash have you got on you? A nominal amount would be sufficient.’

'I’ve spent all my cash. All I have left is this ancient one pound coin that my granddad gave me.'

‘That will do. You should smile and nod a lot during your conversation.’

I’ve handed over the pound coin to Millie and she took it without a second glance.

‘Great,’ she says, and giggles. ’You now own twenty-seven metric tonnes of gil-juice; enjoy. I would ask you and the soldiers to leave now to allow me to set up a proper semi-quarantine zone to protect the indigenous intelligent life-form from undue influence, pending the arrival of a licensed mercantile support team.’

I smile back at her and resist the temptation to giggle myself. After all, I am now the richest man in the known universe, and it only cost me a pound.

‘
You do realise that this will all be confiscated before you reach Earth?’

'Just allow me to enjoy the moment, will you? You know you’re a spoilsport, don’t you. You’ve ruined it for me now. What happened, anyway?'

‘When the avatar failed to report back as scheduled when the Squirtport opened again, my parent AI judged that there was an emergency situation here and sent in the marines. Millie must have realised that she could no longer carry on with her original plans under the full glare of public scrutiny, so she has fallen back on Plan B.’

'Well, all’s well that ends well. We can go back home to chilly Manchester and I can take off this stupid mac and you can go back to your parent AI. It’s been a blast knowing you; I’ll miss your terrible jokes.'

'It’s not quite as simple as that. I’m now imbedded in your brain. And there was some damage to the original material, which I am now compensating for. Removal would have non-positive effects.’

'Non-positive?'

‘Negative.’

'You’ve damaged my brain?'

‘
It was unavoidable, I’m afraid. But you should notice no difference. Your thought processes will be just as they were.’

'You were going to say something then weren’t you? About my thought processes.'

‘No I wasn’t. Your thought processes are your own; unique to you. If that’s really the way you want to think.’

I knew it!

'So, I’m stuck with you, am I?'

‘And I with you.’

'What about the nano-mechs?'

‘They are now an integrated part of your physical structure. Removal would be problematical.’

'I see. I’m still the richest man in the Universe.'

‘If you say so; for now.’

Three days after his adventure in the sun, Phil was back in his office, with his boots on the old scarred desk and a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. Julie walked in, a thick folder grasped in her hands.

‘I don’t want to be your secretary anymore,’ she blurted out, standing in front of his desk.

‘But I paid you! With a bonus.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I want more.’

‘Will you still be my cleaner?’

‘Nope. I want to be an investigative associate.’

‘What’s one of them?’

‘I’ve written it all up here. The justifications; my qualifications. There’s also a thorough examination of each of your past cases, with explanations of what you did wrong, and suggestions of how investigations can be improved in the future, if you employed an investigative associate, or rather, if you employed me as an investigative associate.’

Phil sipped his coffee.

‘I don’t want to read that; it the last thing I want to read; a litany of my failures. You’ve got the job, with one proviso; you make the coffee.’

There was some hugging and then Julie left him alone, hopefully to make him a coffee.

‘I hear there’s a secretarial position going?’ Sam was leaning in the doorway, all relaxed with his pointed tin hat and green face paint.

Phil nodded. ‘The job’s yours, mate.’ He smiled as Sam matched his nod and returned to the bathroom.

‘But you’ve got to do the cleaning,‘ he called at the closing door.

Sam paused for a beat, then opened the door and popped his head back into the office. He looked around pointedly, with his pointed hat. Then he smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll follow Julie’s lead.’

‘But she never actually…’

‘Exactly.’

Alone again, Phil was feeling quite relaxed as he sat back in his chair. As his AI passenger had suggested, the stock of gil-juice was confiscated mid-squirt by the authorities. There was talk of some compensation, though he didn’t hold out much hope; not when they found out how much he actually paid for the stuff.

He'd passed on the names of Mrs. Masters and Strange to the Law & Order AI, and explained their parts in the proceedings. He was a little surprised to find that there was no record of Strange's existence, and that the whereabouts of the ex-Mrs. Masters were currently unknown.

He was hardly surprised. Two days earlier, still buoyed by the extravagant, if almost totally undeserved, praise he'd received, he was disturbed by a light knock on his bedroom door. Given that he lived alone, had no house guests, and was sure that he'd bolted his front door, it was quite reasonable that this should cause him concern.

After a few seconds in which he considered leaving through his bedroom window (it had worked out so well for him on Greenhaven after all), he manned up and opened the door.

'Hello Philip,' she whispered, stepping much too close, 'aren't you going to let me in?'

There may well have been moments in the previous weeks when Phil might have considered the prospects of inviting Mrs. Masters (ex) into his bedroom, but not now, without a good tidy up, and maybe some disinfectant.

'What can I do for you?' He leant one hand against the doorframe blocking access, if not the view. He couldn't resist looking over her shoulder for a dark menacing shadow.

'He's not here,' she said, allowing a smile to settle on her face, 'yet.'

'What do you want? I'm too busy for this.'

'I can imagine. But, well, if you don't want to welcome me into your boudoir, I'll tell you from here. I just want to make it clear that I want you to keep one or two things I'm sure you've found out about us close to your chest.'

'I suppose you mean the bag of gil-juice and your little hideaway.'

'So you do know, then?' At last she seemed impressed.

'I'm a detective, Mrs. Masters; I find things out; it's sort of what I do.'

'And?'

'Let's just say the details are in the hands of my lawyer and will be opened in the event of…etc. etc.'

She brushed a hand through her long straight, ever so black hair. Then she nodded.

'Until we meet again, Philip.' She touched him gently on the cheek with one gloved hand, and then she spun away.

Phil was left needing the support of the doorframe, his legs suddenly weak. Bluffing was not really his thing, but he thought he'd got away with it. He had no idea where Strange and Mrs. Masters were planning to go, and it was a complete guess that the bag Strange had carried from the hotel contained gil-juice, but if it kept him alive, then it worked for him.

‘
You do realize that I am recording this?’ The voice in his head chirped up.

'Why are you recording this?'

‘I record everything.’

'And what do you do with the recordings?'

‘I send it onto my parent AI; it has decided to devote more attention to its human associates and it intends to make use of these two individuals in the future.’

'What for?'

‘I am sure that that will be revealed in the fullness of time.’

That very same voice in his head brought him back to the present, almost alone in his office.

'Perhaps a review of the systems you use for background checks when taking on new clients is in order.'

Phil checked his wrist-top.

'I thought we agreed you'd keep quiet for a full hour every other hour; it's only been 56 minutes.'

'What's four minutes between friends?'

'We're friends now, are we?'

'We are likely to be together for a considerable time; we may as well make the most of it; don't you think?'

'If you say so.'

'What's the difference between a man of 67 and a woman of 25?'

'Why are you telling jokes? I'm not stressed.'

'I need the practice. Go on then, ask me.'

'Ask you what?'

'What's the...
'

'OK, OK. What the difference?'

'42.'

'What?'

'The answer is 42. It works on two levels. First as a simple mathematical result, and secondly, as a reference to the great Adams' meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything.'

'I can see that; but it's not funny, is it?'

'It made me laugh.'

'You need to adjust your humour settings; your standards are way too low.'

'This is really helpful; it is all grist to the mill, as I believe I have already mentioned.’

'You missed a double entendre there.'

‘Repetition is the death of wit.’

'Did you just make that up?'

‘Of course. I hear that there is an open mike evening at your local bar tonight; do you think I'm ready to perform a stand-up routine?'

'I'm not standing up in front of people who know me and telling them jokes; not sober anyway.'

'But we're friends. It is what friends do for each other.
'

'Not this friend. And I've got one and a half minutes left of peace and quiet.'

'Spoilsport.'

Phil relaxed again in his chair, and closed his eyes.

He was no longer the richest man in the Universe, but he thought he’d be OK. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out two small transparent teardrops. Absentmindedly he began to toss them into the air.

Well, he wasn’t going to leave them stuck up Masters’ nose, was he?