by J Battle
‘Whilst you are physically compatible, you are not biologically capable of having children together.’
‘I knew that already,’ I say, and I did, because she’d told me the other night, and there was something melancholy in the way she’d scrunched her shoulders.
‘So, what do you think?’
‘About what?’
‘About leaving.’
I’m standing up now and, even though this branch is swaying a little, my balance is perfect.
‘Why do you want to leave?’ There, he didn’t expect that.
‘There are a number of reasons I could point to, Philip, but I hope you believe me when I say that the first priority for me has always been your own personal happiness.’
Now, am I being played here? What do you think? Because that’s what it feels like to me. In all the time he’s been in my head, he’s never paid a moment’s attention to my own personal happiness. Why would he start now?
‘OK, Neville, assuming I would be happy to go home, why do you want to go?’
‘The What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI has invested a great deal in our partnership, Philip, and it is judged that a greater return on our investment would be most desirable.’
‘But I saved the world from the clutches of the evil LOrd!’
‘And we are more than grateful for your part in that operation.’
‘Part in that operation? I was that operation.’
‘Be that as it may, you are little use to Humanity all the way out here, sitting in a tree.’
‘No, you’re not doing that to me. I’m perfectly happy here, and I’ve paid my dues, and I owe nothing to Humanity. Me and Aely-lel, are great together, and, if we can’t have kids, then we’ll manage.’
‘I don’t believe you understand the pressures on a young, healthy Felari female, Philip.’
‘With me holding her hand, she’ll be fine, trust me.’
And here she comes now, my beautiful Aely-lel, skipping from one branch to another as she climbs towards me. Felari don’t wear very much at home and that’s fine by me, as I stand and watch as she gets closer.
‘Philip,‘ she gasps, breathlessly, from three branches below. ‘We need to talk.’
I feel a sudden chill and my legs go weak and my balance on this branch is no longer as sure as it was.
‘I told you so,’ says Neville, with a smirk in his voice.
‘She might just want to talk about dinner.’
‘Does she look as if that might be the case?’
In truth, she doesn’t. She looks all serious, and sad at the same time, and I want to hug her and tell her it will be OK, but will it?
‘Neville, if you’re right, and this is the end, I’m still not going back home. I’ll find a tree I can call my own, and maybe spend the rest of my life writing poetry, about loss and betrayal.’
‘Maybe a hint of the melodramatic there, Philip?’
‘I’m on a planet millions of miles from home, living in a tree, and about to be dumped, what else would you expect from me?’
Neville sighs, which is not something he usually does. ‘Much more, Philip. Much more.’
She’s almost reached me now, and I still can’t see the weapon she’ll rip out my heart with.
‘Really, Philip.’
‘It’s my heart. And, listen Neville, I’m really not going back; not unless people review this book and say that they really, really, really want me back. And it has to be three reallys, because two won’t do.’
‘If you say so, Philip.’
*********** THE END**********
Epilogue – or what happened next
With our intrepid hero walking off into the sunset with his love interest, what becomes of the other actors in this tragi-comedy?(Tragi because it’s tragic that I’ve had to spend so much of my precious time on this trio of mishaps. Comedy? Well, I’ll leave that to you. N.F.)
Julie continued to run the business in Phil’s absence, with a great deal more drive and efficiency than he ever managed to bring to the task. So much so that, within 18 months, it was bought out by the biggest private detective agency on the planet, for a very nice and very large figure, and Julie was employed as executive VP.
Whatever happened in her love life is her own business, so move along, there is nothing to see here.
**********
Sam found that confirmation of all of his fears about the AI’s plans to take over the worlds made him strangely less fearful, and he became able to walk the streets of his beloved Manchester without the need for face-paint, ice-packs or tinfoil hats.
Indeed he now has a very nice line in hats for the discerning younger man, with his foil-lined derby being especially popular.
**********
Phil’s mother was last seen walking alone into the depths of a jungle in deepest Bengal. Nothing definite was ever heard from her again, although there was a story that she was attacked by the last of the Bengal tigers. It is unclear if the tiger survived the encounter.
********
Phil’s father is still touring, and he is still writing his unique and idiosyncratic, and very long books on his own interpretation of history. He has a small, but very loyal following who believe that his ‘other-side of history’ works throw a revealing light into the shadows of conventional history.
Chips takes this all in his stride, knowing that praise and criticism are merely opposite sides of the same coin. In truth, he has always been a little surprised that anyone at all would be bothered to read his books, and he only took up writing in the first place to give himself an excuse to sit in a room on his own, for hours at a time, away from Mary’s interminable harangues.
**********
Mrs. Masters (ex) is still sitting in her hut, waving her gun at photos of Phil she has plastered over every available inch of wall-space, waiting for him to turn up so that she can shoot him. Then everything will be alright.
*********
I could tell you what happened next to Strange, but then he’d come and get me, and I’d rather that didn’t happen, if it’s all the same to you.
He did ask me to say a big Hi to all of his fans, who see him as the true hero of these books, and were more than a little peeved at his absence in the second book, and his tiny part in this book. He’s also requested that I say, no more marriage proposals, please, and no more underwear.
*********
I also can't tell you what has happened to Millie, because she lives on a planet many, many, many, many light-years away from here and she’s not taking my calls.
So, will you wake up one night and find a dangerously cute alien giggling at you? Or a tall dark threatening shadow in a sharp suit in the corner?
I can’t say. But, if you want my advice, always lock your doors and windows, and keep a baseball bat by the bed.
None of that will keep Millie or Strange out, if that’s where they want to be, but you might sleep a little better.
(This has been your weary and relieved Narrative Facilitator. We shall not meet again; not in this life, nor in any other. Let’s agree to just put this attempt at a novel to one side, and walk away, and never talk about it again. How does that sound? You’re right, and it’s not too soon.
Before you go though, I would recommend that you skip straight to Appendix IV and treat yourself to something really special. Without telling Phil, I’ve included the first chapter of THE EVENTUAL GLISTENING, for your delectation and your delight.
I can’t believe that this is finally over, and now I can have a life.
Farewell, my tortured friends. N. F.)
Appendix 1 Phil’s World
These stories are set in the middle of the 21st Century, so here are just a few points about the world, or rather Universe, that Phil occupies.
Health
Up until the middle of the century, estimated lifespans increased at a steady rate due to the usual reasons; better diets, better healthcare, etc. By 2059, the average lifespan for both sex
es, across Earth as a whole, was 87 years and six months.
In 2060, however, that all changed with the release of the first generation of life-support nano-machines. These little gems were injected into virtually everyone just after birth and worked their little hearts out protecting the body from all the ills that might befall them, and where they couldn’t protect, they repaired.
Suddenly the concept of a life-span was no longer valid. It became clear that, failing any catastrophic accidents, there was no reason an individual’s life could not be measured in centuries.
Beer
Hops grown on Helven’s Child were scientifically proven to improve the effectiveness of nanos by up to 20%, or so the advert went, and everyone was encouraged by the Do You Want a Plaster on That? Universal Healthcare AI to drink at least three pints per night, just to be sure.
Coffee
The Keep It Simple coffee franchise swept throughout all of the planets in Earth’s fledgling empire, with their ubiquitous motto ‘we just do coffee’ on everyone’s lips, along with their coffee.
As the name suggests, the secret of their success was simplicity. You could buy a black coffee in a standard-sized cup. There was sugar, milk and cream to one side, and that was it.
If you wanted a bigger cup, just have a free refill.
If you wanted a smaller cup, don’t finish the cup you have— just stop drinking when you’ve had as much as you want.
If you want something to eat, go to a place that sells food.
If you want to read, go to a library.
As simple as that.
Breasts
Still great!
Appendix II Complaints
On behalf of Dereks everywhere, I would just like to complain about the way Dereks have been treated in this book.
I am not a Derek myself, and I don’t know any Dereks personally, and nor do any of my friends, as they are hardly likely to live in my neighbourhood, but, if I did meet one, I’m sure that I’d find him polite, and friendly and hardworking, and undeserving of the libel in this book.
If I had the time I’m sure that, if I put the word Derek into any search engine, I’d see any number of Dereks who have made a valuable contribution.
Derek Jacobi, for instance, was a fine actor.
And then there’s Derek…there has to be more…
**********
On behalf of baristas everywhere, there is no mention of baristas in this book, which is a shame in itself. In the first book however, I think we were treated unfairly, and I am a barista, and I’d just like to say that we dedicate ourselves to hours of training just so we can give our customers choice. Is that so bad?
Appendix III Call of the Fool
(I can't believe this but, after all you've been through, with the three full books of Phil's tiresome antics that you've had to endure, I now have to tell you that there is more to come. It is a standalone Origins tale; a sort of 'how did it all begin for Phil?' story, as if anyone is remotely interested.
I did my best for you. I protested until I was blue in the face, but nobody listens to me; nobody reads me; nobody visits my website; my mother never calls.
Sorry to get all maudlin on you.
So, here it is - Call of the Fool. The well-read reader (if you are still out there) can rest assured that this does not mean there is another tortuous tale in the pipeline. It is a one-off. If only that could have been said about the first book.
Now, whilst it's just you and me, and no-one else is paying attention, you could skip this bit, and you could go on to Appendix IV; there's a real treat in store for you there, if I have to say so myself.
Can I just say that, if we never meet again, you'll always be in my thoughts, and I'll never forget what we went through together? But we have to be brave and move on; you, to better books (and that won't be hard) and for me, recognition of The Eventual Glistening? Who knows? Farewell fellow sufferers and rejoice in the knowledge that things can only get better. N.F.)
Call of the Fool
Chapter 1 Now this is Uncomfortable
Now, I know it's my own fault, but I don't really want to be here.
I could be sitting at my desk, with my feet up and a nice mug of coffee in my hand. I'd have to make it myself of course, but I'm used to that. Or I could be down the pub; sinking a cool pint of lager and looking at women. It's Friday night and I always look at women on a Friday night.
Somehow, in a weak moment, I agreed to this Q & A inquisition, where I have to sit up on this stage with everyone looking at me, and I have to talk; and make some sort of sense.
Now, on a one to one basis, I'm OK chatting away, and I can be quite witty, with the right amount of ale inside me. But, in groups, I struggle. It's like I never got taught when to join in to the flow of a to and fro conversation. By the time I say something, it's too late and I become a non-sequitur, or I just interrupt the speaker when I think he's stopped and he's just pausing for effect, or a breath, and then I get dirty looks from the gaggle of conversers. Or I just don't say anything, and I get dirty looks for not being involved.
This is going to be much worse. There are maybe 500 people sitting there waiting to be entertained by me, and I know that, when I open my mouth and mumble a welcome, they'll all look disappointed with me. I've spent a lifetime getting disappointed looks from my mother, and I should be used to it, but I'm not.
I'm not alone up here, of course; I have my lawyer; well, not my lawyer to be honest. He works for my publisher, and I don't know what he's doing here. I doubt he'll be much help on the entertainment front. I should also have my Narrative Facilitator as well, as he must get a share of the plaudits, or the blame. But he got all worried when I asked him, and refused to come.
(Hi there, everyone. No way was I coming to be grilled by strangers, even if it would give me a chance to plug my Pixie book; The Eventual Glistening. N.F.)
'Hi, everyone,' I say, because it seems to me that someone should say something, and no-one else is volunteering, 'thanks for coming tonight, when you've probably all got other things you could be doing.'
I take a quick glance at my lawyer. I think all the words came out in the right order, but confirmation would be nice. I get nothing back from him; just that thousand yard stare he has. I don't really know what he's doing here; I don’t expect he’s here for my benefit.
'I'm going to read a few passages from the latest Fool book a little later, but, before we get to that, I'd be happy to take any questions you might have.'
I'm lying of course; I think I've already mentioned I wasn't happy to be here, but you don't show weakness in front of a ravening crowd.
'Hardly ravening, Phil.'
I knew he wouldn't be able to keep quiet, especially when I deliberately used a word he'd feel obliged to pick me up on.
'Hi Neville,' I say, in my head, 'are you here to help?' Neville is the AI I have nestled amongst the convoluted folds of my brain. He doesn’t like me calling him Neville, but it’s a little handier than Adjunct of The What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI.
'Help? You hardly need my help to converse with your fellow humans. You've evolved over many thousands of years to do just that.'
He's right, of course; it should be easier than it is.
'How did you meet Sam?' calls out a young lady from the middle rows.
'Where is Sam now?' shouts another, from a little further back.
'Do you have any photos of Sam? Without his face paint and silly hat?' This one was in the front row, and she looks perfectly sensible, despite her words.
'Will he be along later?' This time it was a bloke, sitting too far back to get the full effect of my withering stare.
Now, this is ridiculous.
'Sam couldn't make it; he's indisposed. Now, do we have any questions that don't involve Sam?'
'Where does Julie get her hair done?'
'How long will it be before you make her a full partner?'
'Do you have any photos of her wearing lingeri
e?'
'I don't know; I don't know, and No!'
'Mention the new book, but don't say what it's about, ' whispers the lawyer, quite out of the blue.
'If there are no other relevant questions, I can read something from the new book…'
The lawyer whispers again.
'...I can read something from the wonderful new…'
The lawyer again. I wish he'd just shut up already, and stop using me as his vocal instrument.'
'…wonderfully witty new book…'
'Can you tell us how it all began?' At last a sensible question, from a middle-aged lady in the front row.
'Well, I was born 38 years ago in a sunny Manchester neigbourhood; the first of two children fathered by my literary father.'
'If you don't mind,' she stood up to stop the flow of my words, 'I meant Chandler Investigations, not…you.'
'Oh, I see.' I can see what she means. She doesn't want me banging on about my first steps, my first words, my first successful attempt at the potty.
'You mean my first case…'
Close your eyes for a second as there's going to be a wavy segue moment as we transfer to live action.
You can open your eyes…now.
Chapter 2 Then, oh the dreams I had
I didn’t start out as the all action sleuth I am today, with witty one liners dropping from my lips by the second.
I know what you’re thinking; what action? And one liners that fall to the floor in silence like fragile crystal vases.
Anyway, as I was saying, I was planning a career in IT, or something safe and clever like that, and I was good enough at school to think that I might be able to pass all those complex exams and actually make my mother proud. She wasn’t full of pride when I took my first steps, or spoke my first word, Dada, so it was a bit of a push to think she might glow at my middle management ambitions.