What Kind of Fool?: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 2)

by J Battle

  So, I guess you want to know how I ended up here.

  Well…

  *********

  'Hello, there. My name is Bryan Mcduff and I'm reporting to you on the North West These Days early evening show, from the sumptuous home of the parents of our intrepid local hero. Phil Chandler.'

  Mary turned to Chips. 'Sumptuous? Do you think so?'

  Chips glanced around the lounge, with its overstuffed seating, mahogany table, arty paintings and bulging book cases. 'To a 17th century wood turner, yes, I suppose it would be seen as somewhat sumptuous.'

  'And I suppose you'd know?'

  'Well, it is my area of expertise, I suppose.'

  'Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Chandler, if I could just…'

  'It's Ms.'

  'Ms?' Bryan glanced at his wrist-top. 'I thought you were still married?'

  'Only in the strictly legal sense, young man. And only because someone was too disconnected from the real world to cancel the contract before it was automatically renewed, leaving us stuck with another 10 years together, paying 50 credits per month for what? Joint websites that we don't use, joint social media sites that even we don't subscribe to, and birthday and Christmas cards to people we no longer count as friends.' She spoke very quickly, as if she was unsure if she'd have the breath to finish.

  'OK then, Ms…is it still Chandler?'

  'For now, young man.'

  'Ok. Ms & Mr. Chandler,' Bryan began again, thinking that this interview was going to need some serious editing before it went out. 'You must be very proud to have Phil as your son. The man who saved our Gill-juice supplies, and became the richest man in the Universe.'

  'Well, you know…' began Chips, running his long fingers through his full grey beard.

  'He's always been a disappointment to me,' interrupted Mary. ‘So much more he could have done, if he'd ever planned his life, his education, or his career.'

  'But surely…' This was supposed to be an upbeat little piece celebrating the anniversary of Phil's finest moment.

  'Then there's what he's doing to his sister. She had enormous potential as a girl, and he has her working as his secretary, for goodness sake.'

  'I think, no, I'm sure, that she has risen to Investigative Associate.' Chips took the moment to interject his own words.

  'And what does that mean? It's hardly a career for a woman of Julie's talents.'

  'Perhaps we could have a chat about Phil's parents; your interests, your travels, your own careers?'

  'Why, young man. I can't believe you'd be interested in us, but, as you ask, I've just returned from three months on the Amazon, helping with a pet project of mine developing artesian wells in the region.'

  'Waste of time, if you ask me,' Chips was leaning forward, as if proximity to the microphone would give him the edge. 'The clue’s in the name; Rain Forest. Water is not a problem for them.'

  'That's just so short sighted of you; they don't need it now, but who knows what the future will bring, with Climate Change?'

  'Climate Change? Global Warming is it? Bah! A load of nonsense! We're more likely to have a cold spell, with millions of people moving off-world, along with much of our manufacturing industry and the bulk of our livestock.'

  'So, any hobbies you want to talk about?' offered Bryan.

  'Hobbies? Young man, do you think I have time for hobbies? Ask Mr. Chandler; his life is a hobby.'

  'Excuse me, dear, ' grunted Chips, 'but my work is not a hobby. It is a serious academic study of the history of our world.'

  'History! You call that history? Have you ever read any of his stuff, young man?'

  Bryan tried to express his regret that he had not, so far, had the pleasure of reading Mr. Chandler's work, but he needn't have bothered; Mary was on a roll.

  'My husband believes that history is best written without the diversion of research; he makes it all up as he goes along.'

  'That does not invalidate the message…'

  'Take Beethoven, for instance. He did not write the very first Jazz tune; he did not start the Gospel movement, and he did not live in Louisiana!'

  'He emigrated and, when he lost his hearing, all he had was his rhythm.'

  'And what about the 2nd World War? 1939-1941? He actually has a book entitled The Two-Year World War.'

  'It's a controversial interpretation, I accept, but it is based on solid facts and my own personal analysis. From 1941, it was really three wars; one between the West and Germany; one between Russia and Germany; and, of course, the Far East campaign.'

  'Can you believe that people actually read this stuff, Bryan?'

  'I'm sure…'

  'I have more than a thousand avid readers, if you must know. They read everything I write, they set up forums to discuss my work, and they wait breathlessly for my next work.'

  'Tell him what it's going to be, then Chips. Give all of your adoring fans a taste of what's to come.'

  'I don't think this is…'

  'Go on, Chips. Don't be shy. They're panting for it; don't disappoint them.'

  'I'm not quite ready…'

  'Shall I tell them, Chips, as you are obviously too modest?'

  She paused and smiled at the camera. It was probably the most scary thing Bryan had ever been exposed to at such close quarters.

  'He is writing an explosive revelation about the great race to the moon in the 1960's, but, as usual, he has his own slant on what really happened.'

  'Backed up by years of research, I should say.'

  'Years of research? Years of writing down the first thing that comes into your head and calling it history.'

  'You simply do not understand the creative process.'

  'So, if I can ask, ' Bryan was amazed to find that no-one else was talking, 'if it's not too presumptuous, if it's not letting the cat out of the bag, what is the unusual slant on this subject?'

  'Why, England's involvement, of course,' she said, with a flourish.

  'England's involvement? I'm not sure there was any, was there?'

  'That's what the Americans want you to think, young man.' Chips came as close to snapping as he was capable of, but smiled to reduce the chance of rudeness.

  'So, what happened?'

  'Well, this is just…when will this interview be broadcast?'

  'A couple of weeks, I should think.' Considering all of the editing it would need.

  'OK then, I can reveal that, on August 7, 1967, a manned vehicle, designed and constructed in this fair land, and captained by a certain Laurence Percival, landed in the centre of The Sea of Tranquility.'

  Bryan's jaw dropped. He looked at his camera/sound man, who merely raised his eyebrows.

  Mary held one hand up towards her husband, as if to say, 'I told you so.'

  Bryan slid one finger across his throat; either to say cut, that's a wrap, or I'm going to kill myself if I ever have to meet these people again.

  Chapter 2 Then, a little burglary

  The house was secure in the moonlight; all doors and windows locked and bolted to deny access to even the most hardened criminals.

  Millie glanced at the security features of the door before her, both electronic and manual. She could have manipulated the electronic features with a thought, and her Titanium Standard Intergalactic credit card would have defeated the bolt, but why bother? There was just so much space between the molecules that made up the structure of the door that it required hardy any effort at all to simply step through it in to the hallway of the little house.

  There was little in the way of ambient light, so she increased the light capturing ability of her eyes to compensate as she walked into the main living areas of the domicile.

  She was wearing a yellow summer dress, spotted with little white butterflies, and simple yellow pumps. Her blonde hair was done in braids as usual, topped off by a straw hat with a yellow band. If she had to wear this human body, the least she could do was dress nicely.

  Across one shoulder, she had her Minnie Mouse rucksack, from which peeped
the blank face of her Teddy.

  In the lounge, she found a large, rectangular aquarium containing perhaps a dozen small gold fish.

  She had a theory about the human desire for pets; that it was their way of balancing the bad things they did elsewhere in their lives.

  The owner of this house must have been really naughty, she thought as she reached one slender hand into the cool water and plucked one of the fish from its haven; to have so many of the creatures.

  She dropped the wriggling creature into her mouth and crunched down on it.

  Her human mouth lacked the arrays of molars her own body could bring to the task, but it was tasty nonetheless.

  With a flick of her wrist, she sent the rest of the fish to a holding tank in her little hide-away in the Myanmar Highlands.

  With her tasks for the night completed, she relaxed for a while in an armchair by the French windows leading on to the small garden. This was the thirteenth house she’d visited since nightfall, so she felt she deserved a rest.

  There was an old fashioned music system that actually needed compact discs to produce music. She lifted one of the discs between two fingers; feeling the music flow along her arms up to her ears.

  It was a collection of tunes from a band popular since the 1960’s.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said, as she wiped the electronic data from the disc.

  ‘Is that really necessary? It just seems a little spiteful to me.’ Her Teddy spoke in a high pitched, squeaky voice that failed to impress her with any sense of authority.

  ‘Just my bit of fun, Teddy dearest. You can’t complain about that, can you?’

  ‘Well, let’s get moving. We don’t want to be caught by the residents of this house.’

  ‘Just one final thing before we go.’

  Ever so carefully, with the tip of her tongue protruding from her little human mouth, she placed a small rectangular card on the mantle-piece above the rooms pretend fire place.

  The card was embossed with a semi 3D photograph of a man with a thin face and thick, unruly hair.

  To the side of the photo, the words ‘Chandler Investigations; if you’ve lost it; we’ll find it’ were emblazoned.

  Millie stroked the photo with one fingernail and giggled as the little ditty played.

  ‘If you’ve lost it, we can find it. Just give us a bell.’

  ‘Perfect.’ She said, as she slipped through the wide open spaces of the brick outer wall.

  **********

  ‘I hear they’re doing a remake of Groundhog Day.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m a bit busy trying not to get eaten here.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it will keep. I don’t think you are likely to be eaten here.’

  ‘Hello.’ Him again; he just won’t give up and wander back to his spaceship and fly back to wherever it is he calls home. I’m calling him a He; he could just as well be a She, or an It.

  ‘It’s Chandler, isn’t it?’

  What! How does it know my name? I want to go home and I want to go now, and if it has to be a squirt, then that will have to do.

  ‘Can you come outside to talk?’

  Not a chance, mate. Not a chance; not when it’s so nice and cosy back here with no-one eating me.

  ‘I’ll just back outside into the light so that you can get a good look at me, and see that I pose no threat whatsoever.’

  He’s suiting his actions to his words and clumping outside, and now I’m all alone again. It’s a nice feeling I can tell you.

  ‘I hear they’re doing a remake of Groundhog Day.’

  ‘What? That again. Is it a joke? You always make jokes when you think I’m stressed.’

  I’ve taken a peek at my wrist-top and, yes, I thought so, it’s a film about…Oh. I see, it is a joke.

  ‘Hey, Neville, that’s not bad by your standards. Pat yourself on the back and then let’s squirt out of this place.’

  ‘Thank you for your kind comments, and I am gratified that you believe that I am making progress.’

  He doesn’t say anything about my request for a speedy exit.

  ‘What about the squirt?’ I prompt. ‘I believe the Seychelles are very nice this time of the year.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t.’

  ‘What! What’s happened to our built-in squirter? We can go anywhere, you said, safe in the knowledge that, no matter how dangerous things become, we can always squirt back to safety at a moment’s notice. I think those were your actual words.’

  ‘There was some paraphrasing, but broadly, you are correct. I did say those words, and I assure you that, at the time those words were spoken, they were the absolute truth.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Not so much so.’

  ‘So you won’t take me home?’

  ‘Not at this present moment, no.’

  ‘And you want me to go out there and see what the big fellow in the spacesuit wants?’

  ‘If you would be so kind.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Please don’t refuse.’

  ‘If I refuse, you’ll just squirt me out there?’

  ‘Only if it becomes absolutely necessary. I would hate it to harm the relationship we have built up over the past year or so.’

  So, what you do you think, folks? What would you do in my position? Would you stay hidden or would you stride out into the open and take whatever the alien does to you on the chin?

  I know, this looks like a really nice cave.

  Did you see what I did then, by the way? I tricked my super intelligent head passenger into admitting that our squirter is still working. So maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks he is, which is probably not a good thing, given how much I rely on him to keep me alive.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Oh dear, I’m standing up, and now I’ve started to walk across the floor of the cave and I can see him more clearly now and he’s very big and, I think…yes, he’s actually smiling at me.

  I don’t like it when aliens smile at me; it never works out very well for me.

  If this is it; if I’m just about to be eaten by this alien monster, then goodbye dear readers, and please tell my sister and my dad that all is forgiven, and that they were on my mind at the end.

  Don’t say anything like that to my mother.

  ***********

  Jimmy trotted along the tree-lined path, his eyes flitting from side to side. He wasn't concerned about being spotted today, but it was good practice to keep his eyes open.

  He was 12 years old, and he should have been in school, but his parents were away at a mandatory seminar on truancy, so there was no-one to make sure that he went.

  He was confident that he'd already learned all that he was going to need from school; he could read, do his maths and he knew more than he wanted to about things that had happened in the previous century. Why anyone would need to be taught about the multiple wars that kept breaking out all over the place, when the world he lived in was managed with admirable efficiency by the AI's, was a mystery to him.

  He wasn't at school today because he was earning; working for a living, unlike either of his parents, or theirs. In his pocket he had a slip of paper. All he needed to do was find the guy in the park, give him the note, wait for him to read it and take it back to Mr. Dart. Easy as pie.

  'Hi, Mister…Smith,' Jimmy called, as he approached the man sitting on the park bench, his legs crossed and showing rather too much white flesh.

  'Yes, sonny.' The guy sat forward a little and uncrossed his legs.

  'This is for you, from...you know.' Dart had told him, 'no names, no pack drills,' which hadn't meant a lot to him.

  The man, who looked really old to Jimmy, what with his lined saggy face and thin hair, took the slip of paper from him and glanced at the message it contained.

  'I see,' he said, after a moment. 'What…?'

  'Any questions or comments,' interrupted Jimmy,' should be written on t
he back of the note and I'll take it back to…him'

  'I see, ' repeated the man, before he started to rummage through the pockets of his heavy coat.

  'You'll need this,' said Jimmy as he held out a pencil stub.

  'Thanks, sonny. Tell Mr… Tell him that we are up for this and keen to…progress the situation as soon as possible, or even sooner.'

  'Just write it down, then there won't be a mistake.'

  With the note written, the man folded it and gave it back to the boy.

  As the boy ran off, the man watched him go before standing up and strolling off in the opposite direction.

  He paid no obvious attention to the cameras visible on many of the lamp posts doted about the park; not caring that they watched his every move. If the plan that Dart had devised ever came to fruition, then the AI's would certainly get a spoke in their wheels.

  And then, for a time at least, there would be money to be made.

  He could hardly resist the chuckle that began to bubble up from deep inside. And why should he? Nothing wrong with a man chuckling to himself as he walked through the park on a fine cold Spring morning. Nothing at all.

  Chapter 3 Then…a full house

  I remember feeling quite chirpy as I rode to the office on my bike that day.

  I had money in the bank and no-one was threatening me in any way to make me pay my debts. I hadn’t had to use a squirtbooth for months and I hadn’t heard from my mother in even longer.

  It’s no wonder that I was in a good mood.

  When I’d secured my bike in its Don’t Pinch Me locker, I walked slowly to my front door.

  It was quite early, so I expected to have the place to myself. Even though she was promoted to Investigative Associate, Julie still kept hours that only made sense to her, and Sam’s body-clock was certainly a wonderful and weird creation.

  So I was quite surprised to find a man standing in my doorway when I opened the door.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I said, covering my surprise with an everyday generic greeting. ‘Come upstairs and you can tell me what I can do for you.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, without moving.