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

by J Battle

  ‘Oh, sh….’ She was right; every one of my accounts was in the red. I delved a little deeper and saw that the quite respectable balance of each account had been transferred out at 8 a.m. that morning; all to the same account.

  ‘Can you sort this for me?’ I asked the AI in my head.

  ‘Now you want to talk to me?’

  ‘I’m sorry about last night. It was a long day, but I shouldn’t have said those things.’

  ‘No, you should not have; calling an advanced Artificial Intelligence such as myself a bean counter is a real insult. Just ask The South American Coffee Bean Counter AI.’

  ‘So, what can you do about this?’

  ‘Do about your bank accounts? If you’ve spent all of your money you really can’t come crying to me. Did you like that? It’s my new disapproving parent persona.’

  ‘Get rid of it now; it reminds me too much of someone we won’t mention.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘I said don’t mention her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ll make a note to reduce the number of times I mention her.’

  ‘So, what about the bank? Something’s obviously gone wrong. I haven’t approved transferring all my money to this account.’

  ‘There’s very little I can do. Your bank is run by The We’ll Look After Your Money, Now Go And Play AI, so there can be no mistake. They were all approved transactions, made using all of the correct codes. You do realize the damage this will do to your credit rating after all the progress over the past year in developing your Credit Persona?’

  ‘But it wasn’t me. And who’s got my money now?’

  ‘Well, let’s see. I believe that I might be able to access the account holder’s name. It’s highly irregular of course, but, as the What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI, nothing is beyond me.’

  ‘Oh, get you. ‘Nothing is beyond me.’ I thought you were just an adjunct of the WISRBH? AI. Sort of like its little finger.’

  ‘It would be very difficult for you to understand, but you should accept that, in every way comprehensible to you, I am a fully functioning AI.’

  ‘OK, sorry if I touched a sore point.’

  ‘Mr. Henry Boom.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A Mr. Henry Boom has your money.’

  ‘Who’s he then? Where does he live? Let’s ring him and ask for my money back.’

  ‘Do you think that that is at all likely to be effective? My experience of humans is that they have a very strong what’s mine is mine instinct.’

  ‘No, it’ll be fine. I’ll just explain the mistake and he’ll let me have my money back; it is mine after all.’

  ‘I believe you’ve just confirmed my point.’

  ‘No, I’m sure he’ll be a reasonable guy.’

  ‘Have you been talking to it again?’ asked Julie, interrupting us.

  ‘Yes, I’m trying to track my money. How did you know?’

  She zipped a photo of me to my wrist-top.

  My eyes looked vacant, my jaw was half open, and I’m sure I could see drool at the corner of my mouth.

  Not a good look for me at all.

  Chapter 7 Now for some help

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s OK for you. You don’t have a soft delicate body like me.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of working out?’

  ‘Can’t we squirt to safety?’

  ‘Not at this present moment in time.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It will all be revealed to you in the fullness of time. You should be sure to stay alive long enough to hear the truth.’

  ‘Thanks for nothing, mate. You’re a big help.’

  I think he’s coming inside the cave now. Yes, he is. He’s stopped. He’s looking around a bit confused. He’s sniffing the air now. When was the last time I had a shower? All this space travel plays havoc with your hygiene routines.

  ‘Help will arrive very shortly.’

  ‘How shortly? Like, now would be nice.’

  ‘There may be a short, unexpected delay.’

  He’s moving again and any minute he’s going to find me and I’ll be munched to death in little pieces by his tiny mouth.

  I’m going to make a run for it. I am. I know I can run faster than him; it’s a case of getting past him and then I’ll be off, like the wind.

  He’s stopped again and he’s turning around to see if he can sniff me out here in the dark. Right, that’s it; I’m off.

  With an amazing burst of speed, I’m running past him before he even knows I’m there. I’m out in the open and stretching my legs.

  He‘ll never catch me!

  I’m still running, but I’m getting tired. My chest is heaving, my breath is shorter than a very short thing and I’ve only run maybe 200 metres.

  I’m not actually running anymore. Oh, I’m putting all the effort in, pumping my arms and panting and everything but, to an objective observer, I’m walking; or staggering even.

  The spaceship is far behind me now. I thought about hiding inside it, but he’s bound to have the key, and there’ll be some sneaky computer on board that’d give me away.

  ‘Computers are not inherently sneaky, Phil. Not at all.’

  ‘Where’s that help? I could really use some help right now. What about squirting home?’

  ‘Still not the right time.’

  I’ve got my second wind now and I’ve started a sort of awkward lope.

  Now I‘m on the ground. I tripped over my own legs as I turned to see how far away he is from me.

  The gravity on this planet is a little less than Earth Standard, according to Neville, but it’s still hard to get back to my feet.

  I take the opportunity to have a good look behind me, and there he is, standing by his spaceship; not chasing me at all.

  Unless he’s just getting a ray-gun from his ship that can pick me off at this distance.

  I’m off again; just in case. You know, people do this for a hobby. I’ve seen them. They drag themselves from their warm beds to pound the roads, every morning, just so they can have bodies as skinny as mine.

  ‘OK, Phil, you can stop whatever it is that you are doing.’

  ‘It’s called running, Neville. You wouldn’t understand; not having a body.’

  ‘That’s not quite true, Phil. Meet Roger.’

  If I’d been running as fast as my gran, I’d have run right into him, but I’m not, so I’ve managed to avoid a collision that wouldn’t have worked out well for me.

  He’s big, about a head taller than me, and he’s got this bright silvery thing going on, and a ring of flashing lights around his head; otherwise he looks like a kid’s idea of a robot.

  ‘What do you think, Phil? He’s quite impressive, don’t you think?’

  ‘At last you’ve had a good idea. He can protect me from danger wherever we go. We should have had him from the beginning.’

  ‘He was still in the development stage when we left.’

  ‘Can he talk?’

  ‘Hello big guy.’ I say, holding out my hand for a shake.

  ‘He doesn’t talk, and it would be unwise for you to risk shaking his hand.’

  ‘So, he’s the strong silent type? That’s fine by me; you talk enough for the pair of you.’

  The yellow ray of blinding light that cut Roger in half was a bit of a shock for all of us. Mostly for Roger, I think.

  I’m running again and Neville’s gone all quiet on me.

  Any ideas on how to get out of this mess would be gratefully accepted.

  Any time now would be nice.

  **********

  Mr. Boom wasn’t at all nice, or reasonable.

  I’d tried emailing and calling him, but got no response. So I got on my bike and pedaled over to his home.

  It was a terraced house in an area that had seen better days. It must have; surely the architects and town planners involved in its design and construction weren’t plannin
g on it turning out like this less than 10 years later.

  Anyway, I knocked on his door and glanced at the dark brown armchair he’d considerately left outside in the street for any fatigued visitors he might have. There was even a fridge beside it, in case they needed a cooling drink. I think the three TV’s were a bit much, though.

  My first thought when he opened the door was that he seemed somehow familiar. He looked like a caricature of a lazy, scrounging, money-off-the-state, hasn’t-worked-for-years, lager lout. He was even wearing a vest, mottled with unmentionable stains, and had blue tattoos along both flabby arms.

  ‘What?’ he grunted, and then he took a slurp from his super strong, triple strength, only-if-you-don’t-expect-to-work-in-the-next-72 hours can of lager.

  I waited for him to wipe his chin, but he didn’t bother.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you…’

  ‘I ain’t buying nothing.’

  I was so tempted to pull him up on his double negative, but I restrained myself. Good grammar for the masses was not the order of the day.

  ‘That’s good, because I’m not a salesman. I believe that you’ve come into some money recently?’

  ‘Who says?’ was the less than helpful response.

  ‘I believe that there has been some sort of mistake with the bank and that money has gone from my account into yours, quite by mistake.

  He made no response; he just stared down at me as if he’d only understood every other word I’d said.

  Then he drained his can and tossed it over his shoulder. From somewhere I couldn’t see, he produced another.

  ‘So, if you would be kind…’ I could see this was not going to work, but I couldn’t stop there. ‘If you don’t mind, if it’s not too much trouble, would you please transfer the money back to my accounts as soon as it is convenient for you to do so, then I would be very much obliged to you, Sir.’

  He scratched himself in an intimate area for a moment as he considered his response to my most reasonable request.

  As he juggled things inside his sweatpants, he stared at me in a way that made me feel really uncomfortable.

  And that’s how we stood, for maybe 15 long, awkward minutes; him clutching his balls, and me clutching at straws.

  At last I found a remnant of dignity and turned my back on him.

  As I walked away I heard a snort behind me, and then the door slammed shut.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ I said to my AI. ‘Not a single word.’

  For once, he obeyed me.

  Chapter 8 Now…do robots dream of death?

  ‘Knock, Knock.’

  ‘What, really? Now?’

  ‘Go on; it will relax you.

  ‘I’m hiding from a murderous alien in the middle of a crater with no real hiding place, just this dip in the ground, and you think a knock-knock joke will solve all my problems?’

  ‘If you laugh; you’ll feel better.’

  ‘If I laugh, he might hear me.’

  ‘Knock, knock.’

  I haven’t got the strength, so I say, ‘who’s there?’

  ‘Look behind you.’

  ‘Look be…’ I freeze. There’s someone behind me, I know there is; Neville’s not telling me a joke; he's warning me.

  I want to close my eyes and say, ‘go on, then, do your worst,’ but whatever is behind me might say ‘thank you very nicely, I don’t mind if I do,’ and bite my head off.

  ‘Just turn around. I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere a little,’ says Neville, sounding a little annoyed with me.

  So, I’m turning around, and if it’s the last thing I ever do, then…Oh, it’s another robot.

  I didn’t expect that.

  It’s not as big as the last one, and there are no flashing lights. It looks more human also, with a small head and it’s sort of gold.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, just to be sociable; then I remember that I really should be flat on the ground, hiding from the ray-gun firing alien.

  ‘Good afternoon to you, Sir,’ he replies in a very pleasant voice.

  ‘This is Roger Two,’ Neville informs me. ‘Design number two. A great improvement on its predecessor.’

  I look up at the newcomer and, despite the danger, I can’t help myself.

  ‘Good afternoon to you too, R2D2.’

  *********

  R2D2 didn't last very long.

  One minute he was standing there, all upright and jerky, with his pleasant little voice, the next, zap! and his head was separated from his body and he started to stagger around in a manner that was quite funny, until I remembered that he was the only thing between me and the polite homicidal alien with the ray-gun.

  Now I'm running away from his collapsed body and I'm zig-zagging, like I've seen them do in films, to avoid becoming his next victim.

  'You should really zig-zig once in a while,' says Neville helpfully.

  ‘What's a zig-zig?’

  'You run in one direction for a short burst, then, when he expects you to change direction; you don't. You can vary it with zag-zagging, if you like.'

  I've been running for a while now and, any minute, my legs are going to give up and offer my arms the opportunity to do something useful for a change.

  'I have a plan,' Neville announced.

  ‘About time too! It's not Roger Three, is it? 'Cause I can't bear to see another one die.’

  'No, it's an entirely new idea, and it should work. Have you ever played basketball?'

  ‘What? Oh no, I'm going to…’

  OK. I'm flat on my face against the hard ground, and I'll have bruises in the morning; if I last that long.

  ‘Did you mention basketball? I'm sure you mentioned basketball.’

  'Yes, you are quite correct; I did. So, have you? You have the physique.'

  ‘No, I've never played basketball, or netball. Rugby was my game at school.’

  'Really? It seems a little rough and tumble for you.'

  ‘I have wiry strength.’

  'If you could make your way over to that rock to your left; it looks about the right size.'

  ‘I'm not in a moving mood at the moment; I just need a little time to catch my breath.’

  'Would you like some music to aid your relaxation? I can play whatever you like. I've been listening to Mantovani for the past few minutes; you'll like it; it's very relaxing.'

  I start to hear some strings; light and airy and absolutely no use to me in my present circumstances.

  ‘Cut it out and let's get on with your plan.’

  I've started to wriggle across the rough, rocky ground.

  'Just put one finger on the rock and hold it there for 2.7 seconds.'

  ‘I can't count to 2.7; just tell me when I can let go.’

  'Now would be fine; Phil. Some of your nanos have been transferred to the rock.'

  ‘Don't I need them?’

  'Only if there was a catastrophic assault on your body.'

  ‘A catastrophic assault? Thank goodness I'm in no danger of that; unless you think being sliced in half by a ray-gun counts.’

  'Shush.'

  ‘What! You can't tell me to Shush!’

  'There we are. Just watch closely.'

  I'm staring at the rock and nothing is…no, wait, the surface is getting smoother, and it's a little bit shiny.

  And it's turning green.

  The whole rock is now covered in a shiny green, well I guess you'd call it foil.

  ‘What now?’

  'Remove the foil and form it into a hat.'

  ‘A hat?’

  'Yes, a hat. You have no adhesive but if you fold the bottom over, it should hold.'

  I've not made a hat since I was at school, but I’ve seen Sam’s, so I can work it out.

  There we are, we now have a big green shiny hat.

  ‘It's too big for me.’

  'It's not for you.'

  ‘Who…Oh. It's for him. But…I'm not going to just walk up to him and hand it to him?’

  'No, I don't
believe that would work.'

  ‘So, what? I'm going to leave it here and when he wanders past in his search for me, he's going to just say, hey, that's a nice hat and it's just my size, I wonder how it looks on?’

  'That also is unlikely to succeed.'

  ‘So, tell me; I can't wait to hear.’

  'When you are ready, I will squirt you so that you arrive just behind him. Then, before he realizes you are there, you place the hat on his head.'

  ‘Before he turns around and shoots me?’

  'Not if the hat works as planned.'

  ‘What does it do, anyway?’

  'It should block the telepathic signals from the creature that is currently controlling him.'

  If Neville wasn't inside my head, I'd give him a look. The sort of look that says are you serious, mate? Because this sounds very much to me like a plan that Sam might have thought up, in his addled confused mind.

  I'm not happy; not happy at all.

  Am I going to do it?

  What do you think?

  Chapter 9 Then…the Offer

  They came for my fancy new coffee machine, about three weeks after The Busy Day, and they weren't very nice about it, I can tell you.

  I was feeling pretty low, what with no money and no coffee, when I got a knock on the door.

  I thought about ignoring it; pretending I was too busy, but after the bad publicity following The Busy Day, we've not had much business.

  Julie was out doing whatever Julie does when she's not here; shopping, networking, chatting; I think she may have something romantic going on.

  Sam was in the bathroom, doing whatever Sam does, and I'm not going to speculate.

  'OK, ' I called. 'I'll be right there.'

  He was tiny; not just short. His head hardly reached my navel and his little feet, clad in shiny smart, really quite adult shoes, looked as if they barely touched the ground. His black suit was neat and very expensive looking, not that I'd know. I had a suit once, but then I grew up. It might have been a good fit for my visitor, if I knew where it was.

  'Good morning,' I said, as my opening gambit; I am a traditionalist, after all.