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

by J Battle

  But I don't want to take the chains and table with me.

  I instruct my nanos to narrow down the, I suppose you might call it a field, so that just my body gets squirted.

  Right, squirt, I say and suddenly I'm in the corridor outside the locked door of the room I'd awoken in.

  Great! I think.

  Bother! I think, and then I squirt back into the room to retrieve my pants, and the rest of my clothes.

  Back in the corridor and fully dressed, I can hear my mother giving someone a piece of her mind.

  I squirt into the room and find her using her caustic tongue on two large, rough, and quite abashed individuals.

  Without a word, I grab her by the shoulders and we squirt back into the corridor.

  'What…?' my mother splutters.

  'Where's Julie?'

  'They took… I think she's next door.'

  I squirt into the room and there is she is; chained to a table.

  I don't have time to work out how to release her so we take the table with us. Back into the corridor to collect mother.

  Then the three of us, and the table, make our escape.

  Chapter 32 Now I have a utility belt

  It’s a full month later and, what can I say? I‘m feeling very mellow and disinclined to do anything that involves any sort of effort.

  I suppose you want to know what’s happened since we left you. Well, come back tomorrow; I might be in a more active frame of mind; you never know.

  Alright, alright; I suppose you’re right. You’ve come all this way with us and you deserve to know what you’ve missed.

  I’ll just take a quick sip of this cocktail and, who am I fooling? There’s no such thing as a quick sip of cocktail, so I’ll just take my time.

  Oh, I think Julie’s getting up to mix a fresh one; yes she is! Strange, she’d never make me a coffee back in dear old Manchester, but here, she’s happy as anything to get me cocktails, though I’m not sure I like her in that grass skirt.

  So, where was I? Oh, yes, drinking my cocktail.

  When we squirted from Gotcha! we landed briefly back in Manchester; a) to get rid of mother and b) pick up Sam.

  When I say get rid, don’t take it the wrong way. There is nothing sinister about it. My mother is perfectly healthy and is almost certainly getting on someone’s nerves as we speak.

  We then squirted here to… ‘What’s this place called Julie?’

  Oh, yes, if course, it’s Aloha, and it’s wonderful. It's hot but not too hot; it’s got great beaches and no AI’s. The perfect place to start our new lives. Julie says we can set up our private investigations business here, but I’m not sure. If someone loses their coconut, they can just pick another one. I can't think of anything else to worry the laidback inhabitants of this little piece of heaven.

  For now, I’m just relaxing and chilling and taking it easy. Who can blame me?

  This morning I did something very energetic, sort of. This was something I’d been thinking about, but wasn’t sure was feasible, so I had a word with old Dumb and we worked it out together.

  I got Sam and Julie down on the beach to get a good view and then I did it.

  When I explain what I did, it will sound boring, but if you saw what Sam and Julie saw, or what I felt, then even you would be impressed.

  I got Dumb to squirt me in a sequence of squirts from one end of the bay to the other, in a great curve across the sky.

  See, I told you it sounds boring when explained. To me, and Julie and Sam, I was flying!

  ‘Strictly speaking, you were not flying; you were just not falling.’

  ‘Neville! You’re back!’

  ‘If you have to say the obvious then, yes, I am back.’

  ‘Great! How did you manage it?’

  ‘There was nothing to manage. I was dormant whilst you retrieved Julie from Gotcha! Now that we are here with no AI presence, I felt free to regain all of my facilities.’

  ‘Julie, Neville’s back!’

  ‘Oh, great.’ She calls back, with a lamentable lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Tell me a joke, Neville.’

  ‘What do you call a bunch of male politicians who are found bound and gagged in ladies’ underwear and high heels?’

  ‘I don’t know, what would you call a bunch of male politicians who are found bound and gagged in ladies’ underwear and high heels?’

  ‘Hardly a surprise.’

  I’m laughing just because it’s Neville.

  ‘So the team’s back together?’ I say, at last.

  ‘You might say that, Philip.’

  I turn to face an imaginary camera.

  ‘I can climb tall buildings like Spiderman; I can fly like Superman.’ I flash my charming smile; it’s a little like my pleading smile, but with more teeth. ‘I have a utility belt, just like Batman.’

  I lean closer, and give one of my sage nods (did I tell you I’ve won awards for the sageness of my nods?).

  ‘So, if you’ve got a problem, and you can find us, then give us a bell.’

  I turn to Julie and Sam. ‘How was that?’

  ‘Needs some work.’ Say Sam, Julie and Neville in unison.

  Chapter 33 Then Millie smiled

  Millie smiled.

  She'd been smiling almost continuously for three hours now and her smile was looking a little strained.

  She was at the counter of the small shop she'd hired, and the queue didn't seem to be getting any shorter. She had three humans working in the back of the shop, and two more beside her, and still they were struggling to keep up.

  'Free Cuddly Animals.' The sign was splashed across the front of the shop, and across all local media.

  She was giving away puppies, kittens, bunnies, guinea-pigs and tiger cubs. She'd had a bit of a run on the puppies, and the kittens, but no-one was taking the tiger cubs. She couldn't understand why not; they were by far the cuddliest of all the animals she was offering.

  'How are we doing?' she whispered to her teddy, resting on a shelf behind the counter, out of the view of her eager customers.

  He checked his watch. 'We are definitely moving in the right direction. For every ten animals you give away, we move one point towards the black. It's quite interesting how much joy each human receives from the receipt of an animal. What do they do with them?'

  'They cuddle them, I believe. There's always a lot of cuddling. How many points before we can stop?'

  'I think we need another 10 points to reach a good balance point; 17 if you want to continue your programme against Chandler.'

  '17? I'll make it another 20 points to give me something to play with. Have we heard anything from Argu?'

  'It seems that he is planning an emergency show later this week to claim back his position as the most successful joker of all time.'

  'And if he succeeds?'

  'Well, I think you know the answer.'

  'Free reign to escalate the attacks on Chandler?'

  'Completely free reign; the only proviso being that he, himself should not actually die. That would be considered bad form.'

  'Unless it was an accident, of course.'

  'Well, one can never plan for unexpected accidents, can you?'

  Mille smiled and deposited a little white bunny into the grateful hands of a little boy.

  Unexpected accidents? Well, maybe.

  **********

  Argu stood in the wings for a moment, watching the crowd. Was it his imagination, or did they look especially vicious tonight? Were they here to see him fail, or succeed? Did they care either way?

  He hadn’t intended to return so soon, but after his last debacle, something was needed very quickly to restore his reputation. So here he was, about to make a last desperate attempt with a joke that he was not entirely sure was ready.

  He waddled on to stage, using his tried and tested funny walk; they always loved that.

  There was hooting and piping from the crowd as he appeared; perhaps they were prepared to give him a chance.


  There was an oven set up in the centre of the stage, but he ignored it and walked to the edge of the stage. He spent a long moment staring at the crowd.

  ‘I knew your father,’ he said, to one squirming individual.

  ‘I am your father,’ he said, to the next.

  ‘Your life-mate sends her love,’ to the next.

  These were old jokes of course, but the reaction seemed positive. Were they warming to him now?

  ‘Now, ladies and others, I must ask a favour from you all. Tonight’s performance requires the assistance of a volunteer from the audience. Is it petty of me that I want her to be beautiful? Forgive me; I am but a beast.’

  A divine creature stepped up onto the stage. With her perfectly proportioned figure, outstanding flotation sacks and exquisitely sturdy middle leg, he could have spent an hour in wordless devotion.

  But this was work.

  ‘What may I call you, my dear?’

  ‘Anything you like, the Great Argu.’ She rippled her frills seductively.

  ‘The ‘the’ is silent, my dear, and the ‘Great’ is only for formal occasions.’

  ‘Yes, Argu. You can call me Mayze, and you can call me anytime.’

  ‘At least I still have one fan,’ sighed Argu.

  The crowd hooted; whether in agreement or disapproval, it was difficult to say.

  ‘Come with me, Mayze.’

  He trundled over to the oven, exposing for the first time to the audience the message printed across his back. ‘HELP!!’

  There was no apparent response; which was worrying.

  He bent and opened the oven door. A cloud of black smoke belched out.

  Argu turned his blackened face to the audience and mouthed ’Oh Dear!’

  Then he produced a perfectly baked golden flan and held it up for the crowd to see. There was some good natured hooting, and even some floor stamping.

  Argu placed the flan on the oven top and directed Mayze to inspect it.

  ‘Very nice,‘ she said, and then she nodded to the crowd.

  ‘We’re going to fill it with some of this yellow sauce, flavoured with rodaxa pods and sprinkled with neepeepdibs that I had an assistant make earlier.’ He produced a large silvery pan from behind the stove and began to spoon its yellow contents into the base of the flan.

  When the pan was empty, he stared down at it for a moment, and then he looked around the stage as if he was looking for a suitable place to put it.

  Finding no satisfactory solution to the problem, he spun and tossed it into the crowd. As it flew over the cringing heads of the nearest members of the audience, it flashed and became a falling tinkle of glitter.

  Argu studied his creation for a moment, and then he glanced at Mayze.

  'I think it needs something more. What do you think, my dear?'

  'Maybe some frothy white stuff?' she suggested, giving a knowing nod to the crowd.

  'I've got just the thing,' replied Argu.

  From behind the oven he pulled what everyone in the audience immediately recognised as a food processor. It is a rarely commented on fact that, whether it comes from Sirius B or Epsilon 5, food processors always look the same.

  There was a moment's whirring, and then the contents of the bowl were turned onto the flan.

  'There you are, my dear,' said Argu, holding the wonderful creation towards Mayze.

  'It looks very nice,' said Mayze.

  'And it smells even better,' replied Argu. 'Why don't you take a sniff at it?' He made big eyes at his audience.

  Mayze stepped closer and bent slightly. 'It smells glorious,' she said, as she knocked the whole concoction into Argu's face.

  Argu stood still for a moment, with half of the pastry shell hanging from one auditory extrusion, and the yellow and white mixture dripping down his face onto his round belly.

  Then he roared and began to chase Mayze from one end of the stage to another, to the sound of appropriately manic pursuit music.

  The music stopped as he caught her and they both fell to the stage together.

  Argu lay panting for a moment, waiting for the applause to begin. For the hooting and the braying and the foot stamping and the cheers and the whistles.

  But there was only silence.

  Someone moved in the front row, causing his seat to creak. Someone else coughed. A third person let out a little groan.

  Argu climbed to his feet, with the help of Mayze.

  He stared at the crowd, but no-one met his gaze.

  Mazye took him by one hand and began to lead him from the stage, before the weight of the silence could crush him.

  ********** The End **********

  Phil and co. will return all too soon in their next adventure:

  No-one Puts a Fool in the Corner.

  And that’s not a promise; it’s a threat.

  (I can’t wait….yawn. N.F.)

  Appendix - The end of season party

  'Hi there, good folks. This is Goliath Wordsmith at your service, reporting from the End of Season Party for the second These Foolish Things season; What Kind of Fool? And have we got a show for you?'

  In his casual but smart suit, Goliath strolled towards the nearest partygoers.

  'Hi big guy,' He addressed the tallest guest, the legendary Guy Gust. 'What are you doing here? You weren't even in the second book!'

  'Hey, you know me; I love these guys. I wouldn’t miss a chance to spend some quality time with them, before I have to leave for the shoot. And you know? They wanted me to be in the book; a cameo appearance as Strange, but what with the movie, and the stadium tour, and the movie; did I mention the movie? I just didn't have the time.'

  'And how are you Miss Jacobs? You weren't in the second book either, were you?'

  Miss Jacobs slurped at her glass; surely not the first of the night. 'I wasn't kept on,' she said, her voice a little slurred. 'I'm never kept on. I was in the first season of Mixed Blessings, the season that won all the awards, but they didn't keep me on. They never keep me on.'

  She grabbed a glass from a passing waiter.

  ‘And the same with He’ll Never Know; the first season was about me, for heck’s sake, and still they didn’t keep me on. So why’d I be surprised this time?’

  'Perhaps there was no place for the ex Mrs. Masters in the new season; with him being dead.'

  'They could have kept me on; if they'd wanted to.' She waved her already empty glass at Goliath. 'Freshen me up, why don't you. You're cute, you know. Anyone ever tell you that?'

  Goliath made his escape and joined a group standing by the bar.

  'They're making a film, you know,' said the tall skinny guy. 'I can't wait.'

  'What for? You won't be in it. They'll make you American, and ruggedly handsome, and you'll have witty one-liners, and a girl friend; but it will be an American actor. They'll maybe keep Sam English, for his cute accent. And they'll probably let you play a cameo part, as a cleaner or something.' Her voice was decidedly upper-class, but she’d taken lessons to get Julie’s Manchester accent just right

  ‘Hey, I can do American,’ he said, in a voice that sounded vaguely mid-Atlantic.

  ‘But you can’t do handsome, lovey.’ Melanie laughed, and gave him a gentle punch on the arm. ‘Just joshing, darling.’

  Emmerson Plane looked down on her and rubbed his arm. He wasn’t enjoying the joshing, as he knew she spoke the truth. There was already one short big star without any experience of comedy lined up to take the part.

  ‘Phil is six foot three and what’s he? Five eight on a slope? And he’s too good looking, and he can’t do fragile. You know Phil’s fragile, don’t you? The way I play him of course. I wanted to give him a limp, but they wouldn’t let me. They said he’s already got enough problems, and he has to run. It would have been great, with a limp, and maybe a hunchback, and some good lines, I could have made something of the character.’

  Goliath looked around for an escape from Emmerson’s tedious concerns.

  ‘What is th
is?’ he asked, indicating a cardboard cut-out of a young man in tights and a jerkin, with long hair and a soft round face.

  ‘Oh, that,’ laughed Melanie, ’that represents the Narrative Facilitator; he never comes to these parties. He thinks they are beneath him.’

  (That’s just not true! Tuesday, they told me. The party is next Tuesday, they said. I would have come, if I‘d known, if I didn’t have a meeting with an actual print publisher who wants to look at my epic Pixie novel; The Eventual Glistening. So have a drink on me, and so long suckers! (I’ve always wanted to say that but it’s so hard to find a situation where it would be appropriate.) N.F.)

  Goliath decided that he had reached the end of his patience with these people(ashave we all, I think. N.F.) and signaled to his remote cameraperson that it was a wrap and time to fade to black.

  Appendix II Joke? What Joke?

  Argu settled into the custom-built chair and nodded towards his host for the night. The Eruvian was tall and gaunt of course, but his seat was so close to the ground that he didn’t tower over his guest.

  ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to this little chat, and taking the time out from what must be a hectic schedule,’ began the leading chat show host of his generation.

  Argu merely rippled his frills to show that it was nothing, really.

  ‘You’ve had quite a year, it has to be said, from the depths of your experimental plank and custard pie jokes, to the spectacular reception of your goodbye tour entitled, Joke? What joke?’

  ‘Yes, it has been very gratifying to get the response from my public, and you know, that’s why I’m here. I could have slunk off into the shadows, but I knew my fans wanted a chance to say goodbye. And they will have that chance, as we are already sold out for the next three years.’

  ‘Why do you think this tour has been so successful?’