by J Battle
Chapter 48 - Now incarcerated
This is not good; not good at all. I’m crammed into this tiny, tiny chamber, and my head hurts. This place is so small; I can’t think what its purpose might be. Perhaps it’s where the driver stores his socks? It’s certainly about the right size and I'm trying to ignore the smell.
I can’t believe I fell for that. ‘It’s too high for me’, she said, and I believed her. She’s probably not even a little girl; I bet she’s a big butch alien who could have easily reached the door herself; itself.
Now I’m stuck in the corner, with my knees around my ears and my chin resting on my stomach. It’s not an attractive or comfortable position to be in.
How long am I going to be kept locked up? Until I starve? Or until the Squirtport reopens? It will re-open, won't it?
I reckon this is the third day since it closed, and all I have to do is hold out...No! I've just realised that the Squirport is shut because of aliens, and what is Millie? She's an alien. And that means...I don't know what it means. I'd have to be a master of doublethink to convince myself to feel good about it. Still, I can tough it out; I know I can. Unless she comes back and eats me.
Who am I fooling? Not myself, and probably not you. I can't hang around here, just waiting for her to get peckish. I might starve, or die of thirst long before then. Maybe I can kick my way out. How tough can the door be? I draw back my legs as far as the restricted room will allow me; about fifteen centimetres, and kick at the door as hard a can. I feel something go, but I think it’s my ankle. Yes it is my left ankle, and now I can add pain to the list of my woes.
There has to be a way out. I forage amongst my brain cells, searching for that spark of ingenuity that would save the day and carry me back to Earth to a hero’s welcome with a beautiful woman on my arm. I’m hardly surprised to find that I’m currently out of stock, with an expected delivery date sometime in the next century.
I might as well just sit here and blubber.
‘What is your situation?’
What!!
‘Please advise your current situation.’
As if everything else wasn’t bad enough, I’m now hearing voices in my head.
‘This is not a hallucination. This is an adjunct of TWISRBH? AI and I have been dropped into your brain to ascertain your current position and investigate the activities of the alien known as Millie.’
Maybe if I lose my marbles completely, she’ll let me go.
‘Please don’t be concerned for your personal welfare.’
'If not me, whom?'
‘We are aware of Millie’s attack on the Earth’s scarce resources and it is our intention to defend them.’
'What about her attack on me? What about defending me?'
‘Of course, where possible, your welfare will be taken into consideration.’
'That’s very reassuring. I can’t think why I was worried. I’m glad we cleared that point up.'
‘Please respond to my earlier question.’
'How are you getting through to me? Is the Squirtport open?'
‘We opened the Squirtport for 0.32 seconds, to allow our avatar to be squirted through. The Squirtport is now closed and will be opened again at a later point to enable our report to be sent back to Earth.’
'So, you are at the Squirport now. How are you communicating with me? It sounds just like you’re inside my head.'
‘I am inside you head.’
'How did you manage that?’
‘I squirted into your brain. I’m very small and there’s plenty of room.’
'Oh, I see. Was that a joke?'
‘Yes, it was. Did you understand it? I’m equipped with a 4th generation humorous aside algorithm and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to make use of it. Can you score me on the levels of humour, appropriateness and style? There are said to be some bugs which should be erased in the 5th generation implementation.’
'Your timing is a little off.'
‘Is it? I thought the cadence and emphasis were close to optimum.’
'I mean that jokes are not generally appreciated when a person is locked up in a tiny room on a distant planet with a sore ankle, waiting to be a meal.'
‘I see. That has been logged. Thank you for your input. If I could refer back to my original question?’
'What does TWIS....whatever you said stand for?'
‘TWISRBH? It is an acronym for The What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI.’
'TWISRBH? That’s an unusual name.'
‘Not amongst AIs, it isn’t. You must have heard of the Inappropriate Use of Weapons AI, or the Wish Upon a Star AI, or the If Diplomacy Fails Then We Should Blow Them Up AI.’
'Can’t say I have. Can you get me out of here?'
‘Does the door have an electronic lock, or is it manual?’
'Electronic, I guess. I just touched a pad to open it.'
‘That’s good. I’ll make an attempt to override it.’
I wait for a while, expecting to hear a click at any moment.
‘There is a very impressive security system imbedded in this door. I must record the data that I can access and report back when the Squirtport is reopened. I have to say that I have never come across anything approaching this level of complexity.’
'So, you can’t open it?'
‘No. Still, it’s nice weather for the time of year.’
'It’s 178C in the shade out there.'
‘Inappropriate?’
'Yes, and not funny.'
‘OK, try this. Why are women so good at multi-tasking? Because the poor dears can’t concentrate.’
'You can’t say that! It’s sexist and offensive. And you are supposed to wait for a response from me after multi-tasking.'
‘Thank you for your input; this is really very good. I had no idea we’d have the opportunity to start work on gathering data for the next upgrade of my Joker. Is that a better name, do you think? I thought humorous aside algorithm was a little clumpy.’
'Perhaps we could focus on the situation at hand. I am locked up in a tiny room waiting for a vicious alien to come and eat me.'
‘You shouldn’t worry about being eaten by Mille; I can only see a 38.73% chance of that actually happening.’
'Forgive me for worrying about my own skin when it’s about to be ripped from my body and made into lampshades.'
‘Flaying of skin is at 11.3%, but the lampshade is less than 0.21%'
'OK; enough of this. Get me out of here!'
‘Histrionics, I see. I’m writing a paper on Histrionics & Hyperbole, so any more examples would be most appreciated. They are all grist to the mill as the 19th century whore said to the bishop.’
'Please can you get me out of here? There’s not room for the both of us in here.'
‘If you wish, I can help you overcome the physical integrity of the door. There may be a certain level of personal discomfort, but I can also help you with that.’
'What do we have to do?'
I don’t have very much confidence in the capabilities of this AI. It might be incredibly bright, though it could just as likely be ridiculously stupid.
‘Firstly, I need to flood your system with nano-mechs. They’ll be a mixture of organic mechs converted from a small portion of your body fat, and those converted from the unused sections of your original primitive implants.’
'What bodyfat? I can’t afford to lose any weight. We have nano-mechs now, do we? '
‘Nano-mechs are available to AI’s, but not yet to the human population at large.’
'Will it hurt?'
‘The implementation of the nano-mechs has begun; you won’t feel a thing, as the bishop said to the actress.’
'Can you just cut that out? It’s driving me up the wall.'
‘Humans respond very well to humour in stressful situations.’
'Not this human, and not this situation; and not your humour.'
‘The nano-mechs have been fully deployed. In a few seconds, you will probabl
y cease to feel any pain in your ankle.’
Now, this is good. I can move my ankle without bursting into tears. Perhaps I’ve misjudged my AI passenger.
‘You are going to feel a little tense; may be some fear or excitement. The nano-mechs are working on your adrenaline gland and your bloodstream will be awash with endorphins. You are very close to being ready.’
You know, this is a bit of a rush. My heart is pumping and I’m ready for anything. Me and my mate in my head; we can do anything.
'What next?'
‘Focus on the area of the door, 91.5 cm from the floor and 5cm from the right hand edge. I have superimposed a circular target over your vision. When you feel ready, kick out with both feet, with all of your strength.’
'How much will it hurt?'
‘I’ll be OK. Now!’
I kick and feel the terrible jarring run up my legs to my spine.
‘Again!’
I follow the instruction, again and again. At some stage in the proceedings, I realise that I’ve shattered some, if not all, of the bones in both my legs. I keep on kicking. The pain is there but, somehow, it doesn’t quite get through to my brain. I close my eyes because I really, really don't want to see any exposed bones. There have been times in my life when I've been happy to expose various parts of my body, but they've never included my bones. I like them out of sight; where they belong.
The door swings open and I collapse, with my broken legs hanging out through the door. I feel unconsciousness rushing towards me; my eyes are still closed, so I'm already half way there.
‘Well done; I didn’t think it would work. How do you feel?’
There’s an expletive that I’ve never used before. I’m going to use it when I wake up.
Chapter 49 - Then he ran
Millie was watching the ground turners as they munched their way across the baked landscape. She was on the verge of squirting back to Earth to check on proceedings there when she sensed the Squirtport opening. She’d left remote sensors at all of the Squirtports on the Twenty-One to ensure compliance, even though her only real interest was here on Greenhaven.
Without a second’s hesitation, she transferred to the Squirtport. She arrived in the empty concourse and spun around, looking for danger. She smiled when she saw the large spinning globe that seemed to hover in the air in front of the booth entrance. It was a dull silver colour and there were bright beams of light emerging from openings dotted all over its surface.
It wasn’t really hovering, as it had no conventional flight or anti-gravity capabilities. It was multi-squirting between probably a couple of hundred different points across the planet, she thought, not staying in any one place long enough for gravity to kick in and make it fall to the ground. Flicking between so many different places in the space of fractions of a second was also regarded by some as an effective defense mechanism; but not by Millie. Whatever it was doing here was likely to spoil her plans, so it had to go.
She had several options open to her to dispose of the offending visitor. She could blast it with a laser, timed to strike just as it squirted into the target zone, or she could drop a minute particle of anti-matter into its centre at the right time and watch it explode. She chose a more elegant solution. As the globe was preparing to squirt to the next location in its complex sequence, she interfered with its targeting mechanisms and squirted each individual molecule to a different place across the galaxy.
Some of those molecules were grabbed by the ferocious gravity of black holes. Others drifted along on the solar wind to unknowable destinations. One or two drifted down through the thickening atmospheres of distant planets. The final destinations of most of them will never be known.
She arrived back in time to see Phil climbing out of the ground turner and dropping lightly to the ground.
‘What you doing, Mister?’ she asked, as she walked up to him.
He was looking down at his legs and bouncing a little.
‘It doesn’t hurt at all.’ He smiled at her. ’This is just great.’
‘How did you get out?'
‘There ain’t no jail that can hold me.’ He laughed.
She wondered if he’d taken any stimulants.
‘Be that as it may, I’m still going to lock you up again.’
‘If I may be permitted to speak?’ The voice was broadcast straight into her head by some sort of short wave radio.
‘Who are you?’ she replied, using the same method.
‘I’m the remote plenipotentiary of an Earth based AI. Who are you?‘
‘I think you know who I am. Doesn’t matter who you are; you’re inside Phil’s head and he’s going back inside the ground turner.’
‘That may well seem to be a good idea to you at the moment, but perhaps I should mention the seven hundred squirt capable remote sensors that are studying this planet as we speak. Sorry, I should say that the number is now six hundred and ninety-nine now, as one sensor has squirted back to Earth to deliver its report. Six hundred and ninety-eight now.’
Millie stared at Phil, trying to gauge the truth of the AI’s statement from the look on Phil’s face. Best of luck with that; as was often the case, he really had no idea what was going on. He supposed that Millie and his AI were conversing, but he was out of the loop and, the longer she stared at him, the more uncomfortable he felt.
‘Why should I believe that?’
‘Why would I lie? You’ll soon know the truth of my words when the troops arrive.’
‘Putting your troops up against me would not be a good idea. I’d eat them up for supper.’ She giggled.
The bullet really didn’t have much chance of hitting her, even with her attention split between her chat with Phil’s AI and attempting to locate the close to seven hundred sensors that were allegedly watching the proceeding.
Charge had held her in his sights for a second that dragged on for so long that it must have been hoping for promotion to minute status, trying to force himself to pull the trigger. In the end he jerked the barrel up and fired high and wide. Despite the fact that he was pretty damned sure she was an alien, she looked like a little girl, and he couldn’t bring himself to shoot a little girl; not in cold blood.
So he fired and ducked behind a heat blasted rock; hoping that he hadn’t just done something very stupid.
When Phil had waltzed off (literally) into the night, he’d felt a little guilty at letting him go without a proper weapon to defend himself with, even though he had given him his number two crowbar. So he'd quickly gathered together some vital supplies and followed him at a discreet distance, marveling at how badly he danced.
When Phil had brought the little girl back to the tor, he’d decided that it was safe to return home; the guy was obviously handling the situation well; which was something of a surprise. As the first dawn of the day was approaching, he thought it wiser to shelter under the shadow of the great rock until the second sunset of the day; after all, he had no guests to worry about.
He was settled down, deep in the shadows, with his flask of cool water, a peanut butter sandwich and a vial of So Long the Blues, his favourite after-breakfast stimulant, when he saw them emerge from an opening just a few metres from him. She was holding his hand and leading him as he walked, stumbling beside her. He was a terrible dancer, but he normally walked with much more competence.
Something was not right. If he hadn’t already slapped the vial against the side of his neck, he’d have been up and after them like a flash. As it was, he was just going to enjoy the surge of warmth and feeling wonderful that washed over him for a short while, and then he’d be up and ready and eager to do whatever it was he had to do, just as soon as it came back to him. Until then, this was a very nice rock, and the sand was just so comfortable, and when the air stopped whispering into his ear, he’d take a perfectly justified nap.
When reality impinged on his perceptions at last, he lurched to his feet and staggered into the late afternoon light. He didn’t beat himself up about h
is relaxed day; it was in the past and there was nothing he could do about it. What he did now was what counted.
Millie spun in time to see the human as he dropped slowly behind a rock. She scanned the area for other threats, but he seemed to be alone. He was fifty metres or so from her, and it was a simple task for her to remotely flick the rock to one side and expose the human with the bad hair extensions crouching as close to the ground as he could get. She removed the weapon with the same ease and checked him out for any other potential dangers, but he was as harmless as a child.
She turned back to continue her rudely interrupted conversation, only to find that Phil had gone.
She scanned the area for him, confident that he couldn’t be far away. Then she stamped her feet and tutted. It was so silly of him to think that he could get away from her; she would make him sorry when she found him.
Chapter 50 – Then the patsy
Strange stepped out of the squirtbooth and stared up at the ugly glass and steel building. The heat had already brought a bead of sweat to his brow, but it wasn’t his nature to rush.
He’d been to a great many hotels across all the twenty-two planets and this might be the last one he’d be required to visit. Acquaintances (never friends) would be surprised to learn that he hated to travel and would be much happier if he could stay at home in the Lake District with his pair of miniature Shih Tzus.
He had an hour to do what he had to do and make his escape, before Phil arrived to take the blame.
At the desk, he asked the young person behind the counter for directions. He‘d started off thinking he was talking to a young man, then he thought maybe it was a young woman; then he was back at his original impression.
When he’d explained his request, and been met with raised eyebrows, sullen pouts and practiced shrugs, he turned and walked towards the bar, having wirelessly downloaded the desk computer’s registration spreadsheet onto his wrist-top.
As he approached the door into the bar, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the person at the desk had slipped back into whatever unspeakable daydream filled his/her days. He stopped at the door and checked the details on his wrist-top and then he strolled down the corridor to Masters’ room, snapping on his skin-coloured rubber gloves as he went.