These Foolish Things: The Complete Boxset

by J Battle

  'This is just between us, yeah? No-one else wants to know about it, see? So, a secret, yeah?'

  I nodded as I was holding my breath.

  'I found…I came across these blueprints and, well, I think I know where they're for and, y'know, someone is going to want to pay for ‘em, don't you think?'

  'Where are they?'

  He went from shifty to suspicious in a flash.

  'What y'mean? Where are they? They're mine. Finders is keepers, y'see?'

  'OK, that's fine. But, well, where are they for? I'll need to know that if I'm to help you find their…previous owner.' This was beginning to feel like hard work and, to be brutally honest, he didn't look as if he could afford to pay for my services.

  'I'll tell you about them, and then you can find out who they belong to on your computer, can't you?'

  'But you already know what the building is, don't you?'

  'That's for me to know, and you to find out.'

  'What?'

  He repeated the schoolyard chant.

  'Knowledge is power, as they say,' he finished with a nod.

  If Julie, or even Sam, had been there, I would have passed him on to them, but they weren't, so I was stuck with Mr. Bliss. What bliss?

  ‘So, what can you tell me?’

  ‘It’s a building,’ he started, and then he finished, as if that was all I needed.

  ‘And what can you tell me about this building?’ If he was going to be obtuse about this, I was going to be especially nice.

  ‘It’s underground, like. And it’s sort of square; oblong, really, or maybe it’s oval? No, it’s deffy oblong.’

  ‘How can you tell from the blueprint that the building is underground?’

  ‘Because the outside doors are on the top floor, see. So, it has to be underground; and that’s how I know where it is, see. ‘Cause my mate Fred, well, he built it, I think. Not on his own. There were more people; joiners and brickies and that, but he helped. That’s what he told me, anyway.’

  As he seemed to be loosening up, I tried again for a look at the blueprint itself.

  ‘Look, Mr. Bliss. I’m not going to get anywhere with what you’re giving me; I need the blueprint. Or you could just go and knock on the door if you really know where the building is.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘To maybe get a reward from retrieving their lost possession?’ I suggested.

  ‘No, mate, you’ve got me wrong. I don’t want to give it back to them, see. ‘Cause I want to sell it to the bloke who pinched it, right. ‘Cause he’ll want to pay proper money to get it back. You can go on the computer and find out who pinched it, right? And then I’ll sell it, and then I’ll pay you a bit; whatever you charge; not too much. Don’t think you can rip me off with your posh office and that.’

  I glanced around my office; no, no-one had given it a new paint job, of even a spring-clean when I wasn’t looking, and the carpet was as sorry and threadbare as the last time I looked at it.

  ‘My charges are very reasonable for the level of service I offer and, I have to say this, are you sure you want to find these people? They may be dangerous.’

  He smiled a full, broken toothed smile and started to rummage inside his pants, which I felt was entirely inappropriate in the middle of a business meeting.

  He pulled out a pistol with an unfeasibly long barrel and placed it carefully on my desk.

  ‘I think I’ll be OK,’ he said, and adjusted the barrel to point towards me.

  ‘There’s no need for firearms here, Mr. Bliss, so please put that thing away.’ I don’t like guns, never have; and especially when they’re pointed at me.

  ‘You want to see the blueprint, don’t you? Well, then, I’m going to keep an eye on you; and my gun.’

  He started to rummage again; this time inside the shirt with the interesting array of stains. He withdrew a tightly folded parcel which, when unfolded, turned out to be the very blueprint in question.

  Very carefully I took the blueprint from him, with one eye on the gun and the other on him, which is quite difficult when you don’t have the same ocular facility as my guest

  Now I’d never actually handled a blueprint before that day, and my only previous experience had been in films, or on the TV. There the ruggedly handsome hero (they’re always ruggedly handsome, when they’re not raffishly handsome) gives the blueprint a quick glance and gathers all of the information required for the development of the plot towards a satisfactory conclusion in that brief look.

  All I could see were lines, and wriggles, and numbers. The plans were split into four roughly equal rectangles; each of which was also split into between six and eight smaller squares. Except for one of the rectangles, which had a single slightly smaller rectangle within its borders.

  ‘So, what am I looking at here.’ I asked as I turned my head to see if it was any clearer sideways on.

  ‘It’s a blueprint mate; a plan of the building. Them rectangles are the different floors; elevations, my mate Fred called them. And inside like, you’ve got the rooms. And these things here are the outer doors, and those are the stairs, and them’s the gents, I think.’

  It was obvious, once he’d explained it.

  ‘OK, there’s a serial number here. If I punch it in, it should give us the location and then we can…but first, Mr. Bliss, I need to zap you over the bill and take your deposit, if that’s OK with you.’

  He fiddled with the gun a little, and then he looked at me.

  ‘I think we’ll have what I like to call a gentleman’s agreement, Mr. Chandler. You do your work, and I’ll pay you when I get paid. How does that sound?’

  He was looking at the gun, and so was I.

  ‘That sounds fine Mr. Bliss,' I said, as I began to type. Well, what would you do?

  'I wouldn't do that if I was you.' Neville had been very quiet up until that point, I thought.

  'Why not?' I pressed the enter button at the very same time.

  'You shouldn't have done that,' he came back with; not very helpful I thought.

  'Why…' I was about to repeat my question, when my computers started flashing and loud alarms began to blare from their speakers.

  'What the… They've never done that before.'

  Mr. Bliss was already half way through door, his blueprint clutched in his grubby hands.

  'What's happening?'

  'Those were the plans for the building housing the Law and Order AI, and it is a Crime Against the State to be in possession of them, which is why you should not have inputted its serial number into your computer.'

  'You could have told me earlier.'

  'It was your quiet time; you're always touchy about your quiet time.'

  'You interrupt my quiet time to tell me jokes; you could have interrupted to tell me something important.'

  'You don't think my jokes are important?'

  'Now that is a joke. What do we do?'

  'You might take advantage of the offer to work for the Advanced Galactic Exploration AI; it will give you some protection before the law.'

  To help me decide, and because it was past mid-day, and because it seemed wiser to be away from the noisy computers, I went down the pub.

  I was on my second pint when Neville piped up.

  'Have you made a decision, Phil?' he asked.

  'This is part of the decision-making process,' I replied, as I slurped my cold, wonderful lager. 'It doesn't pay to rush these things.

  'There is a timetable to be taken into account here, Phil. You should be aware of that.'

  I indicated my desire for another pint. Bill's good like that. You don't have to shout up, or tap your knuckles on the bar, or wave frantically at him. You just get to the last third of your drink and then you give it a sort of wistful look and, hey presto, there's a full pint beside it.

  'Is it your intention to get intoxicated?' Neville may be very intelligent but he can ask stupid questions sometimes.

  'No, I'm just getting mellow.'

/>   'No, I think you believe that getting drunk will delay your departure.'

  'No, getting drunk will delay me making the decision to go; delaying the actual departure itself will be a whole new kettle of fish, or barrel of beer, I should say.'

  'Don't worry, when you are ready to leave, I'll instruct you nanos to sober you up.'

  'They can do that?'

  'Yes.'

  'OK.' I downed my pint in one and shook my head at Bill to be sure that he didn't mistake my decisive look for my wistful one. 'I'm ready,' I said. 'I'll get my bike and we'll be off just as soon as I've been to the gents.

  'You won't need your bike.'

  'What,' I said. 'No,' I said. 'I'm not squirting to the Squirtport, and I can't afford a taxi; not now I'm financially embarrassed.'

  'You're not going to the Squirtport.'

  'Why…have you changed you mind? Let's have another pint to… you know…celebrate.'

  'Phil, pay attention.' I hate it when he gets all teacher-like with me. 'We are not going to the Squirtport because we have no need for its services. You are now squirt-capable and you can leave as soon as you have relieved yourself.'

  'What? What the…? You can't do that to me!' I was pretty annoyed, I have to admit. I'm the person who abhors squirting, who avoids it like the plague, and now I was squirt-capable. I felt betrayed.

  And I felt sober; those nanos certainly knew their business. So I went to the gents and did mine.

  As I was washing my hands I realized that I'd given in and the decision was made and that any minute now I'd be on a strange alien world.

  ‘Don't let them hurt me,’ I said as I looked at the skinny frightened guy in the mirror.

  'Trust me,' said Neville, and the guy in the mirror was no longer there. Not just the reflection, I should say; I didn't just turn into a vampire all of a sudden; no, I was gone as well.

  Chapter 13 - Then this can’t be real…can it?

  We landed on a flat black plain, surrounded by clouds, and it was cold.

  ‘I should have brought my mac, and my hat,’ I said.

  ‘We won’t be here very long, so you won’t need them. You’ll soon work up a sweat.’

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Well, which is it to be?’ continued Neville; sounding as jolly as could be. ‘Down or up, which way is it to be?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, as I didn’t know what he meant.

  ‘We can either go up to the next level, or down…do I really need to spell it out?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, spelling it out is exactly what I want you to do,’ I said, getting a little het up about not knowing what was going on, yet again.

  'Don't get yourself stressed, Phil.'

  ‘Who say's I'm stressed,’ I snapped back. ‘I'm not stressed.’ I was quite stressed to be honest.

  'This is merely a test to see how we get on as a team on an alien planet. There will be no real danger involved.'

  ‘Define 'real',’ I replied just to be sure we had the same interpretation, such as harmless, pretend, make believe, wouldn't even damage a butterfly's wing; that sort of thing.

  'You're just going for a little climb.'

  Now that didn't sound even close to any of my definitions.

  I sat down on the cold damp floor.

  ‘I'm not moving until you explain in plain, easy to understand words, exactly what we are doing here.’

  There, that told him. I can be quite stubborn when I want to be.

  Neville made no response, so I just sat there on the really quite cold ground, and it was hard, and damp; I could feel it seeping through my clothes. But I wasn't going to let a little physical discomfort stop me; no way.

  Then I started thinking that he doesn't normally go quiet on me and that maybe he's not waiting me out. Maybe he's spotted something really horrible and dangerous coming towards me and he doesn't quite know how to tell me.

  If he tells me a joke, I'm off.

  At last I couldn't take it anymore, so I stood up and said, ‘Alright, what’s next?

  'Up or down?' was the immediate response.

  ‘OK - how high are we talking? Is it like a 10-metre wall, or is it Everest?’

  'It is much closer to the first than it is to the latter.'

  ‘Can we have some figures?’ He's normally much more forthcoming with figures.

  'It will vary between two and three hundred metres.'

  ‘That sounds like Everest to me,’ I said. ‘If I fall, I'll be just as dead.’

  'You can't fall; I'll squirt us to safety if anything goes wrong.'

  ‘You can do that?’ I asked, just to be sure. ‘You can squirt that quickly?’

  'Probably.'

  I didn't feel very secure.

  I walked for about five minutes and came to the edge of the plain. I felt dizzy and stepped back a couple of paces. I was still too close, so I tried another couple.

  ‘That's a long way down,’ I said.

  Neville agreed with me.

  I turned around and walked away from the edge towards the other side of the plain. I walked for fifteen minutes or so and came up against my next obstacle; a vertical black wall that seemed to stretch upwards into the sky; all but its base obscured by clouds.

  ‘I can't climb that,’ I said, because, obviously, I couldn't. It was vertical and smooth, and really, really dangerous.

  'It won't be a problem for you, Phil. You will be able to climb the wall like a spider.'

  ‘I haven't got any climbing gear,’ I said, not knowing what I'd do with it if I had.

  'You don't need climbing gear; you have sticky fingers.'

  ‘What?’ I must admit that threw me. If I'd tried to anticipate what Neville would say to me, sticky fingers would be low down on my list, just behind apricot sundaes.

  Then I tapped the index finger of my left against its opposing thumb and, you know, they were sort of tacky. I tried my other hand, with the same result.

  So, I had sticky fingers, I thought, probably my nanos, I thought.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘They're a bit sticky, but not enough to carry my weight, or stop me falling from a dangerous height.’

  'Their tackiness ratio is entirely situation dependent.'

  ‘And that means?’ I said, because, when you’re hanging from your fingertips at a great height, it’s nice to be sure.

  'They have a low level of tackiness now because that is all that is required. When you are hanging by your fingertips 120 metres from the ground, you'll find the level of tackiness has increased to fit the requirements of your situation.'

  ‘So, what? I just trust myself to the little nanos?’

  'I think you'll find that that is an oxymoron; little is implicit in nano.'

  ‘I'll just write that down, shall I? In case it ever becomes a useful and pertinent thing to say.’

  'There's no need to get tetchy. Just climb to the next level and then we can leave.'

  ‘It's as simple as that?’ I can sometimes be a little naïve.

  'Almost. Would you like a game of hangman before you leave?'

  ‘What?’

  'Just to relax you and build up you self-esteem with an easy victory over a much more intelligent adversary.'

  ‘So, you'd let me win?’

  'I can't see you winning any other way; can you even spell Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch? (This is a real place in Wales that only the locals can pronounce; but please give it a try. NF) I would be sure to be subtle about it.'

  I walked towards the wall and placed both hands against its glass smooth surface, my fingers splayed. I pulled down and my fingers didn't budge. I put all my weight on my hands, collapsing my legs beneath me in a most elegant manner. I was hanging there for a moment or so when Neville prompted me.

  'Go on, my son,' he said; putting me off a little. 'Your arms have been strengthened so you should be able to pull yourself all the way to the top.'

  Despite a little
fellow called Common Sense shouting at me to stop through a megaphone, and a tall lady called Self Preservation giving me a disapproving frown, I began to climb.

  I pushed my left hand a few centimetres up the wall; there was no resistance at all, until I pressed it against the wall and pulled it downwards, then it held firm. I repeated the maneuver with my other hand, and then again, and again.

  I paused to evaluate my position. I was 20 metres above the ground, clinging to a smooth vertical wall, and I was quite relaxed.

  I know, it's hard to believe, but I was.

  I began to climb then in earnest, hand over hand, easy as pie. I wondered how big my biceps must be now, to be so strong. Would I be able to start wearing sleeveless T-shirts? Or even take my top off on the beach without fear of a face full of sand?

  I climbed for, I don't know, ten minutes maybe, and I could see the top; a black line visible through the mist.

  Another couple of pull ups and I'd be there.

  Then something moved in the mist and I wasn't feeling quite so relaxed at all.

  Chapter 14 - Then… a way out?

  Julie was sitting at Phil’s desk with both computers up and running, displaying different views of Chandler Investigation's financials.

  On her left was a spreadsheet; it didn’t look good. To her right was a pie chart; it looked even worse.

  Unless the business received a big cash injection; a fast, big cash injection, then they’d have to close the door and declare bankruptcy within a matter of days.

  She’d even tried her parents; that’s how desperate she was. Her mother had merely lifted the corner of her top lip, as if to indicate that it had always only been a matter time. Her father had enthused about the new book he was about to unleash on an unsuspecting public. It was bound to go viral and then he’d be able to help her out. ‘Just a couple of weeks, and then the monster that is The Pope and the President will be out there and people will finally discover the truth, hidden for a century, behind the death of JFK.’