In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) (16 page)

Chapter 36
- Then the body & now we're all in this together, aren't we?

Strange told me the details and timeline of the plan, and insisted that I follow instructions to the letter. The threats were implicit in every word he spoke.

He left me alone then; he didn’t explain where he was going, but I assumed he was arranging for back up, or maybe a big gun. I had an hour to kill, so I went back to the bar. The thing about lifeless, soulless, plastic bars is that no-one talks to you; I like that in my drinking establishments.

I drank three pints, and felt a little better. If I’d had time, I’d have had more to drink, and would have felt proportionately better. But I was on a schedule, and if I didn’t do what I was supposed to do, at the right time... well you know the rest.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I gathered together all the courage I could muster and squirted to the hotel where Masters was apparently staying. I gasped as I stepped out into the clear, oven-hot air. It was only fifty metres to the double glass doors of the hotel, but I was drenched before I was half way there. Then I shivered as the hotel’s AC chilled the sweat on my skin. I checked my wrist-top; I had ten minutes before I was supposed to meet Masters, in his room. Not enough time for another pint, though maybe a shot would take the edge off my tension.

Suitably fortified, I made my decision. I wasn’t going to be a pawn in the hands of Strange and Mrs. Masters any longer. I was my own man and I was certain that my association with them would end badly. My only alternative was to throw myself at the mercy of Masters; he was a powerful man. If I could prove my worth to him, he could protect me and my family from them and from Dart. I just needed to tell him the truth.

It seemed like a decisive plan, and that had me worried.

Indecision is more my style, but look where that had got me.

I went to the desk to check the location of Masters’ room. When it appeared that the young person managing the station was either reluctant or unable to give me the requested directions, I checked the map on the wall and guided myself along the corridor to his room.

I knocked and waited, as you do. Then I knocked again, and waited a bit more. When I placed my hand on the door, it swung open all on its own, with a definite creak. Now, I’ve seen this in a hundred films, and it never ends well.

I stood there for a long moment, trying to work up the courage to walk on into the room, and not run for my life. In the end I just took a small step forward, then another, and I was inside; quietly I shut the door behind me.

I found myself in a short corridor, leading past a small bathroom and wardrobe into the main bedroom. In the centre of the room was a large comfy-looking bed, and in the centre of the large comfy-looking bed was a large, not at all comfy man. He was dead. I could tell he was dead even before I approached the body. Something about the big hole in his chest and the smell of burnt flesh; I’m quick like that. I reached over and held his wrist; it was still warm, despite the ferocious AC, but there was no pulse. It was Masters and it seemed strange to see him for the first time in the flesh, so to speak. I walked closer to his head and saw the vials sticking out of each nostril. An odd touch, I thought.

Just about then, panic set it. Maybe it was guilt about my intention to betray them, or perhaps it was the fear that had been bubbling below my conscious level ever since I first met Strange. Whatever it was, I was absolutely convinced that I would be blamed for the state Masters was now in. No matter what excuse I might come up with, there was no doubt in my mind that Strange would rip my head off and use it as an ash tray.

Or the police were already on their way.

Which is pretty much where you came in.

Now, can I just say this? You know I’ve been OK so far, because this has all been past tense, and I’m telling you the story, so I must still be here.

That all changes from this moment on; now, we’re in uncharted waters, so to speak, and anything could happen, and I might do something silly and die on you, so, if you see me about to do something silly, just shout out, or call me, or email me, or anything that will stop me from hurting my beautiful and quite delicate body.

I feel so much better knowing you have my back.

Chapter 37
- Now it’s looking at me

So, here I am now, after escaping from Masters' hotel room, with its added dead body feature, and I'm working on outwaiting Strange.

There’s still so sign of him, or the police, and it’s been nearly three hours now. Both suns are high in the sky and there is an annoying noise coming from my coat that sounds very much like an alarm. I’m not going to look at the control panel in my inside breast pocket because I don’t want to know that the temperature is exceeding its safety parameters, and that, at any minute, the coat might fail.

I am a little worried that my heavy duty boots are starting to get a little tacky. That probably means they are melting, which can’t be good in the long term.

If he doesn’t leave soon, I’m going to have to take a chance, and make a run for it and hope I get to the squirtbooth before he sees me. With my sticky foot-ware, that may be a forlorn hope.

A couple of minutes ago, I looked away from the hotel for a moment, because the heat shimmer was making my eyes go funny. I wish I hadn’t; if I’d kept my eyes focussed where they should have been, I wouldn’t have seen it. At first I thought my eyes were still being affected by the haze, but no; it was a Sand Mirage. It doesn’t look much; just a swirl of sand rising a metre or so into the air and spinning around itself. Something to do with the heat, the sand, and local atmospheric electrical conditions creates a sort of mini hurricane, which is not only classed as a living creature, it may also be sentient, though no decision on that is likely any time soon as it would impact on our ability to exploit this wonderful place.

Twenty-one planets have so far been settled by Mankind, and no intelligent life has been found on any of them. Not until someone stumbled across one of these things. It’s quite an uplifting story, really. He was lost in the desert; without a hat or a mac, he had nothing but a drawn out, unpleasant death to look forward to. Then a Sand Mirage led him across the sand to a nearby human settlement.

That’s how I heard the story, the first time. The second time, I got the rest of it. How, a week later, when the monthly supply plane landed at that very same settlement, they found that everyone was dead; cause unknown.

Whatever this Sand Mirage wants, it’s not going to lead me to safety; no way.

**********

I knew I could outwait him. Strange may be big and grim, and as ugly as they come, but he hasn’t got the patience of a born hunter like me. And the police, what happened to them? Have I got it all wrong; yet again?

The Sand Mirage has gone, and I’m sucking on my last mint, watching his tall, arrogant figure glide out of the doors of the hotel, holding a small brown bag in one hand, and he is continuing on to the squirtbooth, almost bumping into two much smaller men in garishly bright clothes that are more suitable for this heat than his dark suit.

It isn’t their sartorial tastelessness that concerns me, however; I recognise them, and that isn’t a good thing. They are associates of Masters; the sort he might use for extreme situations.

Is this an extreme situation? Well, given the heat and the danger, and the fear, this probably exceeds the minimum requirements for such a definition.

With Strange, there is always an outside chance that I could talk my way out of this. With these guys, that is never going to be an option. They would shoot first and think later; maybe not think at all; it’s not really part of their skillset.

Strange pauses at the entrance to the squirtbooth, and seems to nod at the person who strides past him; then he’s gone, and, despite everything, the world feels a little better.

The newcomer is the police, and I feel a small glimmer of satisfaction that I've got at least that bit right. She is dressed in tight shorts and a brief t-shirt that gives up on its efforts to cover her voluptuous body somewhere above her navel. I know she is the force of Law and Order because that is what it says on the sash stretched diagonally across her body. I really, really want to give myself up and ask her to do whatever she wants with me, but even I can see how stupid that would be, so I don't. I just stand here in the baking heat and watch her float out of my life.

I shake my head to see if that will help me focus on the job in hand.

Right; so this is the plan. In a minute, I’m going to race after Strange and overcome my fear of squirtbooths, and squirt to the Squirtport, and get off this Godforsaken planet before someone blames me for something I haven’t done and decides to cause unnecessary harm to my beautiful body.

Of course I’m going to wait until he’s gone before I enter the booth. That is a conversation I can wait to have.

When I think enough time has passed, I walk as quickly as possible across the hot sand and on to the concrete path that links the device to the hotel, I know that my melting boots are leaving evidence of my footprints behind me, but I'm not going to look.

Right, I’m here now, and I’m steeling myself to go back in to this blasted machine, but what choice do I have; I could really do with another drink, because all this panicking sort of sobers you up.

Chapter 38
- Now feeling dirty to be a man

It’s not working. The blasted squirtbooth isn’t working, and I’m stuck here, and it’s getting hotter.

Strange must have disabled it before he squirted and there is now no way for me to get to the closest Squirtport. It’s two thousand kilometres away from here and I have no idea how to get hold of local ground transport; do they even have cars here? I could go back into the hotel, but I might meet the two badly dressed men, or the superbly dressed woman. As I said, I know the men; they are imported scum hired by Masters’ gang, and such a meeting is unlikely to go well for me. And, much as I'd like to get up close and personal with the police officer, I know that I'd feel a fool in the morning.

Out of nowhere, I suddenly have an idea, and leap into action before common sense can raise its head. It's a practice I've adopted all my life and, once or twice, it has even worked out for the best. My mother has her own opinion on the subject, but we won't go into that.

I sneak back into the hotel and have a quick word with the tiny man behind the reception counter. I slip him a couple of credits just to loosen his tongue. He looks as if he is about to talk until I ask him for a receipt (I do have to claim these expenses back).

Eventually he tells me that the two guys were looking for Masters and that he sent them up to his room. When they came back down after a short time, they asked about me. That was a bit of a shock, I must say.

How did they know of my involvement?

'Where are they now?' I ask; slightly embarrassed about the lack of firmness in my voice.

'In the bar.'

'And the police lady?'

He leered at me then in a way that made me feel dirty to be a man.

'Oh yeah,' he sighed, going all dreamy eyed on me.

'Where is she now?' I prompted.

'She's knocking on doors. I didn't tell her where he was; I pretended to be stupid.'

I could see that such a pretence wouldn't have been much of a challenge for him.

'Where is she now?' I tried again.

'Any minute now, she's going to be knocking on his door.'

I'm trying to think what I should do. I don't want to hang around here, and I don't want to go back outside. With the gift of another stack of credits (no receipt) the receptionist agrees to rent me one of the rooms that the policewoman has already checked, and allows a smile to crack his wizened face.

I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait here, knowing that the police and the men who somehow know my name are also stuck here until the squirtbooth is fixed. With a room, I can be safe and comfy at the same time; and there's always the mini bar. Surely I'll be able to get a receipt for that. Knowing me, I'll probably work on the assumption that I will.

**********

The mini-bar is almost empty, and I’ve got a bit of a buzz on, I have to admit. I started with a beer, then a couple of whiskeys; then a few vodkas, followed by the latest stim. I don’t care about the inflated prices; I’m on expenses after all. And I deserve this little bit of relaxation. I can hardly go out for a walk, and the TV is as bad as you’d expect. If I wanted to see over indulged, over inflated, over tanned, over medicated losers, I’d visit my extended family more often.

The room’s beginning to spin a little, so I’d better sit down. First, I might just try this little green bottle; it looks interesting.

Wow! Wow! Wow! That might just have been a mistake. I can’t feel my fingertips and the air is sort of chewy. It’s getting claustrophobic in here; I need to take a walk. Can’t do any harm, can it? I’ll just pop down to the bar for a refreshing beer and maybe stretch my legs. There’s a nagging voice at the back of my mind, saying that I should stay here, in this room; but it’s not very loud.

That was bloody close! I almost opened the door and put my poor body in danger of all sorts of abuse. Fortunately, there was just a glimmer of common sense left in my sozzled brain and I took a straightener first. The de-intoxicant worked almost immediately, and now I’m safely tucked up in bed, with only the mildest of headaches.

I’ve found a way to access the hotel’s CCTV system on my wrist-top and I’m now watching one of the thugs as he squats in a chair in the reception area. There’s no expression on his broad face, though he seems alert, and he has a clear view of the bar/restaurant entrance.

The other guy is at the reception desk. He’s leaning over the front of the desk; he seems to have a bunch of credits in one hand. In the other, he seems to have a bunch of the receptionist.

It’s not looking good.

If I had a plan B, now would be a nice time for it to show its handsome face.

I scan for the police officer, and find her bent over, ejecting her breakfast into the corner of the corridor. So she's found the body then. I linger for a second on her tight shorts, and then I force myself to concentrate.

The CCTV covers the external areas so I can clearly see the elderly woman standing outside the squirtbooth and shaking her head. So it appears that whatever Strange did to the squirtbooth hasn’t yet been fixed and it looks like it’s back to plan A for me, and I’d better make it quick. The receptionist is going to tell them where I am any time now; you should never trust anyone who takes a bribe from you; it just shows their lack of character.

I put on my mac and hat. I take out the hammer and the metal peg and look at the window. I feels as though I’m in a repetitive loop here.

How do I get off?

(
NB The astute reader will have noticed a certain jerkiness to this section. The actual upload from Phil was filled with incoherent ramblings and maudlin musings that didn’t add anything to the narrative. I could have smoothed it out a little and given the impression that he was more in control of himself and his situation than he actually was; but why should I? Do you have any idea how little I get paid for this? And I do have my own book; if I could get anyone to even look at it. N.F.)