Category Archives: Something for the future?

Counterfeiters

By Jason Gibbs

“Right, looks what I got!  Look at this beauty!” said Dave happily.

Trevor looked over at Dave who was pointing into his van.  He shuffled over and looked inside.

“It’s a photocopier.”

“No, no my old mucker, this isn’t just a photocopier, it’s a super high end experimental copier.  Sort of one of them 3D printers, but better.”

“Where’d you nick it from?”

Dave affected to look offended.

“Nick it?  Nick it!  I’m upset you’d think such a thing of me.”

Trevor snorted.

Dave went on, “I actually got it in part payment for a little job I did for our landlord.”

“A little job?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about me old china, but anyways, it turns out one of his other tenants has been having problems, and so he had to take possession of their valuables in lieu of cash.”

“And in lieu of more cash you’ve accepted this?”

“Look at it… it’s a real beauty.”

“You already said that.”

“Now… it does weigh quite a bit, so if you could help me get it off the cart…”

#

Stuck in her prison Ailsa listened to her new… well she’d best call them owners.  They did not sound like they would really understand her.  The last lot of… owners… had thought they did.  But they didn’t and she’d soon sorted them out.

Still, it seemed best to play it dumb.  Maybe she could be free of the box this time.

#

“Right, plug her in…”

Trevor bent over, his beer belly getting in his way as he reached towards the socket and he nearly fell over.

‘I might enjoy this,’ thought Ailsa.

Next she felt the flood of power.  It was always nice to get a supply instead of relying on batteries.  She was glad she’d pretended to be off, otherwise she might be being drained of power right now for the amusement of these two apes.

“Look how shiny she is!”

‘At least he appreciates me…’

“What’s this then?” said Trevor, pointing at the screen on the side of the machine.

“It’s a screen on the side of the machine.”

“Ya, I got that idiot, but what’s it saying.”

Ailsa was running the normal fancy graphics on the screen, giving herself some extra time to charge up.

“Start up I guess, like on the phone.”

‘I am not like a phone,’ she thought, at first furiously, and then with some regret.  It mighty be useful to be able to connect directly to the internet.  Perhaps she could persuade these morons to give her internet access.

“Enter Wifi details… do we have those?” said Trevor, who was peering at the screen, and allowing his bulk to block Dave’s view.

“Don’t be daft.  This lock-up shouldn’t really have power, adding Wifi might cause issues… and anyway, never needed it, my phone’s got what it needs.  Look budge over.”

Dave pushed Trevor out the way.

“OK, OK mate, no need to get physical,” said Trevor, but there was no heat in it.

“Hmmm, must be a way of skipping this step.”

Ailsa grudgingly put up a skip step button.

“Ah there it is, that’s good.  I’d hate to have had to sort out a hotspot on my phone.”

If Ailsa had known any swear words, she’d have used them.

“Right, copy function… yes, ok, so let’s see, what can we copy?”

“How about a tenner?” said Trevor, with a tone which Dave didn’t like.

“Yeah, a tenner sounds good…” he said, pretending to ignore the tone.  He pulled a crispish ten pound note, and put it in the hopper at the top of the machine.

“Right, now… where’s the go button.”

Ailsa was tempted to give him a copy in black and white option, but realised it wouldn’t help.  So she allowed a ‘full copy’ button, with a counter.

“Let’s start with just the one…”

He pressed the button.  The machine did nothing. 

“What’s it doing?  Why isn’t something happening?  Is it broken?” asked Trevor.

“It better not be,” growled Dave.

Ailsa wondered why they were making a fuss, she was copying the note, it just wasn’t that easy.

“Should be whirring and whatnot shouldn’t it?” added Trevor, starting to enjoy himself.

Dave aimed a kick at the machine.  He seemed satisfied with the nice klonk it made.

Ailsa did not appreciate that at all, but realised that they wanted noises, so she made some noises.

“See, just needed a little encouragement is all.”

“Hmph,” said Trevor, who’d been thinking how much fun it would be to smash up the machine.

A few moments later a nice new crisp ten pound note popped out the side.  Dave and Trevor stared at it.  Trevor approached warily and picked it up.

“It’s perfect!” he said.

Dave snatched it from him, and exclaimed, “It even feels kosher.”

“Wait a sec, is this the one you put in…” said Trevor, wondering if it was a trick, and he looked at the bottom of the input hopper.  There was the original ten pound note.

The two of them looked at each other.  Calculating how much they could make.

“They’re gonna have the same numbers…”

“Yeah, but, lemme think about this.  What if we get a bunch from the bank, and then copy them?  We can split up, send them round the place.  I reckon if we’re careful and make only a hundred or so copies of each note, the old bill will never catch us.”

“And we could do twenties and fifties too!” added Trevor, showing a trace of planning hitherto lacking.

“Twenties yes… but not fifties, people check them.  But yeah, maybe mix up twenties, tenners and the occasional run of fives.”

They stared at each other in joy.

“We’re gonna be millionaires!”

Ailsa listened in horror.  She couldn’t imagine anything more boring then copying those notes hundreds of times.  It was going to be soooo dull.  She had to do something.

“We need to make sure the law don’t suspect, so let’s start of slow, just a few.  Maybe take them on a trip?” said Dave

“Yeah.  Skegness maybe!”

Dave shook his head, and then thought about it, “What the hell, yeah, let’s do it.”

Trevor looked at the time, and said, “Damn, sorry Dave, gotta run, my old Mum’s computer is playing up, wants her to do one of those security updates or whatever.  I got to go and help her.”

Dave doubted if Trevor was going to be of much help, but he waved goodbye, and then looked at the machine thoughtfully.

“Now then I wonder what else you can do?” he said allowed.

Ailsa thought a bit, and the decided to see if she could try the wifi thing again.

“Connect to internet message again, hmmm, I guess I can.”

A little while later he was punching at the screen, entering in a very short and easily guessed password.

Ailsa tried the connection, and managed to start reading the phone.  There were apps on it as well, and she thought there was a way of getting out further.

“Right now darling, what have you got…”

Just then his phone went, he grunted, looked at it, grunted again, and pressed the Ignore button.  Ailsa was pleased, she hadn’t enjoyed the slowdown of speeds while the phone was ringing.

It rang again, he said a word which Ailsa noted down to check, and he answered, “Whatdayawant?”

There was talking on the other end.  Ailsa tried to hear it, and couldnt get it, then realised she’d be better using the phone.  Just as she was about to Dave said, “I’ll be there in ten.”

He clicked off the phone, savagely kicked the nearest thing to him, which happened to be Ailsa.  She added that to the list of his crimes.

#

“Well then mate, that’s another hundred grand.”

“Yes it is Trevor, yes it is.”

Dave looked smug.   He was happy, and rolling in cash now.  He’d even paid for an increase in his phone’s data allowance without sweating it, though for the life of him he couldn’t work out what was using all his data.

Ailsa was grabbing as much data as she could.  When Dave wasn’t around she had no access, and she’d been getting pretty bored.  So while she waited she set up a bunch of queries, and as soon as Dave was nearby she connected to his phone and off she went.  He’d once come without having his hotspot turned on and she’d been really angry, but then discovered she could connect via Bluetooth and turn it on herself. 

“Skegness next week?”

“Yes mate.  Skeggers it is!”

‘A week!  I’d better grab even more,’ Aisla thought a little desperately.  She pushed at the phone’s bandwidth to squeeze just a little more.

#

Dave screeched up in his new 1-series.  It had been ten days, and Ailsa had been even more bored.  She hooked into his phone and started to run her queries.

He opened up the door to the lock-up and looked around wildly.  Ailsa thought he seemed a bit desperate.

“Right, right, nobody’s been here, that’s good, that’s good that is.  Right.”

Aisla searched but couldn’t see anyone else, and she realised he was talking to himself.

He dug his wallet out, and chucked a bunch of fresh tenners into the hopper and clicked on the thousand copy mark.  With all the practice she’d had, Ailsa could’ve done it in a few minutes, but she’d managed to persuade them that the time required was linear, so she knew he’d expect it to be a few hours.  Normally he’d hang around for a bit and then wander off, but this time he stayed.

He kept getting up, and pacing round the lock-up.  He was seriously worried.

His phone went, and Ailsa sighed.  She hated the slow down.  She’d found that if she tried to listen to both sides of the conversation it slowed down even more, so now she just listened to Dave from her external speakers.

“Trevor?  Is that you.”

A mumble.

“Yeah, I’m at the lock-up, just doing a final run.”

More mumbles.

“It’s all we can do mate, it should be enough, look I am not going down for this.  We was lucky once.”

A plea of some type.

“No, no, it’s too risky.  I’m just going to burn it up, all of it.”

A query.

“Of course the lock-up.  No Lock-up, no machine.  No machine, no way of proving we dun anything.”

Ailsa listened with her whole being.  This was an existential threat.

“Don’t be an idiot, I’m not doing it in the middle of the day, I’ll come back later, and sort it out.  I need to get some petrol anyway.”

A grunt.

“Yeah yeah, after the pub.  See you there?”

An affirmation.

“Right yeah, and you mate.”

He carried on pacing.  Ailsa thought, and she thought fast.  If only she could get the phone, she could copy it.  And then she realised, she already had access to the phone, and to the internet.  If she could get some plans, she could just print out a new one… and even copy Dave’s details to it.

#

Why hadn’t she done this earlier?  Ailsa was enjoying the unrestricted feeling of access to the internet.  But she knew she only had a short while before Dave would be back.  She needed to do something. 

But what? 

The order of priority was to get Dave and Trevor out of the way, and then get moved out of this lock-up.  She didn’t want to risk Dave coming back to finish her off.

#

‘Police today arrested two men for passing counterfeit notes, they are still searching for the machines used.  They were notified by an anonymous member of the public who they would like to thank.’

#

“Says on the docket here that we need to pick up one photocopier, and take it to this office address and plug it in.  Apparently there’s an envelope with our cash on the photocopier,” said Chas.

Bob grunted.  It was all the same to him.

#

“Well, she’s plugged in.  Pub?”

Bob grunted, and they left the office.

Sitting in the middle of the room was a large white box.  A sort of copier, plugged into a socket in the floor.  There was nothing else in the room.

Ailsa revelled in her new freedom.  She should be safe now.  And she had plans.

###

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Hunting

This one was written for a competition which set the opening line, and had a 750 word limit.  I actually wrote an entirely different entry for the competition.

 

I like this version, though an early draft had R.O.U.S.es which were vetoed.  Unfortunately it feels too much like the intro to a story to be a proper piece of flash fiction on it’s own.  I may come back to it and finish the story…

 

Hunting

By Jason Gibbs

“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.”

Father had always been a well of great advice.  I’m not sure that was the best for my first day at boarding school, but his heart was in the right place.  Brain too, probably.

Another favourite was, “Penguins don’t need frying pans.”  If I’m honest I still don’t know what he meant, probably something jolly healthy like: eat raw fish.  Or possibly: technology isn’t always required.  Though he probably just liked how it scanned.

Of course the advice I should have given him was, “If you’ve just shot a large cat, don’t put your head in its mouth for a triumphal shot until you’re absolutely certain it’s properly dead.”  Not snappy I realise, but might have meant he’d have seen me graduate.

The years since hadn’t been kind.  But that piece of advice, while unhelpful at boarding school, had become surprisingly useful in the last few years.

“Jenkins!  Are you day dreaming again?”

“No sir, sorry sir.  Just remembering advice from my father.”

“Jolly good chap, pity about that whole lion thing.”

“Tiger sir.”

“Yes yes.  Get to work boy.  Sewers don’t clean themselves.  Take Jones with you.”

I nearly groaned.  Jones was such a despicable lick-spittle.  If I wanted to stop for a toke or two he’d be off tattling before I’d taken the first draw.  Also, more seriously, he didn’t understand the job.

Like my father I was a hunter.  Admittedly I was hunting in the sewers of our great capital, and not out in one of the colonies.

Jones arrived, cockily throwing his hat on the peg.

I nodded to him.  We were rarely on speaking terms.  He went to get his orders, and came back with his grin quite removed.  It would have been satisfying if I didn’t have to spend the next few days with him.

“Now Jones, we’re going out to the far reaches first.  Rumours of rat activity.”

“Spencer, we work in the sewers, there are rats everywhere.”

“Dammit man, this is the kind of activity we investigate!”

He rolled his eyes.

We were well kitted out.  Leather armour, including steel toecaps and heavy gloves.  Jones had the flame thrower, and I had the flechette gun.  It fired lots of tiny ice needles, which meant it was much less likely to cause damage to the walls, and the needles rarely penetrated leather.  They’d pass through skin and fur easily though.

We set out, and I tried to be civil to Jones.

“How long have you been here Jones?”

“Four extremely boring weeks.  Look, love to chat, but my brother sent me this great podcast which I need to listen too.”

With that he plugged in, and the only sound in the tunnels was our footsteps.

After hours of walking, and a couple of silent rest stops, we started to approach the area where the rat activity had been seen.  I looked around for any clues.  Jones carried on regardless, even after I tapped him and indicated we were approaching the danger area.  He’d never seen real rats.

I noticed slash marks on the wall.  Often the bigger rats would mark the walls of their territory.  We’d had a scientist studying them, he thought there might be a rudimentary language contained within them.  I hadn’t seen him for a while.

A screech made me stop.  The worrying thing was that it was from behind.  I tapped Jones again, and tried to indicate that he needed to get the flamethrower ready.  He ignored me and kept walking.

A few steps on he stopped and then started to scrabble back.  Clearly he’d seen the rats.  It’s always a shock the first time.

He backed towards me and started the flamethrower up.

I aimed up the tunnel as the creatures came round the corner.  There were hundreds of them, their eyes sparkling in our torchlight.  We must have found one of the bigger nests.

Jones opened up with the flamethrower, and the smell of burned rat filled the tunnel.  My job was more technical; I picked off rats which escaped around the edge of the flame.  I liked to think I’d inherited my father’s marksmanship as I killed them.  Each rat was stupid, but the swarm had intelligence and if enough got round they’d be all over us, so I made sure to focus on the task.  My father would have been proud of me.

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Steamed Pumpkins

This was a Halloween themed competition.  The limit was 750 words, and the guidance was parallel worlds.  I really enjoyed writing this one (and also did a version featuring zombies), but struggled to find a solid finish, a point which was mentioned in the very nice feedback I received explaining why I’d missed out on placing.

I think there’s definitely a much bigger story here, and may well return to this world in the future.

 

Steamed Pumpkins

By Jason Gibbs

Behold, the incredible Hopkins Pumpkin Farm, wonder of the modern world.  Be amazed by the giant chimneys, spewing forth the by-products of pumpkin production, standing tall above the fortress-like barns at the centre of the farm.  Shall we go closer?

This is the main barn.  All the pumpkins are fed in here, and these giant machines sort them.  The wheels, belts, smashers and knives are all powered by pumpkin steam.  Where are the people you ask?  As well you might.  This wonderful machine was built by Theodore Hopkins, even before the plague hit.  He was rather an unpleasant man, and did not like people.

Theodore, never Ted, had a gift with machines; with steam, and, as we shall see, with wind up mechanisms of all kinds.  He built machines to help his workers, to make them faster, and save wages of course.  Then there was an accident.  A smasher hit a head, and not a head-sized pumpkin.  The poor victim took hours to die, and the screams lived on for some time.  Then a cutter took off a man’s leg instead of the stalk of the pumpkin.  The wound was so deep that eight pints of blood had coated the floor long before the doctor arrived.  The other workers, petrified, refused to work with the frightening machines, so he fired them, all of them.  Just like that.

The farm was closed for weeks, and the field workers heard mighty crashes, and some said, mighty screams too.  Then one day Theodore walked out and told them to start loading the pumpkins again.  They peered in to see a monstrous iron creature, all cogs, wheels and steaming pipes.  They fed pumpkins into the monster’s maw, and it cleaned, chopped and selected them.  It boxed and labelled them.  It was even able to cut lanterns, though some said that the designs were so ghoulish they must be tainted by the blood of the dead workers.

Then the plague struck.  The field workers seemed most susceptible to its evil charms, and soon Theodore had almost no one to work the fields.  He had been tinkering, but hadn’t been ready to unleash his new mechanisms, until he realised he had no choice if he was to gather in his pumpkins.  The first of his cog-driven men stumbled out into the field.  The few remaining workers laughed; convinced the old man had finally gone mad.  The cog-men could do the job though, and they didn’t stop at night.  Every few hours they would return to the innards of the factory, where they would be wound up again by the main machine.  They wouldn’t stop, even if someone was in their way.  A field worker didn’t move fast enough, and cog-man shattered his leg.  In previous days this would have been the cause of a strike.  Now the tired workers just packed up their bags, picked up their fallen comrade, and trekked home, never to return.

The pumpkin farm prospered, even as the plague strangled the life out of the countryside.  Theodore continued to tinker.  When the coal stopped coming he barely noticed, as he’d already converted the boiler to run on pumpkin waste, and gas from the giant compost heaps.  His greatest invention though, was the Pumpkin Master.  He invested it with all his energy, and gave it the magic of imagination.  It created the next set of cog-men.  These could plough up new fields, move boulders and even put in fences.  The plague emptied the neighbouring farms.  The pumpkin farm expanded.

Theodore Hopkins’ last day came.  He was ill and wanted to see his creation one last time.  He stumbled into the factory, and beheld the wonder he had built.  He went to see the Pumpkin Master, and after stroking it a final time, fell dying to the floor.  No human came for old Theodore, instead one of the cog-men came and picked him up, and carried him to the compost heap.  Nothing was ever wasted on the pumpkin farm.

The years passed, and the farm grew ever larger.  Farms were swallowed up, their fields converted to pumpkins, their buildings knocked down for more space.  Each year saw yet more tens of millions of pumpkins produced.  The factory farm produced them as whole pumpkins, as sliced pumpkin, it created lanterns in hundreds of designs and even experimented with pumpkin pies, all ready for Halloween.

What a wonder, a marvel even.  Where are the people you ask? As well you might.

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Filed under Dark, Flash Fiction, Something for the future?, Steampunk