Illegal Aliens: The Science Fiction Collection Copyright Š 2017 Toby Bain All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, without permission from the author.
Dear Reader, Welcome to Illegal Aliens: The Science Fiction Collection. Thanks in advance for taking the time out of your day to read this offering. This is a collection of six science fiction short stories and probably the last for a while. Writing science fiction short stories takes a lot out of me. In the not too distant future the focus will be on novels. Why only six stories you may ask? Well, funny story. Well, not so funny actually. I had 14 stories slated for this collection but after a process of elimination and getting rather impatient, I decided to put the ones I thought were worthy of the collection. The other eight stories are on the back burner for a time to be determined. Please note, as an indie writer I have a very small team of proofreaders and editors. They are great, but there may well be the odd mistake. However, there does come a time when you just have to publish. The great thing about eBooks is that nothing is set in stone. Mistakes can be corrected, stories edited. Therefore, if you come across anything, let me know and I will make appropriate corrections. These may not happen overnight so please be patient. Did I mention we’re a small team? I especially welcome emails and endeavour to reply to all of them. Get in touch by emailing fans@tobybain.com. Visit my website for FREE stories, news and information about upcoming releases. Moreover, if you’re into opinionated fiction writers, read my blog. On the website, you can also sign up with my newsletter for exclusive stories, offers and information every few months. Let’s not forget the various social media platforms too. Twitter: @tobybainwriter Facebook: www.facebook.com/tobybainwriter Instagram: @TobyBain Snapchat: TobyBain Happy reading! T.B.
Robot Girl Stewart ‘Five Minutes’ Mordant was always too clever to be my friend. In programming class, when everyone else would stick to the script and produce a simple retro computer game for homework, such as pong, he’d come up with some complex multifaceted world which took
hours to complete. Whenever I asked why he bothered, or how long it took, he’d always reply with a shrug and a bored look. ‘Only took five minutes,’ he’d say. Then he’d tell me excitedly about his next project. That’s Stewie for you, always focused on the next project. Therefore, when he got excited, it sparked off something within me too. I noticed it the moment I arrived at the front door of his townhouse in Wandle Park in Croydon. He’d thrown open the door before I even had the chance to ring the bell. He was excited. Far too excited for a Friday evening. ‘How did your seminar go?’ he asked before hurrying me through the front door of his townhouse and into the kitchen, where I caught the comforting smell of lasagne. As he sat me down, babbling about me being blown away by his latest invention, my stomach took me to the oven. For a second I swore I could taste the layers of pasta and meat. He gave me a firm thump to the shoulder. ‘You’re not even listening are you, Harry?’ he moaned. He had every right to complain. I hadn’t returned his calls, had been in a bit of a funk with work and needed time to myself. Once free from the mire, I called him back and slowly resurrected our friendship to the point where he’d invited me over. He slapped me playfully again. ‘You never did have much focus, Harry. I’ve come up with the best thing since the wheel and you’re thinking about your stomach.’ He dragged me off the stool. ‘I’ll just have to show you it then,’ he said in a firm manner which left no room for argument. ‘Don’t forget the food, Stewie,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t want it to burn.’ Yeah, he could cook too. Did it quite well when he needed to free his mind of all things microchips and gigabytes. His work studio was far too orderly for someone with such a disorganised mind. Stewart Mordant had so many ideas I was surprised he didn’t have a glass jar with another brain to keep them in. His invention room was like the workspace of an electrical repair shop – all wires and electrical sockets and monitors. Had I been less attentive to my hunger, the plethora of books on AI, robotics and programming would have given a clue as to what was to follow. His workshop had a hint of nostalgia. I remembered some of the inventions, now lying in a disused corner of the workshop like old stock for sale at a bargain price. There was a metallic robot, standing in the corner as stiff as a mannequin. A replica of the Star Wars robot C3PO. I can testify that it worked a treat many years ago and we had a lot of fun making it say stupid things. Stewie didn’t get bored with it either, not until it started to mouth obscenities like a Tourette’s sufferer with verbal diarrhoea. When it blew a fuse, Stewie left it to gather rust. I always begged him to auction it online, let someone else pay for the privilege of having a foul-mouthed robot in their lives. He followed my gaze to the robot. ‘Come on, Harry. No time for nostalgia. Anyway, I’m getting rid of that pile of junk.’ He was standing by a door marked PRIVATE, tapping a code on the security panel. A manic look entered his eyes, a deranged stare which scared me. Maybe I’d watched too
many crime shows, but I found there is little to distinguish the single-minded stare of a serial killer and a genius. ‘I don’t let just anyone in here you know. Not even Mary gets to step over the threshold. I have to say that when the door opened into a bright but small space I was singularly unimpressed. A worktable was at its centre and in the corner was a mannequin of some sort. He slammed the door, shutting out the lasagne. Then he said in an unnecessary whisper, ‘Well, Harry? What do you think?’ I looked around the place and shrugged. ‘It’s a nice space, Stewie. Can we get back to the food now?’ ‘No, you idiot, not the room.’ He pointed to the mannequin in the corner. ‘Her. I’ve named her Xena – after the warrior princess.’ ‘Look,’ I said grinning at the dummy and then at my friend, ‘if you want to stuff a cat and call him Tom that’s perfectly your business. And what you get up to in here with Xena is also your business. But I’m not sure it’s something I should be privy to.’ ‘God, Harry, you’re a bigger idiot than you look.’ He slapped my shoulder playfully and we both laughed. The thought of a happily married man humping a mannequin was more than absurd. As I recovered, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, he was by Xena’s side, reaching a hand around her waist, the scene not dissimilar to one lover inviting another for a dance. Suddenly the dummy’s eyes flickered and I saw life in her brown orbs. Had she not been a dummy I would have sworn she was looking at me, sizing me up. ’Xena, meet Harry.’ My friend gave a flourish of the hand. Xena smiled and gave a small feminine wave. ‘Hi Harry. Pleased to meet you.’ With a wiggle of her hips, she strolled across towards me. I held out a hand and we shook. Her eyes, like two shining chestnuts, were amazingly clear and large. It was these I tried desperately to focus on; not the tanned skin, the firm breasts, the curve of her hips, or the airline strip of pubic hair. ‘Wow Stewie, she’s amazingly lifelike,’ I said. He put a hand on Xena’s shoulder, undeterred by her nakedness. ‘She’s better than that Harry. She’s the perfect woman.’ I tried to suppress a chuckle, obviously didn’t do it very well, for Stewie looked a little annoyed. ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘she would be the perfect woman if she wasn’t a robot. But she has all the attributes, and I don’t mean just physical.’ According to my friend, the perfect woman is independent, informed, politically unbiased and a great critical thinker. Xena was all the above. Oh, and she just happened to have flowing dark hair, a tan and a fit body. ‘Maybe you should add modesty to her programming,’ I said. The airline strip looked remarkably real. I must confess to wanting to touch it, just for educational purposes. ‘Give her a break,’ said Stewie. ‘Xena hasn’t learned about that yet. It’s something she’ll learn as she gets older. At the moment, she’s only a few weeks old. Although you have to admit there’s something sexy about a woman – even a robotic woman – who’s unafraid and unaware of the power of her body.
For 15 years my friend had been working on a lifelike robot. This was from the time we were doing exams at school. Therefore, I felt a touch betrayed he hadn’t told me earlier. We were like twins back then, always seen hanging around the school grounds in some secluded part, smoking and talking about girls. We even went to the same college, though we drifted apart when he met Mary. He went into one of his brisk monologues about Xena’s construction. Her AI was in the form of one of the newest synthetic brains from a tech company he used to work for as a freelancer. As a favour, they sent him a prototype of the brain at a discount. It still cost a fortune, a fact that led me to believe he hadn’t told Mary. Just like a human brain, Xena’s controlled all of her functions. The synthetic skin wasn’t his design, that was another purchase from an online tech company. It looked real. In fact, she looked real. He took credit for her exoskeleton, a metal alloy of his creation. Her hands had proved the hardest part to perfect. With 27 bones and a number of subtle and not so subtle movements, he’d spent months tinkering with them. The hair was synthetic too, though if you lived in south London you’d know a woman with real hair is a novelty in itself. He had more to tell me about her brain. ‘I was on the waiting list for the first set of artificial brains,’ he said. ‘They only sent out a hundred or so in the first batch. So you could say Xena’s unique. Just don’t ask her to boil an egg or make a lasagne. Her mind is up to the job, her hands not so much.’ ‘No different to most women I know then,’ I said with a laugh. Though she had her hands by her sides, I couldn’t help but reach out to them. Her hands felt as real as the ones I’d shaken earlier that day at the seminar – all five of them. I wanted to touch her body, not in a perverted creepy way but to ascertain if that felt real too. Then again, I guess that’s still kind of creepy. I didn’t, so we stood there, me with my inquisitive mind and her with the unwavering smile and bright brown eyes. My friend broke the spell between us. ‘Well? What do you think? Am I a genius or what?’ Stewart Mordant’s genius was never in question. From the time we hung around in computer technology and robotics classes at school, I always had the feeling of being a groupie hanging on to the coattails of greatness, hoping to catch vapours. I never did. However, to be fair, Stewie wasn’t exactly living the high life. A mortgaged house in Wandle Park and a wife earning more than him wasn’t exactly what he had in mind during those lazy afternoons in class when we’d dream about the future. ‘She’s great, Stewie,’ I agreed. On his command, Xena backed off into the corner where a shadow now hung over her nakedness. ‘What can she do?’ I asked. It seemed like a pretty decent question until Harry looked at me firmly and for a few uncomfortable seconds longer than I appreciated. ‘That’s why you’re here,’ he said. Having given his cryptic answer, his arm fell around my shoulder, dragging me from his private workshop up the steps to the kitchen. He dished up the
food and called his son – Zack – down to the table. Ten minutes later, his wife was home and we were all seated and eating. ‘Been a while since we saw you,’ said Mary. ‘How’s business, Harry?’ Business was shit. I know it’s childish, but the joy I felt for him was tinged with the jealousy one often feels when overtaken by a friend. I had the urge to play catch up now he’d invented a walking talking robot girl. ‘The seminars are going great,’ I said. ‘I think I’m near the point where I can step up to bigger venues.’ Complete crap, of course, and I must admit to hating myself just a little that day. I hadn’t forgotten Stewie’s cryptic answer to my question about what the robot could do. That’s why you’re here. Furthermore, there was something eating at me, something about the robot that didn’t seem quite right. During dinner I made the mistake of bringing up the subject. My friend cut me off with a look. ‘Not at the dinner table,’ he said firmly. ‘Who’s Xena?’ asked Mary. ‘Just a computer program I’m working on dear. You know how I like to give my projects names.’ So Mary didn’t know. I guess Zach didn’t either but he was too busy trying to win an eating contest to care. He was done and out of there before I even noticed. At the end of the meal Mary poured wine. As she filled my glass I made the mistake of asking about work. She started off on how rotten her day was and how she was fed up of slaving for her PR firm all day while Stewie sat around in his studio. Sympathy from me was at a premium. When Mary hooked up with Stewie at university, she knew what she signed up for. My friend is a dreamer who won’t stop inventing until he is six feet under. Such people are like lotteries, you win some, and you lose some. She liked his inventions so much she married him, hoping one day he would hit the jackpot. For his part, my friend was seriously punching above his weight with the leggy blonde. I never much liked her. A control freak with a pretty face, I called her Führer. She downed her wine. With a pointed look at Stewie, she indicated she could use a massage. ‘Good timing,’ he said. ‘Harry’s just leaving. Meet you upstairs.’ As her footsteps receded up the stairs, Stewie leaned across the table and whispered, ‘I need a favour. I need to let Xena off the leash.’ ‘I don’t know what that means.’ ‘Give her a test drive.’ ‘A test drive?’ My cluelessness seems idiotic now. ‘I need you to test her out for me. See if the prototype is in good working order.’ ‘Do you mean what I–’ ‘Don’t be disgusting, Harry.’ He pulled a face, and then his features softened. ‘Then again, she does have realistic girl parts. But that wasn’t what I meant. It’ll be a simple case of going for walks, taking her to the park, stuff like that.’ ‘Why me?’ ‘Why not?’ Then he sighed. ‘I can’t take her. What if word got back to Mary? I’m not ready to tell her anything that’ll bring her hopes up that we might be rich. You’re my best mate. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with Xena. I suggest you take her to Wandle Park. It’ll be great research for you to as part of your seminars.’
I shook my head. My work as a relationship guru for men on how to get girls didn’t include a section on robots. However, I wasn’t exactly a walking advert for my business. I had been single for longer than I care to remember. There was one other drawback. Xena, though not quite identical to Stewie’s wife, had all the same attributes as Mary. For blonde hair and blue eyes read black hair and caramel eyes. In the few minutes we’d been together I could tell she walked the same, even spoke in the same tone. It seemed fair to assume she had the same abrasive personality. My friend put his head in his hands. His marriage was in trouble. He needed some sort of victory to get her off his back. However, if he was seen with Xena and word got back to the neighbours, she would interrogate him until he caved. He wanted to sell Xena to a robotics firm as a prototype, but he also had no desire to incur the wrath of his wife. ‘I just need to know she has the social skills to…if she has the social skills to one day be marketable as a robot girlfriend.’ He made the request seem as docile as walking a dog. I again didn’t see any reason he couldn’t just come clean to his wife and let the chips fall where they may. ‘Then you don’t understand Mary,’ he said. ‘Look, I just want a favour from a friend. Is that too much to ask? Take her out for one day, two maximum.’ He again reiterated it could be part of my research, an anecdote to use in my seminars. There was merit in this. As a self-help guru in the field of relationships, I used my brief marriage to wife number three and my myriad of relationships in between to tell people how not to conduct themselves. I also advise on the best way for a guy to get from A to B to V – arse to bra to vagina. Things weren’t going so well lately. My seminars were often attended by two or three people, and often to the backdrop of snoring. Today’s seminar had been attended by five, which was somewhat of a success for a perpetually single man giving fraudulent advice for 30 cryptocurrency units. I wasn’t earning enough to buy a meal let alone move out of the attic room in my mother’s house. Stewie and I went back a long way. The obligation to agree to his request was strong. Was being Xena’s chaperone such a big deal? After all, she was hot. For a tin can. ‘Well?’ asked my friend. Just then Mary called from the top of the stairs. Her back needed a rub.
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