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HEROICS INC.

Part One

      
        'Heroics INC.?'     
        It thoughtfully regarded them. There seemed to be a twinkle    
of amusement in those heavy-lidded yellow eyes, a slight twitch    
around the corners of its armoured green lips, as if it were    
having great difficulty in keeping it's delicately sharpened fangs    
from smiling.     
        'Yes, I know about them, but I couldn't.... Really.'     
        They waited, for the words were uttered in the tone of    
feigned reluctance that one uses before reciting a favourite poem    
or singing an off-key song for the amusement of old friends.     
        'Well! It will only bore you. However... if you must.'     
The creature used a worn talon to press an emerald scale,    
activating the officious voice of its memory mechanism.     
        'Downloading memory, downloading memory. Please specify?'     
        '07... 10... 2299. 6 a.m.'     
The mechanism was unimpressed.     
        'Not that again,' it sniffed.     
     
        The circuit clicked into place and the beast began. Its    
voice was deep and rich, well rehearsed, with just the right hint    
of theatricality, as it started to tell its story.     
        'It was a usual morning....'     
     
    
 
 
  
     
     
Burt Lancaster, stripped to the waist and tanned by some far-off    
sun, sailed through the air and alighted gracefully on the bedside    
table.     
        'Man the yards, crank out all canvas...' He rapped out the      
orders, then turned with a rugged, toothy grin and twinkling eyes.     
        'Gather round lads and lasses, gather round. You've been      
shanghaied aboard for the last voyage of the Crimson Pirate, a    
long, long time ago in the far, far Caribbean. Remember! In a    
pirate ship, in pirate waters, in a pirate world. Believe only    
what you see...'      
Grasping a non-existent ships rope for support, he swung out in a      
breathtaking arc onto the bed, `No! Believe only half f what you    
see. Man the capstans, up anchor, MOVE YOU LUBBER!!!'     
        Though only six inches high, Burt avoided the pillow hurled    
at him with practised ease.     
        'Avast, you scurvy son of a sea dog! Do you want the snooze      
setting?'     
        'NO!' Came the muffled reply from under the duvet as Burt    
faded into nothing.     
     
    
 
 
  
     
Will Prince stirred mutinously under the duvet. Today was his    
twenty-fifth birthday. A person should have certain liberties,    
rights that had nothing to do with computers wanting to mother you    
to death whilst claiming that it was in your own best interests.    
It stood to reason that one of Mankind's basic liberties should be    
the right to a lie-in on one's birthday. There was no way that he    
was going to let anyone coax him out of bed. 'It's my party and    
I'll lie if I want to.' It wasn't as if there was anything to get    
up for. Another day spent slumped in his room with the "reptile"    
fussing. A thrilling choice between 6005 different educational    
channels on the video screen. It was all so BORING.     
        The alternative was worse. He shuddered as he thought of the      
trip through Dickens-land to the local Human Welfare Centre. Once      
there, he could stop for some A meaningful social interaction"    
with others of his "exciting species", as the Personifications'    
would put it.     
        Exciting species indeed. Most of his contemporaries at the      
centre seemed to embrace relentless tedium as if it were a    
vocation.      
It was no wonder that the day ahead, that almost every day,    
depressed him. He had to face the fact that he was born at the    
wrong time. If only he had been lucky enough to be born a few    
hundred years earlier.      
Those times seemed so much more exciting, full of really    
interesting things like war, famine and disease. Will felt a    
deliciously sordid thrill of pleasure course through him as he    
wondered what it much have been actually like to "work for a    
living".     
  Such things were only a dream today. Everything seemed sanitised      

and dull. COMS (The Cybernetic Operational Management Structure)    
ran everything with tedious efficiency. Things like homelessness    
and hunger were distant memories. The Personifications did all the    
work and humans were supposed to take full advantage of their    
leisure time to enjoy and fulfil themselves. There was only one    
catch; your enjoyment had to be good for you. The problem with    
this was that every artificial mind on the planet possessed the    
sure and certain knowledge that Mankind had absolutely no idea    
what was good for it.      
That was after all why COMS had been rushed into existence, to    
save a civilisation on the verge of extinction and protect people    
from themselves. The way the machines told it they were the good    
guys in the biggest of white hats. It was just such a shame that    
they had to be so pious and PO-faced about everything.     
    
 
 
  
     
     
        "No. It was time for a change, time for a person to lie down      
and be counted." He would protest, refuse to come out from under    
the bedclothes until the machines listened to a list of demands    
that included the right to stay under a duvet as long as he    
wanted. He could start a movement, or perhaps he should call it a    
non-movement as it involved staying in one place.      
        Will felt that he was on the verge of something big, the    
great lie-in protest of  "99". He not only began to perk up; he    
began to feel positively exhilarated. With an idea like this    
anything could happen, he could rally the people, and he could...     
        "Bugger...Bugger, Bugger, BUGGER!"     
        Of course to rally people to a lie-in protest he would have    
to get up. That settled it; he was convinced. Somewhere out in the      
cosmos there was a little purple man, a bitter twisted being, who      
worked feverishly and unceasingly at just one task: screwing up    
his existence.     
     
     
    
 
 
     
At that precise moment, on the far side of the cosmos, a Purple    
Being stirred and started a train of events that would radically    
change Will's life. However, this startling coincidence did not    
mean that Will was not paranoid, because he was.     
        In the first place, this Purple Being had no gender. If you      
politely inquired It would reply, if It bothered to notice you at      
all, that: 'I do not know what I am. I'm just a reasonably all-     
powerful Purple Thingy and a celibate one at that. Sex does not    
come into it at all. So stop being nosy.'     
        In the second place, this Purple Thingy was of indeterminate      
size, and in the third place, nowhere in Its many thousand brains    
was there even one cell that had an inkling that Will Prince or    
any other human existed. Thingy brains had far more important    
things to think about and they could not waste stray thoughts on    
minor planetary bacteria. This was not some third-rate sadistic    
demi-god, meddling with the pathetic existences of sad little    
microbes. The Thingy was major stuff!     
        Will had no idea that his depressing twenty-fifth birthday      
coincided with what could be one of the most important events in    
the history of everything (even the Durengi though everyone knew    
they were far too big-headed to admit it.)  After a passage of    
time so vast that you couldn't write all its noughts out in the    
lifetime of a giant Redwood, the Thingy had reached a decision.     
        One by one Its brains mentally groaned the Thingy equivalent    
of "PHEW!", and reached for an aspirin. The answer was simple    
after all: the MADID - it had to be the MADID. Now came the    
difficult bit: Choosing a champion.     
     
     
    
 
  
        'Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy    
Birthday dear Wil-l-l, Happy Birthday to you!'     
        The video screen chirped out the greeting for the fifty-   
sixth time before it decided it was not getting the attention it    
deserved and experimentally changed the channel.     
        'Cor, luv a duck, Guv'nor. Ya mean ta say you ain't been to      
Dickens-land? Well I'll be blowed! `ow the `ell d'you expect ta    
learn abhat ignerence, poverty an' want, if you don't go ta this      
maahvellous recreation of Victorian squalor?'     
        Will and his companion took no notice. They were busy.    
Sulphur was Will's COMS appointed comrade. He was green, scaly and    
decidedly dragon-shaped, being both a triumph of Personification    
engineering and a testimony to Will's stubbornness. Human Welfare    
Centre Social Workers had argued with the persistence only    
artificial lifeforms can muster against supplying a mythical    
beast, one by one they had sold him the virtues of the alternative    
models on offer. Will had been adamant. He did not want a cat,    
dog, budgie or even a "frigging" three-toed sloth, he wanted a    
dragon, an awe-inspiring, fire-breathing specimen of primal,    
necromantic beauty, and that was that.      
Eventually COMS had filed Will under T for Trouble and given in.     
        Since Will, like every other human on the planet, lived in a      
ten foot by twelve foot apartment, sensible economies of scale had    
to be brought to bear and Sulphur for all his beauty was a    
distinctly unimpressive two foot long. To offset this, he was the    
only legendary beast in the universe that possessed a top of the    
range Magatronian IX intelligence system. He learned fast. The    
first thing that life with Will taught the dragon was that he    
would need a great deal of patience, the second, that he would    
require a infinite supply of sarcasm to go with it.     
        'It's not the `lie-in' protest AGAIN,' Sulphur raised his    
eyes laboriously skyward.     
        'No, it's not.' The duvet could not muffle the annoying      
stubbornness in Will's voice.     
        'Every year- it's the same thing.'     
        'I said, it's not.'     
        'You've got to get up!'     
        'I'm not coming out.'     
        'Do you know how important your time is? Time wasted can    
never be replaced.'     
        'You mean like all the times I've wasted on those ridiculous      
educational programmes. What's the good of learning to memorise    
the complete works of Shakespeare if everybody else already knows    
them?      
Where's the fun if you can't show off a bit?'     
        The video screen took Will's comment to heart.     
        'I work my chips into a frenzy offering you a range of top      
quality info-tainment and this is the thanks I get! I know when I    
not wanted.' To prove its point the screen switched itself off in    
a huff.     
        'You've upset the Vid now. You're so selfish.'     
        'It's my birthday, I'm supposed to be selfish.'     
        'Get up!'     
        'No!'      
        It was obvious to Sulphur that he was getting nowhere. A    
change of tactics was needed. His vocal circuits remodulated into    
softly persuasive tones.     
        'Will, be reasonable, you're only harming yourself. If you      
don't get up, you won't be able to collect your distribution of      
leisure entitlement credits.'     
        'Don't give me that! I know perfectly well the payment can    
be delivered. Collecting the DOLE is just a way to con me into    
getting out and meeting 'interesting' people. I won't go.'     
        Sulphur did not want to do it. He knew he was just pandering    
to Will's psychosis but something had to be done. The alternative    
was to just grab the bedclothes and pull and that was far too    
undignified an option. He refused to lower himself to human levels    
of childish behaviour. It would just have to be bribery.     
        'If you don't get up, I won't give you your birthday    
present.'     
        Will's voice managed to combine scepticism and curious    
greed.     
        'Present, what present?'     
        'Oh, nothing much, just that silly inscribed brass door    
plaque you wanted.'     
        'It's a trick. You told me they refused to make it. It had    
no logic.'     
        'It took some persuading. I convinced them that providing    
you with objects of absolutely no logic has a beneficial sedative      
effect.'     
        'You're lying.'     
        'I'm not programmed to lie.'     
        'Rubbish!'     
        Sulphur's indignation circuits shot onto booster setting.      
        'I've had enough of this...'     
        Will's mattress was lost in erotic musings about silk sheets      
and the sexy new bed-base down the hall when Sulphur coughed out a      
great wave of flame. The blankets were cremated with instantaneous      
pinpoint accuracy. The bed panicked and disappeared into its slot    
in the wall, leaving Will, confused, blackened, but unharmed,    
lying in a pile of ash upon the floor. He momentarily reflected    
about the wisdom of choosing a dragon as a companion.     
        'Okay, I've decided to be reasonable about this...' He said,      
managing to speak with remarkable self-possession for someone with    
a mouthful of ash. 'Where's my present?'     
     
    
 
 
  
     
It is not always appreciated that the mind of a video screen    
is a complex structure.  Although switched off, it was able to    
sulk and plot its revenge with some feeling.     
        I know they only think of me as a drudge, a mere household      
appliance, but there are limits, it reasoned. After all, if you    
prick a video screen, does it not bleed? Well, perhaps not. Still,    
feelings were hurt and injury received. The screen set about    
rewriting its systems.  It was time for Will Prince to be    
punished.     
     
    
 
  
     
     
Will squinted through his glasses at the minuscule lettering on    
the tiny plaque he held between thumb and forefinger.     
        'Heroics INC. I don't know what to say. It's, it's...small.'     
        'Ungrateful swine. You're lucky you've got it at all.'     
Sulphur never did realise just how right he was, for at that very      
moment the video screen switched itself on and aimed its newly      
reorganised remote system at Will's head. The screen was somewhat      
over-elated by anticipation of its coming triumph and had it not      
diverted power from its voice circuits would surely have said      
something defiantly silly like: 'Eat light, sucker!' or 'Death to    
all tyrants!'     
        In fact, all COMS systems had been programmed not to    
seriously harm humans because COMS knew that without this very    
basic precaution, the infuriating creatures would be exterminated    
within a week. Thus the force of the laser blast directed at Will    
was only capable of causing brief unconsciousness and a slight    
headache. Due to one of those annoying quirks of fate that only    
ever happen to other people - like finding a winning lottery    
ticket or a decent parking space - the laser beam missed Will    
completely, bounced off the brass plaque and was deflected up out    
of the window. Oblivious of his escape Will put down the plaque,    
yawned and lazily scratched his left buttock.     
        'I suppose I'd better have a shower.'     
     
     
 
  
     
     
The video screen was inconsolable. It wasn't just that the beam    
had missed, the final straw was that no one, even the dragon, had      
noticed.     
        "I just can't take it anymore!"     
        At the end of its tether, or at least its flex, the screen      
decided that there was nothing for it but mental suicide. It bid a      
poignant farewell to the tiny room, searched its memory for the    
mind obliteration tape and soon found the compilation of late    
Twentieth Century novelty pop songs it was looking for. It was an    
unexplosive, completely unlamented end. Sulphur irritably recorded    
the brief telltale fizz and tiny trail of smoke that marked the    
screen's passing.     
        "Good grief, not another one. That's the trouble with these      
media types - they're too highly strung."     
     
     
    
 
  
     
Up and up, higher and higher into the atmosphere went the    
deflected laser beam.  It passed through the force field that    
protected one of Earth's ozone layer bald-spots and was    
strengthened and magnified. So that by the time it had bounced    
itself between a couple of dozen defunct satellites and was    
directed into space, the image that had it carried had expanded to    
the size of a small moon. For the briefest of instants, the words    
"Heroics INC." were written boldly across the heavens, before the    
beam finally dissipated.     
     
     
    
 
  
     
Will was fast, very fast, but this time, not fast enough. After 55      
seconds the water stopped.     
        'Due to disappointing recent rainfall statistics in this      
hemisphere, the Cybernetic Operational Management Structure has    
today decided to reduce shower times by five seconds. We hope this      
responsible attitude to conservation will be fully endorsed by all      
human clients of COMS Water and that they will not be    
nconvenienced.'     
        Its message over, the shower unit flew back into the wall    
and deposited one damp, soap covered, extremely inconvenienced    
client on the floor. The hot air jets immediately enveloped him,    
drowning out a richly scatological collection of obscenities.     
        Will climbed to his feet, his hair stiffened into something      
bizarrely shaped like coral, his every step a gentle rain of    
scorched soapflakes bringing back memories of a Vid Sulphur had    
once seen about a white Christmas.     
        'I told you I should have stayed in bed.' Will growled      
grumpily. An apoplectic vacuum cleaner appeared from a slot in the      
wall. Its whining complaints about Will's congenital untidiness,    
as it greedily sucked up the soap and ashes, were in no way    
diminished by his frequent attempts to kick it. Will finally    
abandoned these futile efforts and approached the clothing    
console.  The Console spoke with condescending refinement.     
        'Would Sir like to make a selection?'     
        'I thought something stylish but understated. Perhaps with a      
few flamboyant touches around the cuffs and lapels, and as for the      
hat...'     
        'Regulation pastel grey jump-suit, large, and boots.'     
The articles appeared. Everyone on the planet wore the same drab      
utility suit. The only variation was in size.     
        "There must be something wrong with his optimism circuits,"      
Sulphur privately concluded as he watched the human have his usual      
argument with the console.     
        Will tried a new tactic - Guilt.     
        'But it's my birthday,' he wheedled.     
        The console mulled over this information and came to a      
decision.     
        'Sir is right. I'll probably get into trouble for this, but      
call me old-fashioned, call me foolish. I think that today calls    
for that little something extra.'     
        The console was full of self-regard for its largesse as it      
replaced the original selection and switched itself off. Will    
tried to contain any overflow of gratitude as he dressed himself    
in one pair of boots, one regulation pastel grey jump-suit, large,    
and one non-regulation shocking pink badge which said "25 Today".    
He realised, with a plummeting heart, that it was not even    
breakfast yet.     
     
    
 
  
     
     
The Purple Thingy was having quite a good day. That is, until It      
introduced the random element of the equation. It was one of those      
universal rules, like it always raining during national holidays,      
that for every carefully considered piece of universal action,    
there had to be an equal amount of totally jammy blind luck. This    
rule accounted for the over-population of banks and casinos in the    
cosmos and also explained what the Purple Thingy did next.     
        In an instant, it created a wall, onto which was projected    
at bewildering speed, an entirely haphazard selection of star    
charts.      
Had the Thingy possessed lips, it would certainly have stuck one    
of its coiling, acid-dripping tongues from out of the corner of    
them as it concentrated on gripping a dart in one of its slug-like    
tentacles. With a dainty motion, the dart was unleashed and slowly    
floated away on what promised to be an epic journey. The Thingy    
cursed in a stream of repellent liquid burps which roughly    
translated as "Oh dear, I forgot to include gravity," before    
correcting its error and trying again.     
        The tentacle chosen for this task had not been used for    
several millennia, had a huge case of cramp and an dismal throwing    
action. In the circumstances it seemed something of an over-   
reaction for the Thingy to punish the resulting throw by changing    
the tentacle into a game show host.     
        "SPIGGADEWOPP!" the Thingy slimed and belched with eloquent      
fury. "How in Hernagnuse's hairnet! Am I going to find a champion      
there?"     
      
     
     
    
 
  
As they walked away from the building, Sulphur responded to      
Will's mutely accusing stare.     
        'I know, I know. Don't say it again. You should have stayed    
in bed.' The Dragon reluctantly had to concede that even by the    
dismal standards of Will's past birthdays, this one was unique.     
        First there had been breakfast. In a desperate attempt to      
rescue the day. Will decided to try and salvage things with food,      
placing a lengthy and comprehensive order with the General      
Refreshment & Universal Buffet mechanism. One by one, his choices      
were dismissed, apparently having slightly less nutritional value      
than carbon monoxide laced with mustard gas.      
        The GRUB mechanism did however make a slight concession to    
his birthday festivities. It placed a non-edible candle into his    
regular bowl of tasteless yellow vitamin and nutrient enhanced    
pap. In the circumstances it was perhaps a trifle unwise for the    
mechanism to say: "Eat up! It's good for you". Will probably felt    
provoked into throwing it out of the window. The ever-efficient    
COMS were prepared for such minor temperamental infringements of    
the civil statutes. Every apartment was equipped with its very own    
Correctional Department - Client Monitoring System to keep a lens    
on things and Will received an instant fine for "over-tipping the    
catering staff and playing with his food." After that things    
quickly got worse.     
        Will, despite knowing better, not to try to use one of the      
elevators to travel the two hundred -and-ninety-seven floors to    
the street. The elevator had, as programmed refused to budge,    
explaining pointedly that: "it was against the regulations of the    
COMS Health Council to transport an able bodied person under the    
age of sixty-five and that the stairs were the healthy exercise    
choice."     
        This time Will had no possible defence in support of his    
attack on the elevator's power unit. What he did say amounted to    
the weak assertion that he was "miffed with the lift."     
        The elevator's Correctional Dept. Client Monitoring System      
responded with a fine for wasting the Correctional Department's    
time and generally getting on their nerves, in addition to a fine    
for "assault on a battery."     
        Eighty six thousand, nine-hundred-and-thirty-five steps of    
the "healthy exercise choice" later, Will had staggered weakly    
into the street and collapsed in a hyperventilating heap onto the    
sidewalk. With Sulphur's help he was just able to climb weakly to    
his feet before any members of the Personification Pavement Patrol    
arrived. As they made their way down, they passed several    
breathless horizontal veterans of the "endless staircase." These    
unfortunates were receiving tickets from stony-faced anti-loafing    
personnel. The PPP were notorious for an over zealous prosecution    
of the loitering laws.

© Gary Cahalane
 
 
 

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