Category: Fiction Factor

Pearl Tanner leaned over, gently kissed Jerius on the head, and fluffed his pillow.

“You good … you need to go to the bathroom or anything?” she asked.

“No, mama,” he said, smiling. “I’m all set.”

Pearl got up, stretched, and eyed the child’s room, which was painted mint green. On the wall behind Jerius’s bed was a giant poster of the Gill-man from “The Creature of the Black Lagoon,” while the far wall with a small window had three different drawings of King Kong – the last showing him swatting at biplanes while atop the Empire State Building.

And instead of a lamp, the centerpiece of his nightstand was a large skull that doubled as a candleholder. Once the overhead light went out, Pearl lit the wick.

“OK,” she said. “Lemme check for monsters.”

She walked toward the closet door, opened it, glanced at hanging clothes and a scattering of toys, and closed it. She then knelt down and lifted up the blanket slightly so she could peer under his bed.

“No monsters in the closet and no monsters under the bed,” she said. “No monsters anywhere in the house. Same as it was last night and the night before. The only monsters here are the ones on your wall.”

“Mama, you know I’m not scared of monsters,” he said proudly. “Monsters ain’t gonna hurt me.”

Pearl laughed.

“Well, of course not. No such thing, anyway. It’s like that big ol’ fish-looking thing there on the wall – it’s scary looking in the movie, but it’s just a man in a fish suit. And the monkey who climbed that building? He looks mean, but he’s just a story … a fun story, but just a story. I kinda suspected you already knew that, but just for fun I started checking for monsters when you were a little thing and just never got out of the habit. You never were the type to get scared, though, I’ll give you that.”

Pearl blew Jerius a kiss, ignited the candle and switched off the light.

“Goodnight, sugar,” she said as she left his bedroom. “Sweet dreams.”

Jerius could hear his mom walk down the hallway, and the squeak of her bedroom door and the click of the lock signaled that the coast was clear.

“Pssst … Eddie. You can come out now.”

The door to Jerius’s closet cracked and a gnarled gray hand with curled claws gripped the side and pushed it open. Eddie looked like a three-foot tall garden gnome – if garden gnomes were covered in wiry, brown fur. He had small blue eyes, no apparent nose and a triangular mouth that displayed jagged, yellow teeth.

He walked slowly – and with a wobble – but once he reached the side of Jerius’s bed, he effortlessly jumped up and plopped on the mattress.

“Hello, J,” Eddie said in a soft, child-like voice. “What’s the plan tonight?”

Jerius let out a belly laugh and his nurse, Rhonda, cracked a smile as she handed him his medication. He had told the story to the staff at the Franklin Assisted Living Facility for years, and it never got old – at least not to him.

“That’s the absolutely, 100 percent true story I call ‘Me and My Monster,’” Jerius said right after swallowing his pills. “I wrote it along about when I was 10 or 11, and now I’ve told it so many times I got it memorized. Pretty good, huh?”

“It’s very good, Mr. Tanner,” she said. “So, when I go to tuck my kids in tonight, I should tell them that all those stories about having monsters in their closets and under their beds are true, except they aren’t really monsters at all?”

“That’s about the size of it, Miss Rhonda. Monsters were always my friends, ever since I was a young ‘un. Think about the Gill-man … what did he do? He’s just mindin’ his own business and people come up in a boat and start messin’ with his house. And Kong? He’s doing fine on his island and these rich folks chain him up and put him in a show. Shoot … I’d be mad, too. Nah, just because you don’t understand somethin’ doesn’t mean it’s bad. ‘Monster’ is just a word people made up ‘cause they were too lazy to learn about somethin’ new.”

Rhonda patted him on the shoulder and walked to the door.

“I always enjoy talking to you, Mr. Tanner. Good night and sleep tight … you want the light on or off?”

 “Now you know Eddie ain’t gonna come out of the closet with the light on,” he said, laying his head back.

The nurse walked down the hallway, and Jerious could hear the sound of her footsteps fade away. He turned over and noticed the door to his closet was ajar.

“Pssst … Eddie. You can come out now.”

“This is freakin’ awesome.”

Tex Flannery touched down on the Princess of Pleasure luxury liner and marveled at how clean and fancy the massive commercial ship was. For a man whose last trip on the water was a drunken ride on a pontoon boat, this was paradise.

“See, guys, this is what it’s like to live the good life,” he said to his three travel companions – brother Toby Flannery and friends Ellis Baxter and Jimmy Slatfield, all lined up behind him. “Them billionaire boys know how to throw a party, don’t they?”

For years the Body of Benevolent Billionaires – a group of 10 of the world’s richest men – had combined their considerable resources for space missions, deep sea explorations and plenty of exotic, headline-grabbing ventures. But charity work? That really wasn’t on their agenda. They were simply finding new ways to make themselves even richer and more famous, and they were succeeding. People like Tex didn’t seem to mind at all.

But the BBB hoped to change that perception with its “No News Is Good News Cruise,” an unprecedented event taking place all across the globe and open to everyone who chose to participate.

Ships were gathered at every port – welcoming people from all walks of life – for a 10-day, all-expenses paid cruise.

Tex and his entourage were among the millions of people who would take advantage of the free vacation, courtesy of BBB.

The catch?

There was no catch, unless you were a news junkie.

On the “No News Is Good News Cruise,” passengers would have all their phones and personal computers taken from them for the duration of the voyage. For a week and three days, they would be living in their own private world.

“This will be a cruise in which you can relax and recharge,” said billionaire businessman Oakley Attar, who made the announcement live on social media three months before the September 18 sailaway. “You can be with your friends and loved ones and enjoy days and nights filled with great music, wonderful food and the lost art of conversation. For 10 days you won’t have to hear about war, crime, disease … none of the horrors that continue to plague our planet. Thus, the name ‘No News Is Good News.’ We trust this will be the most memorable getaway of your lifetime and when it ends, you’ll have a fresh new perspective on life.

Tex and his entourage were leaving from the Port of New Orleans, and their travel route was Key West, Freeport and Nassau.

They had already checked their luggage at the cruise terminal (where they were issued photo ID cards), and greeted by uniformed security as they stepped off the gangway.

“Tex Flannery, Harahan, Louisiana … good to see you, chief,” he said as the smiling guard – the name tag on his  crisp, white shirt identified him as Captain Benzer – looked at his card.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Flannery,” Benzer said, scanning him quickly with a wand. “Just for our records, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m an electrician,” Tex said. “Been working at Allied Electric since the late 1990s, I’m proud to say.”

“Very good,” Benzer replied, placing a red dot on his card and handing him a sheet of paper. “All the information about your quarters is on you handout, as well as the itinerary. Happy to have you with us and enjoy your stay, sir.”

“We will, and you pass along my thanks to ol’ Oakley. That man is a real visionary. Maybe the next time he decides to do something nice for everybody he’ll give us all one of those big, silver City Tanks. If they weren’t so expensive, I’d have one in my driveway right now.”

Toby, Ellis and Jimmy went through the same process with Benzer. Toby was also an electrician and given a red dot while Ellis was a floor manager at a lumber yard and received a green dot. Jimmy was the oldest of the group and retired, earning a white dot on his passenger card.

“Just out of curiosity,” Tex asked, “what are the dots for?”

“Honestly, sir, that’s a surprise,” Benzer said. “We have some activities planned for our guests and the colored dots will help us figure out how to divide everyone up.”

“Oh, I hope it’s dodgeball,” Tex said. “Ain’t nothing quite as fun as raring back and plunkin’ somebody.”

The “No News Is Good News Cruise” lived up to its billing, and for the next nine days Tex and the more than 1,200 passengers lived like kings and queens.

The dance floor was always open, the food and booze flowed freely … it was a fantasy made real. However, following day seven some of the passengers noticed flashes of light in the night sky, and by the eighth day there was a red hue as far as the eye could see.

“Something’s wrong here, Tex,” Jimmy said. “I keep asking the security people what’s going on, but they keep telling me there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Tex snapped. “Don’t you think Oakley Attar knows what he’s doing? You know what … I’ll bet him and the other billionaire boys are puttin’ on fireworks shows for all the people that couldn’t come on the cruise. Yep … I bet you money that’s it.”

However – as Day 10 dawned – the Princess of Pleasure had headed even further out to sea, and it was joined in the ocean by what appeared to be an armada of other luxury liners.

As buzz from the guests increased, an announcement blared from the ship’s loudspeaker system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention. On behalf of Oakley Attar and his associates, we hope you’ve enjoyed your vacation. However, now it’s time to get to work. The earth as you knew it no longer exists. Cities have been leveled through nuclear engagement, and the Body of Benevolent Billionaires have assumed effective control of all world governmental functions. Over the past two decades, we have overseen the construction of 10 massive underground bunkers in which we will form a new society known as UnderGroundEarth.”

The announcement continued as armed personnel surrounded the exits of the ship.

“Those of you with red and green dots on your card will be eligible for maintenance work. Green dots, blue dots and orange dots will be dealt with on a case-by case basis, with the possibility of more skilled labor opportunities. All red, green and blue dots should present your card to one of our associates you’ll see wearing brown shirts and caps, and you’ll be taken to a work vessel. Once there you’ll be screened and considered for permanent or temporary entry into one of our facilities. Those of you with white dots are, I’m afraid, ineligible for UnderGroundEarth. But we have reserved one of the ships for your convenience, and you are welcome to stay there as nuclear winter sets in. We hope you enjoyed the ‘No News Is Good News Cruise’ as much as we enjoyed making it possible.”

Tex looked at his card and walked toward the first man he saw wearing a brown shirt and hat.

“I guess I’m supposed to give this to you,” he said. “One thing though … that Benzer fellow talked about how the dots would be used to divide up everybody. Are we not gonna play dodgeball?”

The G.I.N.A. (General Intelligence Nurturing Automaton) model had been around for decades, although their numbers had dwindled thanks to the production of newer, more lifelike robot companions.

G.I.N.A. looked very much like a standard feminine mannequin once found in 20^th century department stores – slight smile, arching brows, slender fingers and thin build. The skin tone and hair were about the only custom features requested by buyers, although they came from the factory translucent gray in color and topped with jet black hair, styled to look like a 1970s wedge.

The male version – G.R.E.G. (General Reasoning Empathy Golem) – was a bit bulkier, but also rolled off the assembly line gray and with a brunette bowl cut.

Paulie Statin had selected a generic floor model decades before, in the hopes that his G.I.N.A. would provide a bit of companionship and some help around the house.

He had never married or had children, and his friends were better defined as acquaintances – fellow workers who he engaged in friendly conversation but didn’t socialize with after hours. Once he retired, even that was gone.

But G.I.N.A. – he never bothered to personalize the robot so he just removed the periods and called it “Gina” – had been a part of his life for so long it seemed almost real.

All the general models had artificial intelligence that evolved over time, and Gina had learned to do things like play checkers and chess, follow plot lines in movies and television programs, and even “enjoy” music.

Paulie loved to garden but had been dealing with painful back issues since he was in his 30s, so Gina was a huge help when it came to planting and harvesting. In addition, robotic strength made it very handy with household repairs – a talent its owner sorely lacked.

Conversations between Paulie and Gina were never particularly deep, but always pleasant … Gina had acquired the ability to smile and laugh. Perhaps it wasn’t human, but he didn’t really care. Frankly – after all this time – it just didn’t seem to matter anymore. Paulie had a companion, and one he could always count on day in and day out.

But Gina had developed a habit of looping sentences, sometimes to the point where Paulie had to remove the battery from its back and reinsert it. Lately, though, not even that was rectifying the problem.

So, he guided Gina into his station wagon, and it was off the Midland Robotic Showroom and Repair Shop. There, he hoped he could find a relatively inexpensive fix to the problem.

“Yes,” Paulie said, walking into the service entrance of MRS&RS with Gina at his side. “I was wondering if I could talk to someone about a repair for my G.I.N.A.”

“Certainly,” replied a woman in a forest green, reflective jumpsuit and clear goggles. “I’m Technician Farah 27, the lead maintenance specialist. What seems to be the problem?”

Paulie turned to Gina and asked what the weather forecast was for the rest of the evening.

“Partly cloudy skies, low of 67, light winds from the east, air quality fair,” it said in a rattling monotone. “Partly cloudy skies, low of 67, light winds from the east, air quality fair. Partly cloudy skies, low of 67, light winds from the east, air quality fair. Partly cloudy skies, low of 67, light winds from the east, air quality fair …”

“She’ll go on like this for a while,” Paulie said. “Not sure what it is, but I figured someone here would certainly know.”

Farah 27 nodded, walked behind Gina, popped out its battery and shined a green, glowing light inside.

“Well,” she said. “I’ve got some great news and some bad news. The bad news is, its AI app is starting to wear out, so this sentence looping is only gonna get worse. At some point it won’t be able to walk, and after that you’ll be left with an inoperative G.I.N.A. You might still be able to communicate with it in a very rudimentary way, but even that’s doubtful. Here’s the great news, though; we’re coming out with Next Generation G.I.N.A. and G.R.E.G. products starting in 2133, so if you donate yours to us, we can make you part of our pilot program that starts in three months. That means you can get a G.I.N.A. 2 or G.R.E.G. 2 at factory cost, which will be about 6,000 less corporate credits than the general public will have to pay. So, turns out, this is your lucky day.”

Farah 27 looked at the battery and began to head back to her work station.

“Wait a minute,” Paulie said. “What are you doing with the battery?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I figured you didn’t need it anymore. I assumed you were going to leave your old G.I.N.A. here with us. Then I was gonna sign you up for the program.”

“No, I don’t think I want to do that right now,” Paulie said, holding out his hand. “Just give me back the battery, please.”

Farah 27 was puzzled.

“Well, I mean, sure, it’s yours … but this offer won’t last long. If you come back next week, I can’t guarantee you a Next Gen model. And as I said, I can’t really fix it.”

“That’s OK,” Paulie said.

He thanked the technician for her time and walked Gina back to his car, where he opened the passenger door and watched it get inside. After he cranked the car and pulled out into the street, Gina looked at him.

“The Midland Robotic Showroom and Repair Shop technician said I cannot be repaired,” it said. “The Midland Robotic Showroom and Repair Shop technician said I cannot be repaired. The Midland Robotic Showroom and Repair Shop technician said I cannot be repaired. The Midland Robotic Showroom and Repair Shop technician said I cannot be repaired.”

Paulie reached out with his right hand and gently rubbed Gina’s cheek.

“That’s all right, Gina,” he said. “You’ve taken care of me for so many years, the least I can do is take care of you now.”