False Assumptions: A Comedy of Errors

By Bob Graham

The invasion of Earth would have been a complete success, if only its inhabitants had noticed it..
Think you know why youre here or where youre from? Think again.
Max is gullible and stressed out to the point of breakdown. This isnt helped by believing he has inadvertently ordered the death of one of his colleagues, his over passionate meetings with an ex-colleague, or his wifes three cats trying to kill him.
Elsewhere a member of an intergalactic council hates meetings so much that he has set about destroying one of the more boring items on the agenda Planet Earth.
On the upside, the aliens on Planet Earth arent getting on too well either.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504992022

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Council

‘I tem number 176.’ intoned the Record Keeper.

This was one of the shorter items, mainly because it was one of the first problems to have been discussed by the fledgling Council. It was the sort of item that could be talked about freely because although it concerned them all equally, it wasn’t really an issue of great importance.

The group that was later to form The Council had come from worlds whose inhabitants had genetically engineered a race of drones to do menial tasks for them. Being of an artistic nature, they had made the drones in a variety of colours to match different moods, rooms, wallpaper, etc., and although those in the blue and gold colour ranges worked out well, the same could not be said for some of the other colours. So, what to do with the surly, ungrateful, lazy, temperamental white, brown, black, and yellow drones became one of The Councils earliest debates.

After much discussion it was decided to put these troublesome drones on an uninhabited planet and allow them time to either mature or perish. The chosen planet had separate land masses onto which the drones were placed by colour rather than by Planet or System of origin. This would allow for an easier harvesting should they ever reach an acceptable level of maturity. They were all left with the simple message:-

‘Learn to serve your Makers and you can return home.’

Entry to The Council was restricted to those planets or systems that had reached a stage in their development where they had the science to cause mass destruction but the morality to ensure that this didn’t happen. Seera was the only system that been allowed to join the founding Members of The Council and there were some who thought that this honour had been awarded prematurely.

Arnice, the Seeran Member of The Council, sat in stony silence as the other Members discussed Item 176, the latest reports regarding their erstwhile troublesome drones. Most of his adult life had been spent serving his native and beloved planet at The Council, and he felt that rather more of his life than was necessary had been wasted here, especially on what was now Item 176. He hated meetings at the best of times, especially those that appeared to hold very little that concerned Seera or himself. This item was worthless and especially boring. He had decided some time ago that one way of speeding things up was to get rid of this irrelevance and he had set in motion a plan to do just that. He was hoping that this would be one of the last times it would be discussed at any length, and he was even more pleased that he was the only one there who knew this. The Seeran had acquired a race of drones, the Vernians, who were blissfully unaware that now their sole purpose in life was to rid him of this unwarranted waste of his time. They would wipe out The Council’s maturing drones on the Planet Earth, and then Council business could proceed more rapidly to items that concerned Seera, or to more honest, that would shorten these interminable meetings. He sat back and listened to what would hopefully be the penultimate discussions about this worthless experiment of theirs, feeling proud of his planet’s achievements and his own prowess at hiding this from the other Council Members. His only regret was that they would never know just how clever he had been.

Omea, one of the Elders of The Council, was also not listening to the discourse. She was watching Arnice intently, sure that she could almost hear what the savage was thinking. She knew all about the Seeran’s plan but also knew it wouldn’t work. If it showed any signs that it might she would put an end to it immediately. From a long-lived race, as were all The Council Members, she remembered the stories her parents had told her about The Wars and was determined that nothing like that would ever happen again. It was one thing to have global conflicts but they must never again be allowed to become interplanetary. She had helped form The Council to work towards this aim, and it had been successful up to now. But all that could change if the arrogant, large Seeran’s plan succeeded. He couldn’t understand what a glue that insignificant little Planet Earth was. It had helped to give The Council a common aim in those dangerous early times and might continue to do so even now.

She allowed her thoughts to drift back to those early discussions. Even then, she had seen the planet’s worth, bringing them together and working for the good of all. From such humble beginnings! She thought, ending her reverie and returning her full attention to the Meeting.

CHAPTER 2

Friday the 21st of April 1995

T here were eleven sitting around a couple of tables in a corner of the lounge bar of the Social Club, and all but one of them sat in an embarrassed, angry, or stunned silence. Life-changing events were unfolding for the three elderly men, the three younger ones and their wives, and the two aliens whom no one realised were there but who had actually arranged this meeting. It had all started less than three weeks ago, before most of those present had even met…

Tuesday the 4th of April 1995

8:15. Max reminded himself that the dashboard clock was two minutes fast. She knows I have to be at work for nine today, he thought, she could at least have made the effort to be out by now. She’s just probably chatting to the Day staff. He looked back towards the door of the Pinedale Nursing home, willing his wife to come through it but, realising that his willpower wasn’t up to the task he began a breathing exercise to calm himself down. Achieving only partial success and making a conscious effort not to look back towards the door he looked off to his left instead. At least I’ve got a pleasant view he thought. The Home may not have been up to the blurb that it gave out to potential residents, or more commonly their relatives, but it certainly was peaceful. Set in a natural depression amidst rolling hills bequeathed to the people of the Shire ‘for their pleasure’ by a Northern cotton magnate, who’d made sure that they‘d had precious little time for that whilst he’d been alive. The Home was the only building around except for a few old cottages and the new Visitor Centre, and that was at least a couple of hundred yards down the lane and on the opposite side. The hills were covered in trees, mainly pine, and the area attracted people from miles around who wanted to get some fresh air or find a toilet for their dogs.

The company that had bought the plot of land, and demolished the buildings on it, had at last found a suitable, not to say profitable, use for it. Originally the site of the only Tea Rooms on this part of the Hills, the site had been home to a number of enterprises, but the present one matched the location perfectly. The long driveway and signs ensured the homes seclusion without detracting from its setting. It really was private, peaceful, and quiet. I suppose it could be called ‘ideally situated’ thought Max grudgingly. With this thought he leisurely turned towards the home, then less leisurely to the door. I’m always having to wait out here, he thought angrily, all peaceful thoughts and feelings evaporating so quickly they may never have existed. The fact that Julie, his wife, only did between two and four nights a week, and sometimes did get out on time made the word ‘always’ a bit of an exaggeration. Max returned to both giving his impression of a man waiting patiently and to the view to his left. As usual there were numerous varieties of birds, some he recognised but most he kept promising himself he would look up (but never did), rabbits and squirrels. ‘Tree rats.’ his brother had once corrected him, ‘Squirrels are red, those are rodents.’ Although Max knew this was true it was still difficult to accept. He enjoyed watching their jerky, anxious movements as they looked around for food.

He was pulled from his reverie rather abruptly by the sound of tyres skidding on gravel. The blue uniform was out of the car, a Land Rover, a split second after it stopped, without a second look to the driver or a first to Max. That bitch is always late, he thought, she ought to get herself a decent alarm clock. I wonder why uniforms are attracted to uniforms? he mused, noticing the epaulettes and shiny buttons on the driver’s jacket. He’ll be on time for work, bastard! And here am I, waiting as usual! Five minutes later Julie came out with two other women. ‘Morning love’ she said getting into the car. ‘You know Sue and Alison. I said you’d give them a lift home. It’s on the way. You don’t mind do you?’

‘Morning ladies. Don’t they know you’re supposed to finish at eight? Yeah, that’s OK, who’s first?’ he muttered resignedly. His anger having settled in the pit of his stomach the way molten lead settles in a crucible. To make matters worse, when Julie had said ‘on the way’ he’d mistakenly assumed that she’d meant ‘on the way’ to their house.

The traffic was building up nicely. ‘Rush hour’ grumbled Max ‘if there was a misnomer contest that would have to win it.’ During the last mile he’d got into third gear only once and that was by accident. He dropped both women off at the same place and they walked along, chatting about their night and about what a nice person Max was. ‘It must be nice living with someone so placid.’ said Alison ‘Jeff’s always ranting on about something or other, I’m sure he’s heading for a heart attack. Max always appears so calm and gentle. I wonder if he’s like that-y’know-all the time?’

‘Don’t you ever think about anything else!’ laughed Sue. They said their goodbyes and headed off in different directions, all thoughts of work and Max forgotten as they wondered if they were going to have an uninterrupted sleep before returning to work.

‘I won’t come in pet’ Max said, eventually pulling into their drive. ‘I’ve set your alarm. Sleep well, see you this evening.’ Julie waved and wended her weary way towards the front door. A thirty-eight year old shouldn’t feel ninety. I’ll have to stop smoking she thought, but without conviction. By the time Max reached work, Julie had relaxed with a cup of tea and a cigarette, had another and was now in bed replacing her left ear plug which kept falling out.

41466.png

The blue uniform, Maude, hated mornings like this. Not only was she late for work, but Jim had been in a strange mood when he had finally arrived home from work.

Her day had started well enough. As usual she was up at six, had taken the dogs for a walk by the river and had met that nice lady with the Labrador from number 29. She’d had breakfast, showered herself and her little darlings, the two Shih Tzus that she was devoted to and who returned that devotion tenfold. From seven-thirty she had looked at the current ‘Homes’ magazine whilst waiting for Jim to appear and her thoughts had drifted back to how they’d met.

Maude, then Student Nurse Wakeley, hadn’t paid much attention to the young, quiet, drably dressed hospital porter, but she didn’t really pay much attention to most men. That changed one afternoon when her flatmate and fellow student Tina, a local girl, had taken her for a walk along the river. ‘Oh look, there’s Jim, you know, the porter.’ Tina said, as she pointed towards one of the beautiful houses Maude had been eyeing longingly. She noticed someone mowing the large lawn in front of it. ‘Well, I suppose he has to make extra money somehow. Portering can’t pay all that well and you don’t need qualifications to mow lawns.’ answered Maude nonchalantly, looking back to the river. ‘No stupid! That’s his place. His parents died and left it to him. The only child, you see. Rumour has it he doesn’t need to work, but he’s been at the hospital since he left school, so perhaps he’d just get lonely sitting around all day. Mind you, he’s always been a bit of a loner, even at school.’ Maude had been staring at the house during Tina’s narrative. She could imagine what it would be like to be mistress of a house like that. In fact, it was probably her only fantasy. Her parents had always lived in a small but comfortable terraced house that they refused to leave. For as long as she could remember, Maude had dreamed of living in a house just like the one whose lawn was being mown by the suddenly attractive porter, Jim. Detached, semi-secluded, a view of the river, Yes thought Maude, I deserve no less.

They were married six months later. It hadn’t been a particularly passionate affair, nor had love come into it. They simply suited each other. Until their wedding night. Maude’s only experience of sex was from books describing the clinical, books describing the romantic, and giving male patients bed baths. Jim’s only experience of sex was from magazines and videos he received through the post in plain brown paper wrappers.

They had lain in bed on their wedding night full of expectations. Maude was about to be romanced and have feelings raised in her that would surely make her swoon with delight. Jim was waiting for her to leap on him in a frenzy of frustrated passion, doing things to his body that he had previously only seen on video and which had made his wrist ache for days. That first night had left them more confused than angry. In the romance stories Maude read, the man always knew exactly what to do and always made the first move to arouse the afore-mentioned deep feelings and swooning. In the films that Jim watched romance and foreplay were encompassed in lines like ‘Hello love we’ve come to fix your washer.’ After this the housewife would rip off her clothes and then strip the workmen. When the newlyweds did manage to complete the act, sometime during the first week of marriage, it was so different from their expectations that by unspoken agreement they didn’t bother to try it again.

It was soon after this that other aspects of Maude’s dream also began to crumble. Jim’s parents had left him the house and contents and an empty bank account. She had talked him into leaving the hospital and getting a better job, but he’d had a number of better jobs since then and hadn’t been able to stick at any of them. She hated the fact that he was now a security guard and hated the fact that he had to work nights, though that did have its compensations. Still, at least he had stuck at this job, seemed to enjoy it and she was sure that with her help he would get the advancement that she deserved at Bowen’s Security Services. At least then he wouldn’t have to wear that awful uniform.

Just then the dogs started barking, signalling Jim’s arrival. Maude glanced at the clock. ‘What!’ she shouted, sending Flip and Flop scuttling for their basket. ‘It’s quarter past eight!’ She grabbed her bag and coat and rushed to the door so that Jim wouldn’t get out of the car making her even later than she already was. Jim hadn’t apologised for being late. In fact he hadn’t said much at all. He’d seemed in a good mood, but somewhat preoccupied. Pulling into the drive at the Pinedale she saw Julie’s husband waiting. Why can’t Jim be that calm and patient? she thought. Even when Julie’s late he looks so relaxed. Still, working in the community he won’t have to keep office hours. Lucky devil!

She took the handover from the night staff, but had actually stopped listening after the sixth ‘Had a good night, slept well.’ and was wondering if Jim would remember to feed her little darlings.

41468.png

Rowan, leader of the Vernian Exploration Group (acquisition and naturalisation) was not a happy man. Yet again, they were being sealed out by their enemies. Every time they thought they’d found the right range of frequencies, the enemy would find a new defensive shield to block them out.

It had all seemed so easy to their forefathers. A nice blue/green planet that was sparsely populated and technically backward, the first person to hold his post, Ramin, expected to acquire this place within months. They had been scanning the planet for years whilst building up their exploration and acquisition force, going through all the possible outcome scenarios they could imagine. Even the worst left them victorious with few, if any, casualties in about a month. That was over a century ago.

Vernia was left to die in peace, with about half the population deciding to stay to face the same fate. Of course, this wouldn’t happen in their lifetime or even their children’s. Common answers to the question ‘Are you migrating?’ ranged from ‘The sooner the better.’ and ‘We want a stable world to bring our children up on.’ through to ‘We weren’t able to save our world, perhaps our children will.’ and ‘Sod the kids, you’re not getting me up on one of those things!’

So, bridges burned, or rather knowing that all their fuel would be expended on the outbound journey, they set off to acquire the previously mentioned ideal planet. It was the most simple of plans. Nothing could go wrong. The planet was defenceless and Ramin was going to attack all major areas of civilisation simultaneously and without warning. But as they broke through the cloud barrier, shields up and guns blazing, they realised the enormity of their mistake. Whether it was the instruments that were at fault, or the technicians in charge of them, would never be known. Those directly involved working the scanners and even one or two of the people who cleaned the scanner screens and made the coffee decided the shame was too great and without a word to anyone walked through the airlocks. This action causing more casualties than even the worst case scenario predicted.

The enormity of their blunder was the enormity of the planet to be acquired. They knew its position in relation to its Sun and the other planets in the system. They knew the chemical make-up of its atmosphere and the land to water ratio. They even knew that its inhabitants called it ‘Earth.’ What they didn’t realise was its size. If one imagines the Planet Earth to be the size of the Houses of Parliament, then Vernia would have been about the size of the marble that Johnny Williams lost there during his school visit in 1969. As Johnny never realised he’d lost it, and as no one ever found it, this also shows how significant Vernia would have been to the people of Earth. So it wasn’t that the Vernian Exploration Group (acquisition and naturalisation) actually failed in its mission, it was just that the inhabitants were too big and too stupid to realise they had been invaded. This naturally had a bad effect on the Group. It led to apathy, depression, the occasional suicide, (apart from the earlier mass suicide), two new religions and a new branch of philosophy. It also led to the birth of the Planning Department to make a ‘What do we do now?’ plan, that didn’t involve such things as suicide, worshipping a new God or Gods, or saying ‘Yes, but on the other hand…..’ at the start of every sentence.

I wonder thought Rowan, not for the first time, if there might not have been an easier or better way of doing this? They had built a number of bases since being here. One or two had been flooded, another had been crushed. They had stumbled (or rather a host had) into their present location some thirty years ago and it was now the size of a small town, but still invisible to a human, or even a rodent’s eye. Plus they had sent comrades all over this huge world and although they had never heard from some of them again, others were in regular contact. It was this secondary emigration that once again they believed ensured their survival.

41470.png

Jim, Maude’s husband, hadn’t remembered to feed the dogs, in fact he had completely ignored them, going straight to bed when he returned from dropping her off at work. Relieved, they warily crept from the hiding place they had dashed to on hearing the Land Rover return and settled on the couch to sleep away the day. Jim however couldn’t sleep; he was far too excited for that. His night had had the usual highs and lows but then he’d had a flash of brilliance, THE PLAN!

There had been a number of thefts and acts of vandalism at the site of the new hyper-market they were building on the edge of town and Bowen’s had won the contract to provide security for the site. Being in his mid-twenties, fit and standing six feet three in his size twelves, Jim was put on the night shift. This was what he’d been waiting for, his chance of some real action. He was sick to death of sitting in front of a row of CCTVs and walking around plush office buildings. He believed that all the crime there was committed between nine and five and, as it was aimed mainly at other competing companies or their own customers it was officially sanctioned. The only drawback to the new job was being given old Henry to work with as he was just cruising to his retirement.

Shit thought Jim he was knackered just from getting out of the van and into the Portacabin. ‘Bronchitis’ Henry had wheezed, lighting up a Park Drive.

Old Henry usually got the lighter, cushier jobs. He actually enjoyed sitting in front of a bank of monitors inside a plush office block. If the rumours were to be believed Mr Bowen Jr wanted to get rid of him. True or not Henry, had been getting jobs that should have gone to younger men, or at least those a little less so obviously approaching death. Henry believed the rumours himself, but thought he would stick around just to annoy Mr Bowen Jr, whose plan he was sure it was. He was so pleased when Jim said he would do all the patrolling that he almost stood up, this slight action causing a fit of coughing, the vibrations of which were so great that Jim could feel them through his crepe soles. He watched, with some trepidation, as Henry’s face ran through the colours of the rainbow leaving it a sort of slate grey colour. Being unable to say anything he waved his thanks to Jim who, having picked up his walkie-talkie was now heading out of the cabin to do his first round. Jim stopped at the door

‘I’ll try not to disturb you when I come in for my break.’ he said to the huddled figure trying vainly to light a fresh cigarette off the butt of the last one, but the after-shock tremors of his coughing attack had now reached his hands. Jim reckoned that this feat took all of Henry’s limited powers of concentration so didn’t bother to wait around for an answer. Stupid old sod, I hope he’s still breathing when I get back. There’ll be a shitload of forms to fill in if someone dies on the job.

He walked to the van, impressed at the reflection in the glass walking towards him. ‘GOD, I love this uniform!’ and well he might, it had cost enough. Maude would have a fit if she’d known that he’d had it specially made. Well, the one they’d given him was awful. He, and to be honest most of the other guards, thought it looked like one he’d grown out of. This one was the biz though. It had slightly padded shoulders and a specially made pocket at the hip for his (illegal) truncheon. And it fitted like a glove. It had been a nice sunny April day but there was now a distinct chill in the air. This was good as it meant he could wear his black leather gloves without feeling self-conscious. The only problem with nights was not being able to see when he wore his shades, so he took them straight off again. After checking his reflection in the door to ensure his peaked cap was on straight, he opened it and removed his matt black baseball bat from the recess under the seat, and set off on his rounds. He actually found the term ‘RECONNOITRING THE KILLING GROUND’ a more satisfying phrase. He made plenty of stops, checking cabins, diggers and other machinery and vehicles. He also found a number of dark areas where he could lie in wait for would-be villains, as usual his mind full of the confrontation that would ensue if anyone were stupid enough to try something when he was on duty. His eyes glazed as he pictured the scene, which was always a variation on an extremely well used theme. The three scumbags (four if he was feeling particularly angry) would be intent on their act of villainy and not notice him coming up behind them. He would then say quietly ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ They would all turn, surprised that they hadn’t heard him approaching. Although they could see by his eyes that he was fearless they would rush him, emboldened by their superior numbers. Two (or three) he would down quickly, with both grace and extreme violence. One was always bigger, stronger and tougher and would take longer to defeat, requiring an incredible array of moves, countermoves and a stunning agility on Jim’s part. And of course more extreme violence.

Coming out of his