And Man Created Eve

By John Henry Rainsford

The time is the future. Robots are doing the work previously performed by humans. The replacement of workers by robots is both predictable and inevitable. The owner of the largest robotics company in the world decides to create the perfect woman. He hires the best engineer to construct her body, and the best programmer to construct her brain. He buys an island and changes its name to Eden Island. He names the plan Project Eve, and she is planned to be the prototype for a new race of women to replace flawed womanhood. He does not foresee the consequences of his plan, such is his obsession. He does create the perfect woman in body and mind, but when she acquires human characteristics his plan starts to unravel. Project Eve ends in disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398411319

John Henry Rainsford

John Rainsford worked in the automotive industry for many years until the writing bug forced him to make a choice. He chose writing. The work is harder in this profession, much harder, but the rewards are more satisfying. A detective novel was followed by a work on Celtic mythology. His latest work explores the current obsession with technology, most especially in the West. Its onward march is seldom explored nor questioned, but there is a price to pay for every new invention by mankind. And the pace of technology moves faster than any law formulated by nations.

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About the Author

John Rainsford worked in the automotive industry for many years until the writing bug forced him to make a choice. He chose writing. The work is harder in this profession, much harder, but the rewards are more satisfying. A detective novel was followed by a work on Celtic mythology. His latest work explores the current obsession with technology, most especially in the West. Its onward march is seldom explored nor questioned, but there is a price to pay for every new invention by mankind. And the pace of technology moves faster than any law formulated by nations.

Dedication

For Mick and for Ellen. They are always with me.

Copyright Information ©

John Henry Rainsford 2022

The right of John Henry Rainsford to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398411302 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398411319 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

In gratitude to George Harbourne for his utter dedication.

Chapter One

By the year 2030, man had improved on God’s work.

In the beginning, as a teenager, Derek Brazil desired to create an empire of robots to operate in every country in the world, and on his fortieth birthday had almost achieved that ambitious and impossible aspiration He lived in a sprawling city called Occident, and at that relatively young age had already accumulated more wealth than the fabled kings of antiquity. His sleek manufacturing robots were daily replacing human beings in the workforce; not only in automobile and aircraft construction but also in roles more traditionally occupied by people, such as hotel cleaners, delivery drivers, porters and road sweepers.

Initially, the development of robots was intended to take the grinding drudgery out of menial work and was largely welcomed by workers on assembly lines, but as they became more sophisticated and advanced robots impacted on jobs higher up the wage ladder. Each new generation of robotic life-forms was smarter and more efficient than the previous generation, and was equipped to perform more complicated tasks. Each new generation was also becoming more humanlike in looks and speech. Office receptionists were replaced and rendered redundant, including in hospitals where robots gave an initial diagnosis of a patient’s problem before passing that person on to a human specialist. It was only a matter of time before medical specialists and consultants too were replaced and for one cogent reason – humans made mistakes but robots did not make mistakes.

By replacing a human consultant with a robot, the hospital could make considerable savings, not to mention the potential lawsuits it faced from human error. Therefore, it made economic sense to replace humans with robots, since the latter could not be sued for negligence. Not even the smartest lawyers had yet figured out a way to file a lawsuit against a machine.

Brazil was feted because of his wealth and the success of his company Robotix, appearing on late night TV shows and featuring on the pages of magazines associated with wealth and its creation. He featured weekly on the front pages of gossip magazines, who catalogued his many affairs with actresses and fashion models and similar young and beautiful women who flitted in and out of his orbit like moths attracted to his irresistible fire. The magazines obsessed about the next woman he would take as his bride, with the usual innuendos and nodding winks. Yet behind the aura of supreme confidence and the exterior accoutrements of financial success and billionaire status, Brazil had not found true love. Like many rich men of untold wealth, he could never be certain whether a woman wanted him for love or for his money. His relationships with the opposite sex were almost doomed before they began because of this deeply seated suspicion and the conviction that they only wanted to walk him down the aisle to get their hands on his money.

Beneath a dull and overcast afternoon sky, he disembarked from a pilotless helicopter on the roof of Robotix HQ and took an escalator to his apartment. A steel door opened silently when he punched in the codes. On entering the apartment, it came to life and an image of a woman appeared on a gigantic wall screen.

Mr Brazil, I thought you were taking the whole day off? It is your birthday."

A stiff north-easterly gale made the conditions at sea too dangerous, Gloria. Besides, I have some work that needs my attention.

In moments of deep reflection, he occasionally wished for poverty because then he could be certain of a woman’s true feelings towards him. But these moments were infrequent and passed in a nanosecond and written off as unwelcome intrusions to his orderly mind.

Occident was a city of bristling skyscrapers and automation, situated on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean and a beacon of Western progress and culture. It had drawn millions of desperate and impoverished people in search of a better life, enticed not only by its liberal attitudes but also because of its laws. In Occident, every citizen mattered and nobody was supposed to be above the law. The fact that the laws of the city largely did not apply to the rich and famous tended to go unnoticed by the millions of desperate people seeking a better life because they too wanted a slice of that elusive Western lifestyle. It was the idea of a society based on the principle of the rule of law that spurred them to seek its shores, not the practical application of the law itself. The city lay in a temperate zone of changing seasons, turning white under carpets of snow during winter and its parks greening again with the coming of spring. Its deep harbour teemed with commerce that was seldom interrupted except for the brief and occasional storms in late autumn that heralded the arrival of winter.

Anything urgent I need to know, Gloria?

No, sir.

Brazil lived in an apartment that occupied the top floor of a skyscraper in the business section of the city from where he could look down on the streets and the shops and the people who appeared no bigger than ants. That was his first act each morning before starting work, looking down on the people scurrying around the crowded streets like swarms of tiny ants. The HQ of Robotix catered for all his requirements and he seldom left it because the streets could be a dangerous place for a man who replaced human workers with robots.

Brazil was most careful about his safety and never went outdoors without a couple of armed bodyguards. He spent most of his time in the building however, only venturing outdoors to give a speech or to accept another honour bestowed on him by a grateful city. The tall skyscraper had maids, a laundry service, several restaurants, an entertainment complex and a gym where he could work out and keep fit. What it did not have were bars that served alcohol. Like many of its occupants, Brazil was an advocate of a healthy mind in a healthy body and did not touch alcohol. Not only had he an aversion towards alcohol, he passionately disliked anyone who drank the stuff. He was also a vegan, not for any noble consideration of animal welfare, but rather in his pursuit of a healthier lifestyle. A healthy mind in a healthy body was his mantra.

Now, he viewed the sprawling metropolis under an emerging sun from his office in the luxury apartment complex and pondered on the plan formulating in his mind, thinking about the future, about his future. He had everything money could buy but he could not buy love. That most important goal was beyond the reach of his financial muscle. His reflection was caught in a wall mirror alongside the captive sun that reflected its rays around the office. He studied his features in the mirror for more than two minutes, nodding at the face staring back at him. He had a handsome face, the features of a successful man that exuded self-belief and confidence. He had that face only money can buy.

Now he compared the reflected face in the mirror to a recent framed photograph on a nearby desk, judging it from various angles. The photograph and the face in the mirror were identical. He spent more than fifteen minutes checking the mirror with the framed photograph, until assured that the two were identical. The large walk-in wardrobe had a few dozen expensive silk suits lined up in rows like soldiers on parade, and he selected one in pale blue, trying it on for size. Of course, it fitted perfectly.

A concealed panel in the bedroom wall glided silently aside under his spoken command to reveal a wall safe. He punched in the memorized combination and opened it up. Neat stacks of cash greeted his eyes and a pistol. He had no need for the gun, not now, not any longer.

A linen bag tied at the neck contained handfuls of sparkling diamonds, a useful hedge against inflation and a universal currency easily transported. A black box edged in gold leaf displayed a new watch. He tried it on for size and left it on his wrist, noticing how heavier it was than the one it replaced. Returning to the wardrobe, he selected a pair of brown shoes, light and soft for the season, crafted by expert hands.

Below his lofty gaze, traffic crawled on the busy streets and a few airborne taxis dodged between the tall buildings. Brazil had been staring down on the scene for more than twenty minutes, immobile as a statue but thinking of his future. He could not confide his thoughts in friends because, like the type of women he attracted, Brazil could not ascertain whether the people he associated with liked him for himself or liked him for his wealth. His aloofness was both an asset and a drawback, since it made him an object of curiosity and intrigue in the city, but also meant he had no close confidantes. Brazil was a fabulously rich man who could not afford friends.

Gloria, he said, I need you to take notes.

His words transformed a wall into a gigantic screen and the woman reappeared. She was aged in her middle years and wearing horn-rimmed glasses on a neck chain of pearls. Gloria Whelan was his secretary who was most efficient, if somewhat perfunctory in speech and manner. She obeyed without question and never asked the reason why. He had employed her for the traits he loved most in his employees; unquestioning loyalty and utter obedience to his every request and desire.

Yes, Mr Brazil.

I’m feeling a bit under the weather today, he said and took a few steps to the screen. How do I look to you? Do I appear any different than I did yesterday? It’s probably a bug but I feel a bit off colour today. Do you think I’ve changed? My features, I mean?

No, Mr Brazil, you look your usual healthy self.

Take a closer look, Gloria.

She took a closer look. No change, Mr Brazil.

What about my voice, Gloria? I think I might have caught a chill on the ocean this morning. It feels a little hoarse, do you think?

I can discern no change, sir.

Thanks, Gloria. I’m looking for a good corporate lawyer who hasn’t too many ethics but who’s an expert on human rights. That should not be too hard a find because most of them are tarred with the same brush. Find me the one with the thickest tar. He must be willing to carry out my instructions to the letter and not ask too many questions. Get on it immediately.

Yes, Mr Brazil. Must it be a male lawyer?

Specifically, Gloria.

His secretary did not question the request which she heard as a command, nor point out that discrimination on gender was against the laws of Occident. The gender equality laws were enforced strictly in the city and heavy fines levied against any individual or company that broke them. However, the wishes of her boss took precedence over the law. That’s the reason he had employed her. Besides, the city would turn a blind eye to its richest man flouting the gender laws. It always had.

Also, search out a deserted island not too distant away, say between thirty to fifty square miles. It must not have any people but should have some infrastructure. Also, get in touch with Kurt Lovejoy and have him meet me here in the afternoon. Tell him, it’s urgent.

He’s probably at the factory or in his laboratory.

You can bet on that, Gloria.

Brazil did not drink alcohol nor smoke tobacco, and amongst his other proud achievements was also a dedicated player of squash. He was as competitive in sport as he was in business and did not regard any game as friendly. He took the lift down to the gym and changed into a shorts and t-shirt before going to the squash court. He had the body of an athlete, resembling that of a boxer or a sprinter, with a muscled torso and powerful legs. He admired his body in a mirror, looking at it from several angles, from right and left, seeking out a muscle that needed improvement or excess fat that needed to be removed. It was, for him, a daily routine and one that improved both his image and his confidence.

A man of younger years but similar height was taking off his black, priestly robes and carefully folding them in a neat bundle. It’s a peculiar trait of human nature that opposites don’t attract and that people with similar viewpoints gravitate to each other, almost akin to a scientific law. The two men shared common ideals about fitness and about the degeneration of the human race, most especially the female component of the human race. Brazil was fanatical in his attitude to fitness and regarded anyone who did not exercise as morally decayed and weak of character. Father Fabian Klimek detested the lack of religion in the West and its secular and sexually liberated outlook on life. They had been fated by that shared outlook to meet and become close. Theirs was not a relationship based on friendship, but on similar views of the world.

Brazil put every sinew of his being into beating Klimek but did not sweat and his t-shirt remained dry during the contest. The outcome was decided on the best of five sets and generally the two players came out about even. Some weeks ended with Klimek winning the contests, others with Brazil gaining the advantage. They were like two athletes evenly matched, each spurring on the other to greater achievement. It was a daily contest that pitted their fitness and endurance, one trying to outlast his opponent.

But something profound had happened almost overnight to Brazil and he brushed the younger opponent aside with ease, winning the first three sets easily and comprehensively. The younger man chased the spinning ball around the court, deceived by its speed. Brazil’s returns were faster and more accurate than his opponent and placed where they were difficult to retrieve.

There were no handshakes when it ended, Klimek conceding defeat ungraciously, seeking an excuse rather than accepting it in the true spirit of game. Something strange and extraordinary had happened to Brazil since the game yesterday morning and Father Klimek was utterly confused.

You are slowing up, Fabian, commented Brazil. Are you on drugs?

Drugs? Klimek responded angrily. My body is a temple, you know that, Derek. I allow nothing inside my temple except the pure. You were lucky, that’s all. Another game?

Brazil shook his head. Don’t be a glutton for punishment.

Klimek slumped on a bench gasping for breath. Three straight games without conceding a single point? Unbelievable. It hasn’t happened before and we’ve been playing each other for five years. What’s happened to you? It’s almost a miracle if you ask me. Added to that, there isn’t a bead of sweat on your forehead. Not one. Have you discovered some sort of energy drink or a new pill?

Put it down to clean living.

I haven’t seen you hit the ball so hard before as long as I’ve known you. I couldn’t reach the returns, Derek. I doubt if a professional player could have matched your prowess on court. Losing is bad enough but not taking a single point from you in three games is frankly baffling. There has to be a reason why you’ve improved so much in such a short period of time.

Training, Fabian, training.

They showered separately and unseen by each other and afterwards sat for a brief conversation. The priest uncapped a couple of bottles of mineral water and handed one over. He sipped on the bottle, his chest still heaving from the exertions of the game. Meanwhile, Brazil’s chest moved in an out in regular motions, as if he had not participated in the same game. He betrayed no signs of tiredness or breathlessness.

I blame this women’s liberation movement for the spike in the divorce rate, began Klimek, whose view of the world was limited to a single subject, the true benchmark of the fanatic. Young people are shacking up together and living in sin without the sacred vows of holy matrimony. The liberals and the media are conspiring to turn the people into heathens without any discussion of the hereafter. A day of reckoning is coming soon, mark my words and it won’t be pretty.

Klimek had arrived in the city with the zealous hope of turning back the clock on secularism, only to find that there was no going back. Time had moved on and it could not be recalled. The churches were largely deserted and the people could not be forced to attend because freedom of religion also meant freedom to live without religion. The city provided that freedom because its large population lived under secular laws. He considered Occident a den of sexual iniquity, a modern Babylon teeming with sinners and untold vices. Klimek had found himself swimming against the tide of history, but his sense of righteousness kept him moving forward because he passionately believed in his vocation. He struggled against the tide because he was right and the tide was wrong.

I utterly agree with your wise comments. Take me, I’ve been married twice and divorced twice, Fabian. I didn’t ask much of them, only to be my wife and rear my children. Isn’t that why God created women? Not only did both bitches break their marriage vows, they badly damaged my bank account.

Daughters of Eve, all of them, concurred Klimek, his chest still heaving in and out. She lost paradise for mankind and her offspring are determined to keep up the evil work she started. In these unhappy days, women are more interested in their careers than marrying a raising a family as your mother and my mother did. Nowadays, women don’t want kids because they are too selfish and that state of affairs is unnatural and dangerous. The population is ageing and not being replaced. Occident is doomed to extinction without wives having kids.

Brazil nodded in agreement.

My first wife was an actress and my second a model, he replied. The boulevards of Hollywood and the catwalks of Paris had more appeal to them than being at home and raising a family. Neither mentioned that they wished to continue their careers before they married me, but as soon as I mentioned children, they took the first plane to Hollywood and Paris. Then they sued me for divorce.

Career women, spat Klimek.

I have more money than time to spend it, but no children that I can pass it onto because neither of them wanted kids. And the courts sided with them against me? Can you explain why they sided with my wives who failed to fulfil their side of the marriage contract? What sort of society have we become here in the West, eh? What has happened to our renowned and admired Western civilization, Fabian?

It has lost the plot, Derek. Modern women don’t want equality, they want domination. The courts of law are pushing the feminist agenda. It’s like a virus that has infected the minds of the judiciary and the lawmakers. We are witnessing its decline as we sit here.

Is that fair? posed Brazil. I worked my butt off since the age of fifteen, ten hours a day and seven days a week to build up the business. Carol, my first wife, was a two-bit actress who could not get a role in a commercial. She had white teeth and a wide smile but nothing between the ears. She married me and after six months divorced me and bought herself a villa in the south of France as well as a toy boy young enough to be her son. Our courts have a vendetta against men because of this women’s lib.

The ruination of marriage, agreed Klimek.

As if that wasn’t enough injustice, they handed out a fortune to Cindy my second wife after a few months of marriage. Now she’s back on the catwalk earning a fortune for walking up and down showing off her body. To rub salt into the wound, she’s hired a lawyer to check if I have cash in offshore accounts so she can screw me more.

Modern women don’t regard holy matrimony as a sacred institution created by God to cure carnal sin and raise a family but a gold mine to become rich, Derek. That’s what they have become gold-diggers. They scan the glossy magazines for rich men and home in on them like a guided missile. And the feminist courts back them up and set them up fin luxury for the rest of their sinful lives. A time of reckoning is coming, of that I’m certain.

Brazil sipped the mineral water. I’m working on a solution for this women’s lib movement and I’ll need your help, Fabian. The Western world needs a new beginning, a return to traditional values. The time has come to restore the natural order. It’s not too late to turn back the clock and recover our lost morality. When I set my mind to doing something, it gets done.

What sort of a solution?

Like it was in the beginning, Fabian and how it can be once again. I want to restore the natural order of life. I want to reset the relationship between men and women. I want you to join me in this noble endeavour to right the wrongs inflicted on the male sex by women’s lib.

"You can count on my help, Derek.

In a little more than an hour Whelan had found a lawyer and Brazil viewed his image on the video wall in his office. Ken Stark wore dark spectacles and a flashy suit, an outfit designed to portray his upwardly mobile ambitions and strictly monetary aspirations. Money was his lodestar and it steered his direction in life. He was a tubby man in his mid-to-late thirties and sported a crewcut that suggested a military background. Brazil was a good judge of character traits even from an image and Instructed Whelan to set up an early appointment. The plan that he had formulated in his mind was starting to take shape.

I have found an Island for sale called Xanadu, Mr Brazil. The climate is tropical. It can be acquired for the right price at the moment because it has few facilities. I would advise you to move quickly before the market intervenes.

Any snakes? I hate snakes, Gloria.

I am aware of that fact, Mr Brazil and did make enquiries. No recorded sightings of snakes on the island. I checked with the former owner. Not one sighting when he used it as a holiday resort. It closed down about ten years ago when a holiday-maker was killed by a shark.

Fine, post it up on screen. Also, Get me a listing of vacant properties on the island. Find out their condition. Give me a cost analysis of the work. Electricity is essential and not just an intermittent supply. It must work to full capacity at all times and a back-up service in case of emergency. I want no blackouts for this project.

I’ll enquire about back-up generators. Mr Brazil.

He filled a glass of orange crush and sat back to view the paradise island in the sun. Moving pictures appeared on the wall taken from a drone or aircraft flying low across island. Hugging the coast, properties of various sizes appeared below, almost like a village, remnants of a failed tourist resort that was now falling into decay. Xanadu Island had a dark and chequered past, which probably accounted for its basement bargain price.

No record of snakes, Gloria? he repeated.

Not a single report.

It had once been a staging point for African slaves on their way to the cotton plantations of the southern United States to work in the fields for uncaring landowners who had not regarded them as fellow human beings but as slaves to be worked to death in the cotton fields for a profit. In its second life, it had been used as a holiday resort where the rich and famous used to spend their summers, but a series of shark attacks had brought that venture to a premature end. Now, it lay uninhabited and overgrown with clusters of jungle and fields of wild sugar cane.

There are thirty properties, eleven of which are derelict, her voice reported. Of the remainder, ten are habitable and need no further outlay apart from bed linen and a few coats of paint. The rest require some minor structural renovation but not much cost outlay. An efficient electricity supply operated when it was used as a holiday resort but it needs to be reconnected and restored in all properties. The infrastructure is there already.

Hurricanes, Gloria?

None recorded in three years.

Good, good work. We’ll go for it, Gloria. Begin the purchase details and have the sale documents on my desk ASAP. Cancel my other appointments for today. Anything else I should know about?

Mr Lovejoy is here.

Send him up.

Chapter Two

Derek Brazil had a pathological aversion to uncleanliness that bordered on paranoia but excused the fault in Kurt Lovejoy his top robotic engineer and developer. Lovejoy dressed untidily and sometimes wore a sweater without a shirt. He often forgot to shave and didn’t give much thought to his appearance. Brazil had learned to stand upwind of his chief engineer because he didn’t bathe regularly or use lotions or sprays to counter his body odour that seemed to follow him around like a swarm of flies on a hot day in summer.

Lovejoy was thirty-nine years old and did not dress his age. He wore his unkempt hair long over a pair of narrow shoulders that drooped at acute angles, rendering him with an unmanly and somewhat comical appearance. He had a pale complexion to match his dowdy appearance and no interests outside the narrow and consuming confines of his work. His somewhat peculiar and unappealing appearance belied the fact that he was