I am taken for a hike. In my Armani suit looking all respectable notwithstanding perching precariously on a ladder looking into a neighborhood sunny garden minding my own business calling out for my Dronesville’s dog, Gracie, who has disappeared overnight, the sudden blow comes and knocks me off balance completely, causing me unceremoniously free-falling over the edge of the garden down a steep slope gate-crashing into someone’s private property. Later I learn that the blunt object that hit me is a base ball which a Gen.Y woman power hitter hits with great precision and aim landing the ball right on my head as intended.
Once I reach the point of no return someone blindfolds me and tie my two hands together. Then two persons drag me to a prison cell (or a cellar of some sort). I cannot see at all so I start imagining the worst scenario. I can hear sound of running water. Am I in a dungeon? Then I realize I am possibly in the house adjoining to the hyperloop place. It is a large, seemingly ordinary and sunny looking house painted bright sunflower yellow. I can hear footsteps of people moving some furniture in the room. Then a woman voice asks:
“What are you doing spying on us?”
Another woman voice says, “You peeping tom!” (Because I was using binoculars before they hit me.)
“Don’t think that you can fool us by dressing up as if you are an ordinary salesman.” This woman thinks that I wear Armani suit to sell stuff to the dronesville residents!
“He is probably a con man. We have never seen salesman wearing Armani. Perhaps he is a pervert.”
“Maybe he is just a third rate actor who has been made redundant and is doubling up as a temporary salesman?”
“No he seems too foolish not to be a spy, like Johnny England. I bet he is a third rate spy. Let’s see, what shall we do with a spy? Perhaps cut off his index finger and mail it back to the M15 or FBI?”
I can only shake my head vigorously. They have gagged me so I can’t answer them. They don’t seem to want my answer anyway because they keep asking questions and answer them themselves.
Meanwhile, I am still blind-folded. My hands are tied and my mouth is gagged. I am like a sitting duck shaking my head like it is working on a head shaking upside down pendulum clock. The situation is getting out of control soon as the two hotly debate about my real motive and a pandemonium breaks out as they start throwing stuff at each other and causing loud bangs. What sends shiver down my spine is that the two women speak English with foreign accent.
“What shall we do with this intruder?” Finally one comes back to the crucial question.
“Well, maybe we feed him to the jelly fish? Our jelly babies will be delighted!”
“Hmmm, seems good idea. Only snag is he is too big and they get bored with eating the same stuff for too long. With that Armani he may cause indigestion too.”
“Deep freezing can preserve for months, in case we run out of food for the jellies.”
I recall having read somewhere this dreadful information: “Jellyfish are carnivores and excellent predators. They sting with tentacles to subdue small aquatic fish, and eat the eggs and invertebrates that stick to their tentacles.” I realize too late I seem to be in the hands of two possibly mad alien women who are hiding from both the M15 and FBI. But what are they doing breeding giant jelly fish? I shudder to figure out.
They cannot decide what to do and decide to call it a day and leave me. I can sense the day dragging until nightfall. The two do not return to check on me. I have my window of opportunity to escape. Even though they have taken away my mobile phone, they have not detected my hair-line-thin-film robot glued to my chest. When I am finally convinced the two are fast asleep and certainly not within earshot I telepathically command the robot to communicate with the drone which I am confident that Gracie has taken with her.
Sure enough Gracie or rather the drone returns a signal to show that it is receiving my signals. I send my thought again to signal I am in dire strait if not life threatening danger. Soon the drone returns with an audible signal that rescue is on the way. The GSP link enables my robot to transmit my exact location to the drone which in turn can lead Gracie here. Will Gracie understand the drone’s signal? The drone will translate the signal to her in audible human language and being a transmuted dog she can understand alright! I become quite optimistic after all.
I can hear soft steps of little feet and an almost inaudible humming drone sound by the time I nearly doze off. Am I hearing things or am I imagining? But I also hear a loud thud somewhere…(To be continued)