The Guardian of the Washing Machine (Or Alien Emergency Escape Space-Time Portal)

By Richard Jenkins

Siavash has spent the last few years transforming his house into the world's first intergalactic space taxi. All he needs now is an intergalactic spaceship engine. As no such engine exists on Earth, he plots to acquire one from an advanced alien civilization.

His children, Fairuza and Giovanni, think their dad is properly nuts. But little do they know that the second-hand washing machine Siavash mysteriously acquired does more than clean their dirty tops and smelly socks.

After an accident involving his Intergalactic Space Taxi uniform, a super-sized doughnut packed with the stickiest jam his Nan has ever made, and an improvised ballroom dancing routine Giovanni takes the washing machine to maximum power, and his family to somewhere lost in space and time.

Stranded and in danger, the family finds themselves at the mercy of a crazed alien robot whose dastardly plan looks set to destroy them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Jenkins
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9780957056022

Richard Jenkins

Well, I just love to write, to think about and to come up with stories. Maybe my life is boring.I have been writing since the age of 15. Fortunately, life got in the way, and now, aged 38; I have finally finished my first novel.My influences span literature, theatre and film - if a story is good and engaging, it's all I need.Those who have influenced me are many, far too many authors and creators to list here - any genre, any era, if the story has got some humanity, I'll listen.

Book preview

The Guardian

of the

Washing Machine

(or alien emergency escape space-time portal)

Richard Jenkins

Published by Weston Books

Copyright © 2016 Richard Jenkins. All rights reserved.

The right of Richard Jenkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher or author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s or publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN: 978-0-9570560-2-2

CHAPTER 1

To some, gazing up at a clear night sky can be a dangerous activity. If left to ponder the wonder the of the galaxy and the endless space that exists beyond it for even a smidgen too long, their thoughts can drift away to become lost and separated from the everyday realities that fill the everyday lives of all, normal, everyday people. From their dazzled imaginations fantastic ideas and magnificent visions will rocket up into the void of space and explode like fireworks to fill the black with the colour of their dreams.

One such man with a mind vulnerable to the seductive charms of a brilliant night sky was Siavash Reginald Gianluca Rogers (formerly plain Derek John Rogers - still bumbling into middle-age, rapidly balding, as skinny as a lamp post and just as switched on for most of the time he wasn't) who, to the worry of his daughter Fairuza and son Giovanni (aged 11 and 10 respectively), was rather too fond of perusing the night sky with a jittery stare and a beguiled imagination. In fact, he cared little, if at all, for any other view, even that of a working telly, much to Giovanni's concern and confusion. But then this was a boy who firmly believed the only views that mattered were the digital ones he watched and controlled on any LCD screen.

The lightness of Siavash's mind and its willingness to be pulled dreaming through space was made worse by the location and design of the house he lived in. Its exterior made him believe the house had been built to resemble, if not actually be, a ship. But not a ship to explore the waters of Earth, rather one built to chew-up the miles of intergalactic space.

To be fair, it required little imagination to look at the house and picture a ship. The walls were skimmed with smooth white plaster, and the second and third floors were just a third the length of the rectangular ground floor. To an open, child-like, mind this looked like the bridge of a ship rising above a deck below.

The house was built in the Victorian age and was a gentleman's folly: the whim of a man with too much time and money to spend. Lucky that man. Good for him. Praise be the loons. We all have a folly or two waiting to get out and frankly we should do everything we can to get these follies out even if we have to push until something embarrassing goes pop.

Set in the deepest countryside high in the Shropshire Hills, the location of the house also conspired against (farted in the face of) the everyday sanity of Siavash Rogers. At night, in cities and towns, the hazy glow of artificial light produces a sort of fog that impairs the view of the starry night sky. In rural Shropshire, however, no such fog shimmers between the ground and sky, so when the sky is free of clouds, the stars do truly dazzle.

To compound the issue even further, as the house was perched on a hillside the large widescreen window on the third floor produced a panoramic, IMAX brilliant view of the sky. The impact of this was considerable. To look through the window was to feel cast out into the sky, or at least imagine the house was floating high above the ground, or, if Siavash, flying through the Milky Way on a vital intergalactic mission.

To once again be fair to Siavash - and why not, he is, after all, something of a loon - we are all travelling through space at a quite dizzying speed. As the Earth orbits the Sun, the solar system orbits the Milky Way while the Milky Way hurtles ever on through interstellar space. Everything is on the move. Even the frailest old granny is zipping madly along, (as soon we shall see for real).

His house was a spaceship. Is that what Mr Rogers believed? Yes, although a spaceship without an engine is like a bird with unflappable or otherwise useless wings - a chicken or a turkey not an eagle or an owl.

Undaunted, he took to the garage and with a single multi-tool penknife, a roll of gaffer tape and some other bits-and-bobs including a broken vacuum cleaner and a length of leaky hose pipe built an engine that he knew would revolutionise powered space flight. All the engine lacked was a cool turbocharger and a small amount of alien technology. There were loads of turbochargers on eBay, he only lacked the cash to buy, but as for the alien know-how, he had to concoct another plan hence The Intergalactic Space Taxi Service was born. His dirt-cheap prices would pull in the alien punters. A small deposit on advance bookings would give him enough alien money to fund an alien shopping spree. Before he had a fare to honour, his award winning engine would roar into life.

Space ace! he cried. Finally, it's all within my grasp! Unlimited powered space travel, and a proper, fulfilling job that pays a decent living wage.

Unfortunately, for three whole years, not a single alien booked a ride - not even for a sightseeing tour of Saturn's rings. Not that this dented the reality of Siavash's new found dream. He worked day and night to ready the ship. The engine grew to fill the garage as bits-and-bobs: a washing machine drum, a rusty old bicycle, a pair of mouldy curtains, two broken irons, various bits of wire, a bird table, and much more besides were glued, strapped and taped on to it.

The third floor room with the panoramic window, which he now consider to be the taxi's windscreen, became the Flight Deck. Originally, an old desk chair was modified to become the captain's chair. Buttons were stuck to the arms: actual buttons, those found on clothes as well as boiled sweets in a variety of colours. When pressed, none quite worked, but you got the idea. In fact, there were lots of buttons all over the walls and on various command consoles that he had made out of old bits of furniture. The navigation system consisted of twenty-four pocket calculators, which somehow he managed to get sent to him free in the post, glued together in one long row, and two old portable televisions which could no longer tune to any channel.

As the years ebbed away so did the money he had saved in the bank, that which paid the mortgage and clothed and fed Fairuza and Giovanni. He could feel his dream sinking, but a captain, he knew, never leaves his ship. So he didn't. He never once set foot outside the house. He stayed locked inside obsessed by his dream and the view from the windscreen window that took him on a journey through the galaxy every night when the sky was clear. Better to be poor than have a normal, boring job, he thought - not that his children agreed.

And then, from a little £5 stash of Premium Bonds, he won £10,000 pounds. Quivering, holding the letter that told of his winning, his dream rebooted, and his destiny was reaffirmed.

This is the boost. This is the spark that lights the fuel, he cried. This...this...this is the work of aliens! He gasped, shocked. Ruddy hell, I'm live on alien TV! His stare settled on an imaginary camera. He smiled shyly and waved.

Alright? I'm Siavash, and I'm moved to say, a million earthly thanks.

Embarrassed by the attention, he rushed through a door and out of the room.

Wait! he stopped, an idea having sprung into his mind. It's probably an alien version of Dragons' Den. The money isn't a prize; it's an investment!

Bursting with excitement, he ran to the Flight Deck, pressed the letter against the windscreen and screamed up at the sky.

I'll give you five percent but not a single percent more!

As the letter didn't vanish from his hand, he considered his offer accepted.

It's a deal. It's done! Speak to my lawyer, I'm off to build an empire! To infinity, for a pound!

CHAPTER 2

Sunday 28th of June. Oh, what a glorious day this was going to be. Three weeks had passed since the investment was made, three weeks to plan how best to spend it. Fairuza and Giovanni, having spent two nights at their Nan's, where now due home. On their return, Siavash would reveal how he had spent the money.

The moment would be his to savour. He would smash to smithereens the dead-end that after three long years had come to block his way. His children's hearts would once again fill with hope, and their belief in him and his fantastic dream would once again be in bloom. In their eyes, he will once again stand tall and proud as a pioneer, a man on the frontier of space exploration. At their next school assembly, his son and daughter will rise from the floor and cry aloud,

Yes, my dad drives a taxi, but it's a cool one that flies through space!

And then, just for effect, they will turn to the teachers and moon. Once again, he will be their inspiration. They will stand before him and become dizzy with awe.

Five thousand inflated balloons filled the house. Several rooms resembled ball filled play pits and very deep ones at that. Printed on every balloon was the following promotional blurb,

'The Intergalactic Space Taxi Service. To Infinity For A Pound. 24 Hour Service. No Drunks. £50 fine for Puking.'

Using a tank of compressed helium, which came with the order, it took Siavash an entire day to inflate them all. When inflating balloon number 4998, it occurred to him the balloon factory had forgotten to print his contact details on any of the balloons. Furious, he picked up the phone, called the factory and demanded to make his complaint known.

However, due to all the helium he had inadvertently inhaled, his voice was pitched so high and sounded so squeaky (think deranged chipmunk reeling from a kick in the nuts), no one from the factory could take his complaint seriously. In fact, all who listened, the manager had put him on speaker phone, were reduced through laughter to quivering jelly-like wrecks. Siavash's only compensation was the belief that, as the laughter was so manic, several of the laughers must have wet themselves for all to see.

Of course, his rant and the laughter it inspired was recorded and uploaded to YouTube where it received over 100,000 views in less than a day.

For a brief period of time, it became quite the thing for dudes of a musical nature to sample the closing lines of his high-pitched rant and splice it into various musical forms and tracks:

You'll be working for me one day, sonny boy. You'll be my number one. No! My number two! You'll be my number two puke cleaner. You hear that? You'll be my number two, yes my number two, you'll be my number two puke cleaner!

When he realised why they found him so funny, he chuckled at himself and forgave them reasoning, how hard can it be for advanced alien beings to find the only Intergalactic Space Taxi available for hire on a small planet like the Earth?

He planned to release the balloons, some of which he thought would go all the way to outer space. The inspiration for this advertising campaign came from an incident from his childhood that still played vividly in his mind.

One day, aged seven years old, he stood in the road outside his house and watched a balloon fall from an otherwise empty sky directly into his outstretched hand. A small envelope was attached to the balloon on which was written, 'CONGRATULATIONS!'

He opened the envelope, and a found a card inside, which read, 'To claim your prize, call this number....'

He made the call and gave his details. Five days later, his prize arrived by post. It was an Atari video game called, 'Emergency Escape Rescue Mission. Blast Off Now!'

Now, this was an age before computer technology furnished every corner of every room. Indeed, the Rogers's home couldn't boast a toaster let alone a state-of-the-art Atari video games console, which rather made his winning prize utterly useless.

He asked his dad to buy him one, for his birthday or Christmas. But his dad didn't believe in video games.

Play games on a television? Not on your nelly, he said. This isn't California of the U. S of A, son. It's Preston Gubbals, of the Shropshire, England.

The fact that his dad didn't even own their television, but rather rented it, as most people did, (and only one TV per household in those days) didn't help matters at all. He said,

The television is for television programmes only. It's too small for anything new. Look at it; there's not enough room inside there for programmes and for games. If we try, we'll break it. And who knows what then will come spilling out?

Please note, those were the days when televisions had only three working channels and NO REMOTE CONTROL - oh, imagine the indignity!

Siavash's mum was a little more understanding and willing to help. She knew someone who had a friend who had a microwave oven, and thought, since microwave ovens were new and modern and magical, they could try the game cassette in it. Fortunately, Derek, as he was known then, declined the offer.

The game remained a mystery and a fascination to Siavash all the way to the present day. It arrived in an otherwise empty box, without any explanation to why or from who he had won it.

He always kept it, still in its box, now framed and hanging on the wall in the Control Room, and often thought about it. Years later, he bought an old Atari console from eBay, but although the console played other Atari games it wouldn't play his prize. Intrigued, he googled the game but found no information about it. It was as if the game had never existed.

Back to Siavash's glorious day of revelation, which, not untypically, wasn't going to plan. He was under siege, and his only defence