The Din'l have turned on their human benefactors and murdered countless colonists with bloodthristy relish. But life is always tough on the New Frontier. And if the Din'l get their evil appendages on the Twin Totems of Totality, all of hominid kind will be in peril.
Bernice Summerfield, crusader and scourge of villany and deprivation throughout the galaxy, is the only person who can stop that fate of death befalling billions. Accompanied by starship captain Milo Baine, who seeks revenge for the murder of his crew at the hands of the heartless Din'l, Berni must travel to the perilous planet of Din-el and stop traitorous human pirates from handing the Totems over to the enemies of light.
But even Berni cannot know the tortures and traumas that await her, in the Halls of Infinity and the minds of the Din'l!
Another True Adventure of the New Frontier, downloadable in installments from GalNet between June and August this year for a modest sum.
He heard the door being opened. They were coming again. Still after their silly little totem. He hoped they'd believe him today, understand that he didn't know where it was, and even if he once had he couldn't remember anymore, and even if he could how could he tell them. The implants in his brain wouldn't let him. They'd tried to remove those first, of course - it was only sensible. But that had only destroyed motor functions down the left side of his face and wiped out a sizeable chunk of his long-term memory.
He dribbled slightly as the hands reached down for him, and wodnered what they'd take today. A memory flashed across his eyes briefly, like a subliminal advert for popcorn in the middle of a film. He saw himself in the mirror, adjusted his graduation robes. He was fully fledged Adjudicator, had completed his training and passed all his tests with flying colours. The memory flickered and died, just as his loyalty to his office had when he'd learned how much more private contracts paid.
MacGuffin felt warm as hazy hands helped him to his stumps and pulled him towards the door.
Bernice Summerfield, handsome, clever, and destitute, homeless and with a dispossesed disposition, seemed to unite some of the worst sufferings of existence; and had lived nearly thirty-eight years in the universe with much to distress and vex her.
[Extract from the Diary of Professor Bernice Summerfield]
I keep waiting for the punchline. Or maybe for the laughter, afterwards, maybe that's what I want to hear. Something to break the silence. Some sort of closure. Part of me wants life to be like stories. Wants it to be written with the final paragraph already mapped out, with the cliffhangers in place and the comedy thought-through, not sprayed around haphazardly. Part of me is afraid that life is already like that, and the only problem is that I'm not the one writing the story.
Now that I'm myself again, I feel I need to re-iterate and re-explain some things.
[Next section obscured by post-it notes]
Like many of those who escaped the fall of Dellah, I am lost and alone in the universe. I'm not as bad off as most. I have a job now, even if it isn't a very good one. I have somewhere to lay my head at night with some sense of safety, even if it isn't a home. I have Wolsey, and he's starting to put weight on again. I have the memory of intense hatred and murderous intent to the New Moral Army. And pity for them. And fear of them. And all that.
It's easy to remove the blame from their shoulders, and maybe it's fair to do that. They aren't exactly in control of their faculties, in any sense. They were brainwashed, after all. But so was I, for a while, and could have been again and forever without the Mary-Sue. I knew so many of those people, taught them, worked with them. Maybe that's what hurts the most - I know them, I know they aren't fundamentalists and murderers. And what I saw in them was both so out of character and yet so focused on litle bits of who they were in very important ways that it hurts. They all took the first step, they chose to believe, to have faith, to do what the Sultan told them and find religion.
Can I hate them for doing that? I can't hate Emile for the thing inside him. But he's learned to control it, to drive it away - and suffers for that. Can I hate the Dellahans and others still on the planet for not being strong enough to escape the influence they are held under? They're suffering just as much, more even.
[Post-its covering the above]
For countless centuries of human history, men and women have been told about the importance of religion, of faith and spirituality. Beyond simplistic ideas of salvation and damnation, they've been told that belief makes you a better person. This goes for numerous sentient races.
Any flavour of spitiruality, no matter how fluffy and stupid, is idealised. Of course, this is very advantageous to those in charge - as long as people keep their minds on outsides and beyonds, those in power can carry on regardless and don't get noticed as much. Gestalt, soci-economic entities have been encouraging blind faith for a very long time, while individuals happily give up independent thought, ignoring the world around them and concentrating on an imagined world beyond their knowing. A world over which they have no tangible power, and therefore no responsibility. Unlike the one around them.
Of course, then the problems of the world around them can be both ignored and blamed on external forces, and people are quite happy to live in poverty and shit in the sure and certain knowledge of honey and custard in the next world. And in some cases, the ignorance lets them kill and hate and be led and do the right thing (which is invaraibly the wrong thing, and more wrong than the other wrong things) without thinking.
Thankfully, now, at the birth of the twenty-seventh century, such barbarous behaviour never happens and everyone is rational and nice. Religion is a hobby, just like it should be, and not something so heartfelt that it can be used by jealous gods to destroy the universe.
[Back on paper]
I can't hate them. I hate what they did. But I nearly did the same myself. We know who to blame, don't we? Who used the people's faith and twisted their religion. And just as soon as I figure out how, I'm going to break the cordon and kill them all. Or not.
Let's just concentrate on survivng for the moment, shall we duckie? Like everyone else.
Well, not everyone else. Emile is teaching tricks to slugs to stop the thing inside him tearing him and half the galaxy apart. That's quite impressive. And very entertaining to watch - who knew molluscs could be so atheletic?
Brax, from what I can gather (largely from what Jason told me) has retreated inside himself and hidden away among his secretly assembled treasuers. The latest rumour is that, as a form of distraction, he is going to re-catalogue his entire collection, and then fill in any gaps he thinks need filling in, and then buy anything else he can, and then put it all somewhere for people to come and look at. He saved 4000 people, people who would be dead (or, at the very least, brain-dead and running around talking about Truth and Light) without him. He doesn't think it was enough. And given the number who were killed, and the ones who were lost to us, I can see his point. He stayed because Dellah was his home, and now, like so many, he's got nowhere to go. Nowhere he wants to go. YKW took his machine away, left him here with no way of going back. And the one YKW who could and would help him, and me, isn't around anymore - and for him to turn up now, too late in the day and after what happened on Dellah, would be just a little bitter.
The Council on [word obscured] were grateful enough to us that they allowed me one service. I told them to release the captives and pay them compensation - and that if they didn't, I'd bring every rights and freedoms organisation I know of, and half the galaxy's media down on them and ensure that impartiality stayed well away from the proceedings. They agreed. They've had to hock half the palace to take care of it, but I think the refugees will be OK now. As OK they can be.
And so here I am, digging away on Delta Hydra with an underfunded and understaffed team on sabbatical from Mars. We're being financed by the AKJB Institute, a former independent research organisation that changes hands on the stock exchange between corporations and investors who have a litle cash to spare (and, it seems from here on the ground, very little indeed) and need to improve their public image a bit by being seen to support ventures of academic worth. And then there's the head of the dig, efectively my boss, Doctor Miles Bain. Words fail me sometimes. It's not that he's a complete and utter git, you understand, it's just--
[Extract ends]
A cough drew Benny's attention. She put her pen down and turned around. Miles was looking at her with his left eyebrow raised.
"Professor, much as I hate to bother you, we are supposed to finish this dig by the end of next week."
"Yeah, sorry Miles, just up-dating my diary."
Benny stood up and put her diary back in her bag. Although she was taller than Miles, he had a way of angling his head so that he always seemed to be looking down at her. He wasn't a complete and utter git, but he did cultivate a snide and superior air in the same way most, if not all people cultivate trees, plants, grass and assorted other flora by just breathing. He was an intelligent and cultured man, if a little up-tight. He had light mannerisms, dark blonde hair, thin bone-structure and a cleft chin.
"Well, not to worry. You can come and help me clean up the latest section of frieze we've uncovered. It seems to contain a portrayal of one of this planet's most prominent gods." They gean to wander back to the main site together, cutting down the grassy banks that were the main attraction to this dig for Benny - Delta Hydra's countryside was nicely comparable to Devon's on a summer's day. "Well, we think it was one of their most prominent gods. The texts are astoundingly difficult to translate. But this figure is the only one we have so far seen that has wings, and that would link with the winged ur-figure so prominent and celebrated in the surviving manuscripts from this area. Of course, winged gods and angels are common the galaxy over, representing, as they do, the desire in sentients to fly. In fact, the only races that tend to not have gods with wings are those that can fly themselves, which is st-"
"Miles," Benny interrupted, "do we need the running commentary?"
"No. I sometimes forget that you're not one of my students. I'm so out of practice with other academics. Sorry."
"That's quite alright," smiled Benny. She glanced down at the camp. It seemed unusually active. There were figures in black running between the tents, more coming from the latest supply ship which had landed a short while before. She could see something was wrong. The students looked slightly frantic, some were being pushed around and punched and screamed at.
"Not again, not now," said Benny.
"What, what is it?"
"I've no idea, but I don't think I'm going to like it."
The black figures were looking up the high slopes now, scanning the tors and trees. They saw Benny and Miles.
"Do you think we should find cover," asked Miles.
"I suspect it wouldn't do us much bananas running through acid on the first and third novembers in Thursday you see." Benny fell over, joining Miles on the grass. She brielfy registered the yellow smoke around her, and the acrid taste in the air, before big comfy thing shrouded her in big comfort.
"Well, that's another one. And we still don't know where the second artefact is."
"No." The voice was low and gutteral.
"Where have you taken the first?"
"It is safe."
The woman sucked her cheeks in. "We do still have a deal?"
"Find the second artefact."
"Well," the woman turned to look at the small lump of a human in the cage. "Delbarre is bound to send someone else. This one was an assassin by trade, you know. One of the novelty kind, used to sing to his victims before he killed them. So, that's him, the guy who had the objects in the first place, Endle, Beed, the two industrial spies, and that cyborg. We've still got them to play with, but I don't hold high hopes. Perhaps the next one will be more co-operative. I wonder who he'll send."
The Din'l turned away from the woman, and began to leave.
"I'll have Kendle keep an eye out, then, yeah?" she said to its retreating back.
Benny woke up on a large and comfortable bed, shrouded in silk sheets. A small box on the table beside the bed was making incessant chirruping noises. She pressed a few buttons experimentally then threw it across the room.
She pulled the sheets up, noticed that she was completely naked, and pulled them down again. There was a note on the table.
"Dresses in wardrobe. Please join us for dinner, as soon as the alarm goes off," she read aloud.
The frocks all looked expesnive. An array of coktail dresses in assorted colours and styles, each of the softest and most enhcanting fabrics, each flattering on the figure. Benny couldn't find any underwear, so chose the longest dress she could find (knee-length, blue and gold) and slipped on a pair of blue pixie boots. Her hair and make-up had already been done, using some system that stopped her rubbing the make-up off or messing her hair up at all, and she wasn't too unhappy with the results. In fact, she thought, the haircut and the splashes on her cheeks took five years off her.
The door wasn't locked, there was no-one outside. But there was only one way out of the corridor, and that was to a staircase that led straight down to a dining room. Waiting for her, around a large and over-laden table, were Miles and two strangers.
"Good evening, Professor Summerfield. How lovely you look." One of the two strangers greeted her. Benny recognised the man's accent. It wasn't exactly common place in her time, but she was very well travelled (and besides, she'd seen enough archaic recordings of 'Eastenders' in the "Quaint Old Niceties Of Television That Are Bound To Get You All Talking" slot when she was a kid). He was a squat human, with thick, greying black hair and a squidgy face. He was wearing a furry and patently ridiculous purple tuxedo with a purple and red striped bow tie. Wolsely was sitting on his lap, happily purring away like the traitor he was. The other stranger, a tall and anaemic younger man with ginger hair, didn't even make eye contact.
The large room was quite bare, and Benny's footfalls echoed on the polished marble floor. The ceiling was high, and large windows filled three of the room's four walls. Beyond them, the sky was grey and rain was drizzling through the air. Benny didn't recognise it.
"Right," said Benny, "what do you want and what are you going to offer me?"
"Why so suspicious and formal, Bernice?"
"Oh, I wonder."
"My name is Troy Delbarre."
"Congratulations." Benny sat in the empty seat opposite Miles. She smiled at the doctor, but he seemed rather confounded by the whole situation.
"The Troy Delabarre."
"What, not the The Troy Delbarre?"
"Very well, Bernice. I am a very rich man, and want you to do a little job for me."
"Join the queue." Bernice started on the rather sumptous starter - avocado and prawns. It was slices of avacado over a prawn cocktail and salad, and would have been better done as a scooped out half of avacado with the prawns, sauce and fruit mixed and filled into the half, and the salad on the side, but was nice anyway.
"I'm afraid I'm unable to wait anymore. During the colonial ocupation of the planet Din-el, a pair of rather un-cared for artefacts came into the hands of a corporation I now own. The natives, a peculiar race called the Din'l, didn't seem to mind very much. In fact, they didn't seem to mind anything very much. However, whilst in transit from a museum on Courvoisier to a reasearch facility of mine these items went missing. They were, in fact, stolen, we suspect by or at the behest of the Din'l. An operative of mine who was guarding them at the time, a Mr MacGuffin, also disappeared, though we think he just ran away once he found out the artefacts were missing. We believe they have been taken to the secluded religious site in the deserts on Din-el. I want you to go to Din-el and track down my property. Quite simple, really. Doctor Bain will accompany you - he knows what the artefacts in question are, indeed he's the closest thing to an expert on Din'l culture that we could find in human space. Your expertise and experience in both archaeology and less academic pursuits should make you perfect for my needs."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. You will leave as soon as dinner is over. Naturally, you will be well paid for your services. You will have an account with the tourist bank on Din-el, some new clothes, and so on."
"Hmm. Not interested," said Benny with her mouth full.
"I thought you might say that. That's why I bought AKJB this morning. I now own your contract with AKJB. Which means, for the next two weeks at least, I own you. You have no choice in the matter. Refuse to undertake this job, I will sue you for breach of contract and have you shot, and I can do that. I own this planet, its justice system does what I want it to do."
"What is this planet?"
"Delbarre World."
"Ah."
"Fail to successfully complete this mission and I'll have you pay back all the money I've paid you. And then I might have you shot anyway. You really do have no choice in this." The sky outside seemed to darken even more, and lightning flashed. Rolls of thunder shook the windows.
"Very impressive. Such precise weather controls are very expensive."
"I can afford it. I can afford everything."
Benny grunted, unconvinced.
"And I'm not afraid of people knowing that, you know. I don't need to hide behind boards and impersonators. People know not to cross me."
"Quite."
"Now, I think I shall take my leave." He looked across, at the other man. "Bruv!"
The other man blinked, looked up from his meal, stood and walked round the table to stand behind Troy.
"As I said, you will be well looked after. Clothes, money, food. One of my men will take you to Din-el, make sure you arrive safely. If there is anything else I can do, just let me know. I don't want to appear un-friendly, I really do respect you as a professional and I hope your time in my employ will be pleasurable."
"Respect me?"
"Indeed, I hold you in the highest esteem."
"Oh," Benny smiled. "Well, then, please feel free to kiss my ring," she said sweetly.
Troy glanced at her hand. "You're not wearing a--oh, oh I see, yes, very funny." He leapt to his feet, rather stupidly waking Wolsey who scratched the man's hand and scampered across the table into Benny's arms. "I'll give you that one," Troy said, cradling his hand. "Doctor Bain knows all he needs to about these objects and where you'll most likely find them. Don't disappoint me."
He stormed out of the room, muttering something about injections and disease and followed by his brother.
"Funny little man," said Benny to herself.
"Benny," said Miles. "What are we going to do?"
"Eat." Benny started on the main course.
One of Troy's men piloted us here in a courier shuttle. He saw us booked in to our hotel and then left on a transport - there isn't another one for two weeks - but the shuttle is waiting for us. We can use it to travel around, but it's programmed not to leave the atmosphere of the planet - all we have to do is send a message to Troy proving we have the objects, or that we need to go off-world to get them, and he'll release the shuttle to our full control.
We're staying in the human-centred tourist area. When this planet was handed back over to the local government, relations with Earth and humanity in general remained amicable. The Din'l simply didn't seem to care about the occupation. They don't seem to care about very much. Everything is just acceptable to them, degrees of unpleasant life that they adjust to. They don't particulalry seem to enjoy anything, but nor do they get upset or angry. They don't let themselves suffer, or experience pleasure. Physically they are very difficult to hurt, and Miles tells me that they don't seem to care about death (they see it as a level of happy release - the only afterlife they have is a form of hell that involves perpetual existence for those who haven't lived a quiet and accepting life, while those who have lived "good" lives get to stop living).
The hotel is one of the Hilberton chain. It's managed by a man called Ted Bevan - tall, dark hair with a grey fringe which he keeps swept back from his embryonic widow's peak, normally sports two pairs of glasses and a black bow-tie with white spots. A large woman called Penny seems to take care of the staff, and personally shows guests to their rooms. All the staff wear black and white stipped shirts and black trousers or skirts.
I've seen little of the Din'l here - which isn't too surprising. Their cities (comprised largely of squat houses with recessed ceilings - they look like pots with funnels in them) are congregated around gigantic bacterial streams that spout from volcano-like mountains of vegetation. They are roughly human height, with cylindrical bodies, vaguely conical heads and large, flat things at the base of their trunks. There are monocular, the eye siting directly on top of their heads and moving in a 180 by 360 degree arc. They have vaguely triangular mouths on the fronts of their vaguely concial heads that flap down like a trap, giving them the vague appearance of a bishop in a chess set. Their bodies are dark and shiny, and they have six thin, clawed arms that spiral down their bodies and are usually folded closely around them. They tend to vibrate slightly when they are just standing around.
Din-el has a slightly low gravity in human terms, and the Din'l move by jumping. I've seen some of them do it, and they can get quite high. A large disc of skin ufnurls from the muscular outer ring of the foot, around where their anus is (according to Miles), and they use this as a combination hydrofoil and parachute. They can slow and control their descent and seem highly skilled at these movements. They have no perception of colour, they don't even have the concept of colour. Everything is black, white and shades of grey to them.
Above the volcanoes that the Din'l cities are crowded around are streams of bacteria and nutrients. Feeding on these streams, and living their three day lifespan in the relatively dense upper atmosphere, are swarms of insects. When these bugs (which have spindly bodies, thin, mushroom like tops and delicate wings) die, they drop down to the ground, so there is a relatively constant stream of insect precipitation in many areas. The Din'l catch these creatures in their mouths, or pick them up off the ground, and eat them. Apparently, they excrete once a fortnight, into specific areas near the volcanoes. The waste products they excrete are drawn into the vegetation and thrown into the atmosphere for the insects to feed on. Of course, telling you this tells you as much about the Din'l as photosynthesis tells you about plants.
There are great harvester ships in the atmosphere, collecting the insects for supplies to spacefaring Din'l and for special occassions. They are quite a sight.
Miles tells me that the objects we want are statues, representing twin figures from Din'l myth. They seem to be the closest thing the Din'l have to gods - after recent experience I was somewhat reticent to go looking for a pair of gods, but Miles claims that these figures are actually closure to heroic figures such as Herakles, or Romulus and Remus. They are identified variously in Din'l religious texts as left and right, black and white, on and not-on (but not off, apparently), past and not-past (the Din'l language has no concept of a separate present and future, the now and the to-come are all "not gone"), alive and dead, inside and outside, Din'l and not-Din'l. They are existnetial polar opposites, appear, in one form or another, in almost all Din'l texts that Miles knows of. But these two statues are the only iconic representations of the twins - they have never been drawn or sculpted elsewhere, by all accounts, and to represent them in any form but the written is taboo. The idea of polar opposites informs much Din'l art and architecture, though.
[End of extract]
Benny and Miles met in the bar to swap ideas and try and figure a way out of the situation they were in. Both had favoured running away at the first oppourtunity, but no such situation had appeared yet. Benny was wearing climbing boots, beige slacks, a red shit and a suede jacket. Miles had forgone his normally expensive and refined suit and tie in favour of boots, dark trousers, a thin black jumper and a leather jacket. His hair was slightly un-kempt. His appearance was desperately out of character and he looked a little uncomfortable, and some form of response to the situation he now found himself in.
The bar was quite crowded, and Benny had to struggle a little to get to the table Miles was moping at. Just as she sat down, the doors to the bar banged open and a crowd were pushed inside. Ted and Penny followed them in, and behind those two came a crowd of human security officers.
The guests at the hotel - and it seemed to be all of them - gathered in the centre of the bar, shuffling nervously and murmering amongst themselves. The man who seemed to be in command of the police stepped forward. He had prominent ears, a defined jaw, high cheek bones, a slightly ski nose. When he spoke, his plummy voice came from his jowls. His mouth was like the cross-section of a crucible, and bags underlined his eyes.
"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen. My name is Kendle, I assure you we won't keep you too long. We're looking for a Professor Bernice Summerfield and a Doctor Miles Bain. Summerfield, Bain? Hello? We know the two of you are here, please step forward. Now. No? Oh very well." He looked across the crowd, and then turned to his right. "Lieutenant. Shoot them all."
To be continued...