Dystopyum (The D-ot Hexalogy Book 1)

by Chris Finkelstein

  Jan walked towards the courtyard that was outside the apartment building. He saw Dr. Kalep who had recently stepped out of the hotel with Ziba.

  Dr. Kalep waved, and hollered, “Great job Jan!” He was grinning like Jan had never seen before, and laughing with Ziba about something.

  Jan continued into the courtyard and had a seat on a bench.

  “Look at the moons tonight,” he said to himself. Both moons on this clear night were full, and it was as if it were a heaven-lit night. His vision was drawn to them as if they were pulling his eyes.

  Someone who was coming his way drew Jan’s gaze away from the moons. It was Ziba, by herself now. She waved and continued in his direction. When she came over, she took a seat beside Jan.

  Ziba exclaimed, “Oh! I wish I had been there when everyone went over to the Platac temple. I can’t wait to see it!” She had a dreamy look, and her eyes were sleepy looking and red.

  Jan was looking at her and laughed. “You tried the kynd, didn’t you? The kana bosm!”

  Ziba looked at Jan, and asked, “How did you know?”

  Jan simply replied, “We tried it tonight too.” He was still smiling at her.

  Ziba looked confused, and said, “How?” Then, before Jan could answer, she said while flipping her hand, “Oh, I don’t want to know!” and they both chuckled about it. She then said, “Dr. Brader did a quick test on a pika, and said the enzyme spectral activity is off the charts! Dr. Kalep is ecstatic.” Ziba was also then drawn to the moons that Jan had gone back to staring at.

  “Have you ever seen such a beautiful night?” Ziba sighed.

  “No. not really,” Jan replied. They sat there together, not saying another word. Just existing, absorbing it all, feeling the increase of appreciation for the beautiful evening around them. Happiness, gratitude’s evidence, was in the air as well.

  For a moment, Jan forgot Ziba was even there. He was thinking, thinking, thinking — as he always did. They both were staring at the moons, each pondering their own visions of the future here. Jan recalled how upset he was yesterday about the reports of the increasing in-fighting and violence — the return of the NOV-like behavior. That feeling was gone to him for the moment, very distant.

  Jan envisioned a potential — a brand new world. He was starting to have some faith in the book of the dead Platac in the temple. With Natchu’s teachings of how to live and love — the medicines, and the new foods — maybe, maybe, we really can have our paradise.

  For the first time since childhood, Jan felt genuinely hopeful and happy. Only peace remained. Something released deep inside, as if a forgotten spasm had freed. His physical center opened, and warmth flowed like a river within his heart and abdomen. Then he farted.

  Ziba tilted her head and looked at Jan, who was now grinning at her, “Bringing me back down to D’ot, eh?” ::-)

  The End.

  Want more? I want more. I got more. Five more — cooking in the pot.

  About the Author

  Chris M. Finkelstein born in the woods and raised by Christian wolves that had become secular Jews by two thousand years of refinement, the first half quite dark.

  Prequel to Book 4

  W

  hat’s that smell? Dr. Jason Ata, a sandy-haired young professor, was scuttling down the freshly scrubbed hall towards the cafeteria. Considering his girth, some would say he was

  waddling. I have to be ready for this talk. They must see all of this. Jason was focusing on the upload of his latest information, from the MU he held in his hand to the ship's central communications databank. Not a difficult task, but with the hallway, the people, the tardiness, and the coffee — Dooosshhh! No!

  The man in front of him had suddenly stopped. Jason looked down and saw his disposable coffee cup squished and mostly emptied, between his chest and the dark suited back of the man in front of him — and yes, it was hot.

  Jason rebounded backwards. The woman behind him yelped as the back of his elbow hit her folded arms, forcing them to release the armful of papers she was holding, now scattering about on the floor.

  Before Jason could look to see what had just happened to her, the man in front of him twisted around to see who did what, and — Shit! It was Survival Marshal North, in the flesh. Of all people — Jason gave a weak smile, said a quick, “Sorry, Marshal North,” and quickly turned to see who else was involved in this pile-up.

  It was Deborah, North’s secretary. Although Jason recognized her, he did not know her name. Cute, he thought. She’s with North’s group? Her hair was dark brown, and this close up, he was able to observe her intelligent green eyes. She still has some outstanding African lines, he thought. She had an elegance of motion that captured Jason’s attention the day before, while boarding the behemoth interplanetary cargo ship within which they were now hurtling through space.

  Deborah was gathering the papers from the newly re-carpeted hallway floor. He bent to help her, although she was reaching for the last of them.

  Jason said, “Sorry,” again, this time to her. He squatted with her, picking up the remaining papers, as others bustled past them.

  Deborah brushed it off, saying, “No problem, it's not the first time.” She gave him a sweet smile, which was pleasantly surprising for Jason. It only took a few more seconds to pick up the notes. She then centered a worried look in North's direction. “Thanks for the help — we’d better get going,” she said, and Jason readily agreed.

  They started for the cafeteria, again. As they neared its entrance, they saw that North's deputies were wiping the coffee off his back with towels. Where did they get those towels? Jason wondered, looking down at his own shirt. His nice white shirt now had a big coffee stain on the front of it, running down to his belt line. He glanced up to see a deputy watching him, and with a scornful look, he tossed Jason a towel, which landed a few feet short.

  Jason went for it, and heard the deputy bark authoritatively, “Pick that up!”

  As Jason was picking up the towel, he felt his cheeks redden. What a dick. He started wiping himself off as he looked for the deputy who had insulted him. That deputy had moved ahead of North and was entering the cafeteria.

  North turned a couple of times, looking at Jason and shaking his head. North stood at six feet and five inches, and was an imposing figure in any right. It was his chin — always sticking out.

  Aggressive, Jason thought.

  North’s face did have a distinctive profile. Along with his protruding forehead, he had a razor straight nose angling down at forty-five degrees, coming to a point before cutting back and up to the upper philtrum above his lip. He had squared off nostrils, which matched his wide rectangular mouth and that equally wide protruding chin.

  Jason, at six feet and two inches, weighing in at three hundred and ten pounds, was not small, yet he had the look of an academic-for-life. Pudding-like cheeks lent him a childish look for a man of thirty-four years. His longer hair was unkempt, compared to North's salt and pepper, tight military cut.

  Look at that expression on his face, Jason thought. He looks like trouble. What’s he have against me? After a bit of thought, Jason decided that North didn't have anything against him personally. North simply did not like Jason's kind. Jason was old school Guild, and North was connected with that part of the Guild that was more “practical”. Jason then let those thoughts go, and focused on the impending lectures.

  All the attendees made their way into the white and lavender lit cafeteria, and took their seats. The ship’s cafeteria still had the pleasing aroma of freshly grilled garlic, onions and butter. Jason heard earlier that lunch had been quite good. He had skipped it, having plenty of snacks in his office, where he had been preparing for this presentation. There was the spirit of “freshness” in the room that always seemed to go with a new adventure. The people attending the meeting numbered about two hundred twenty-five, although the cafeteria could hold over one thousand. They were all sitting in groups at the long lunch tables there. The Social Direct
or, Rini Hay, was making her way to the podium, as Jason hastily joined five other speakers sitting to the right of the podium.

  Since Jason was the mission’s Director of Soul-Typing and Guidance, he was slated to follow Survival Marshal North, and so they were seated next to each other. North ignored Jason, his eyes studying the audience. Jason turned his attention to the audience as well. He recognized many of the directors, managers and supervisors of three thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight breeding couples, specially selected and prepared to re-inhabit the planet D’ot8. As Dr. Jason Ata, soul-typepsycho-physiologist, he would explain his part of the mission. More importantly, he would cover what it was that made this one different from other missions. In the meantime, he was loving-up the blend of aromas of the cafeteria.

  What is that smell? Sniff. Well, certainly garlic and onions — but what else? As he considered the possibilities, Social Director Hay arrived at the podium. The briefing was being broadcast to all members aboard the S&H Interplanetary cargo ship, Excelsior. The cafeteria was clean, but very plain, as was the rest of the ship. From the outside, the ship looked like a big orange blimp. S&H never was that fancy.

  Rini started, “This is the last briefing you will receive before we enter hyposleep. Much of this information you already know. I realize you have all trained diligently, and many of you could be lecturing up here as well. Still, please pay attention. In another two hours, you are going into hyposleep, and what we are presenting here will be the last thing imprinted on your memory before you go under. You will need all of this information at the ready when we awaken in three years at Wormhole B9. I want to remind you that it takes a few days to reorient yourselves at that time, also.”

  Maybe it’s burnt sugar. Caramelized.

  Rini was a short and stubby woman, sporting a new hairstyle for the trip. Her light-brown hair had accents of red and gold. It was shorter now, and had been teased into a rounded appearance. She straightened her tootight dark gray and sky blue dress a bit, and shifted herself to a more upright stance. “So let’s get on with it! It is my pleasure and honor to introduce our Survival Marshal, whom, as you know, has complete authority in matters he deems to be critical to our survival in our new home. Survival Marshal North has commanded the settlement of four previous planets, quite successfully. It is our great honor and pleasure to have him watching out for us during the brief few years he will be with us on D’ot8. Marshal James North, please speak to us of your thoughts and observations. Everyone give him a warm welcome!”

  North, a private man who did not relish speaking in public, motioned with his hands as if to say, “Please. That's enough applause.” His body language said that he did not like the attention at all. He walked up to the podium. North was tall, but not lean, and he obviously paid close attention to his conservative grooming and the maintenance of his uniform. He made an impression on most Guild-trained members that his was a soul-type that expressed love through duty. He was not the type to express love overtly or intimately, unless the situation demanded it. He usually avoided such, though it was relatively common in the Guild.

  Clearing his throat, and accepting a glass of water brought by one of the crew, he paused, and took a drink. He looked around, with his usual detachment, very much different from those around him who were waiting to hear what he had to say.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been trained to be the finest, most advanced settlers the Guild has ever sent to re-inhabit a dead planet. Your genetics were specially chosen for their tendency to produce calm, nonaggressive offspring — for this mission in particular. The reason for this is that we will attract the more peaceful D’otian souls to the families you will be building. Another benefit is that the more negative souls attracted will be governed by your stable genetics.”

  Jason was paying attention now. If you only knew, brother.

  North continued, “If you only knew the wealth that this mission will bring to our beloved Guild, you would know this is a very exciting time for us all.” His detached tone did little to rouse his audience, and he continued to read his speech, “The trade that typically develops over time with a new planet is just one part of the total package of benefits we receive.”

  North paused for another sip of water, put the glass down with a hand that could have passed for a big thick glove, and continued, “With each dead planet that we colonize, we learn more. Of course, you know that by “dead”, we mean that humanoids became extinct there. Other than that, these planets are usually far from dead. The Guild learns more about systems and approaches to life in each new world. This, in turn, has helped us on our home planet.”

  The Guild was a centralized church, which allowed and promoted only the positive elements of all religions on Earth. It began as a response to animosity between religions, and had its birth in the Philippines. It was a simple concept: Anyone who wished to join could bring his or her own religion along, but it had to be “stripped” of all negativity. Any parts of scriptures that were primarily negative were removed from the original scriptures, and what remained stayed in the Guild. The Guild was born on the island of Mindanao, in the southeastern Philippines. A good number of the ever-warring locals agreed to build a single church that all in the area could safely attend. They had hope of forming some kind of communication between the Catholics and the Muslims. Each member was considered an ambassador of the religion he or she came from. The local Muslim chieftains and Catholic Church leaders agreed to not attack the first Guild church, nor their members. They did this because their own religious doctrines would not allow peace, and they were very, very, tired of war. The first Guild church had both Catholic priests and Muslim clergy running the services.

  By the end of its third century, the Guild had gained worldwide acceptance. The members thrived, spiritually and materially. The Guild and its members had invested well, and had uncanny fortune in their undertakings. Over the centuries, they grew a network of Guild-based worldwide jobs. Because of this, many naturally joined, with all being welcome. Now, over one thousand years since inception, it was the largest religious body on Earth. The Guild had given rise to numerous political parties throughout Earth.

  The bishops and cardinals of the Church, by tradition, elected a new High Priest of the Guild when the reigning high priest died or aged to incompetency. The High Priest was typically a Pilipino. His holiness Jose Rizal Aquino VI was the current High Priest of the Guild.

  The Guild had sponsored many interplanetary missions. In cases of planetary colonization and harvesting of natural resources, the Guild leased enormous cargo ships. They usually contracted the services of the shipping behemoth, S&H Interplanetary Logistics, for their missions. It was not because their ships were always fluorescent orange, (which in fact was the best color to repel space radiation,) it was because S&H provided predictable outcomes, based on their massive logistics capabilities.

  “I have been chosen by the Guild to command this mission because this planet is so unlike any we have settled to date,” North said, and then he paused.

  Jason very quietly muttered to himself, “Hmmm. I can certainly agree with that.”

  North went on, “Granted, even though inhabitable, planets are of course very different from one another. This one seems more so. The temperature extremes throughout each day, the creatures, the unstable sun, and even the time structure are all unique. One year on D’ot8 takes five hundred and ninety-three days to complete. A day there is thirty-three hours long.

  “The Guild will only approve a planet for re-inhabitation if the atmosphere is breathable, without the need for masks. Some of you may be given drugs formulated to compensate for imbalances in the atmosphere, although that seems unlikely for now.

  “The planet D’ot8 has an atmosphere which is generated from beneath the ocean. It is a truly unique ecosystem. There is no plant life on this entire planet, and yet there is an atmosphere not much different from ours. All life there appears to be predatory. Although we have never sent a m
anned mission to D’ot8, we have delivered over one hundred highly sophisticated robots there. They have given us all the information we need to move forward.”

  Jason smiled at North’s self-assured attitude. You've looked at, but haven’t really seen my information. Jason became a bit concerned. I’ve got to be careful how I present this. I shouldn’t hit them with too much too fast.

  North continued, some evidence of excitement creeping into his voice. “Our robots have discovered a large, well-preserved library. Through them, we have poured over wonderfully preserved documents and recordings. It is as though we have a massive encyclopedia of this world. We have thousands of photographs. In spite of their rather advanced technology, there is no evidence that these D’otians ever achieved motorized transportation. They had no internal combustion engine technology, from what we have seen. However, they were very advanced in the sciences and engineering. They were well-versed in subjects such as biology, microbiology, chemistry, genetics, metallurgy, mining, processing, and refining the many metallic ores of this outstandingly mineral-rich planet.”

  Survival Marshal North paused, and pointed to the display monitor screen to his left. An image appeared, and then another. They were microscopic pictures of one-celled organisms imbedded in their own matrix.

  He continued, “On D’ot8, mass quantities of this microorganism cover millions of crevices found on the ocean floor. We have named them ‘Hydrosplitters’. The D’otians called these hydrosplitters, ‘yama’. Based on our data, there are trillions of tons of this valuable resource available to be harvested. As far as we know, they are the only non-predatory species on D’ot8. These organisms make up the bottom of the food chain. Hydrosplitters have the unique ability to split the H2O water molecule into hydrogen and oxygen. They utilize the split hydrogen to saturate carbon compounds they manufacture from the raw elements of the sea and the sea floor. They do this to make saturated fat, which they both use, and also release, into the ocean. These tiny protein-coated fat globules slowly float to the surface of the ocean, but they usually do not make it to the surface. Smaller ocean creatures are attracted to these globules as high caloric food. The rest of the food chain develops above the yama fields. Larger creatures arrive, and they all leave their droppings at the bottom of the ocean on top of the hydrosplitters below. It is then utilized by the hydrosplitters, completing the cycle of this particular ecosystem, and maintaining it.