Dumpiter

by David Fletcher

  Renton doubted he did know what Dopotompo meant - but it didn't seem the right time to explore further the potential for frock-designers on Dumpiter, even assuming there was any - at all.

  'Well,' said Renton, 'that's fascinating. It really is. But I s'pose we ought to let you get on now. And we'd better pay you for this chap and be on our way. So, erhh… how much do you want…?'

  'How long you want him for, young man?' asked Dopotompo.

  'Oh, say five days,' replied Renton. 'I think five'll be enough'.

  'Ten thousand geedees,' the old man replied immediately.

  'Ten thousand?' exclaimed Renton. 'Jeez, that's a bit on the steep side, isn't it?'

  'It includes lookin' after your spaceships for yer. You want them lookin' after, don't yer?' asked Dopotompo. 'You don't want 'em scratched or anythin', do yer?'

  Boz laughed. 'Hey man, you're quite a regular entrepreneur, ain't you?'

  'Man 'as to look after 'imself on Dumpiter. Take opportunities as they come.'

  Boz laughed again. 'Pay him the money, Renton. Sounds to me as though ten thousand's a bargain.'

  Renton and Madeleine were now both laughing themselves. A deal had been done. They had rented themselves an easipeas.

  Time to go to war. Or so they thought.

  49.

  The easipeas cabin was compact to the point of being downright poky. And its interior decor didn't help matters either. Some idiot had chosen a nice shade of midnight-black for all its internal surfaces and for most of its assorted gadgetry as well. And the lighting was of the subdued variety - extremely subdued. Renton was immediately put in mind of Den's office back in Ranamavana.

  Dopotompo had led them into the bowels of the easipeas - and that was certainly the character of the cabin - and now he directed them to three seats at its far end - at the front of the vehicle. There were eight of these in all: substantial, reclining-type devices, some of them set at odd looking angles - presumably, thought Renton, to present their occupiers with various controls when this thing was in offensive mode. Their three were more or less in a row and faced a long black console - equipped with a miserably small number of buttons and no dials or displays whatsoever. It occurred to Renton that neither he nor his fellow musketeers knew how to drive this thing. But maybe this lack of complexity was a good omen. It might just be simple to drive.

  They sat and fidgeted in their seats.

  'Sits yerselfs right back,' instructed Dopotompo, 'and when yers feel right comfortable, press the ends of the arms - wheres yer hands comes to rest.'

  They all fidgeted a little bit more and then, as directed, pressed the ends of the chair-arms. And then it happened. Immediately. The chairs became more than just chairs…

  Renton felt his. It had moulded itself to his body. And clasps had appeared: two for his legs, one for his chest - and one for his head. And all four were now clasping him firmly. And Madeleine and Boz had suffered the same enveloping experience.

  Renton was alarmed. However, his alarm was not pure one hundred per cent alarm. No, this emotion was adulterated with a noticeable pinch of fury. Fury that his hair, which on this day had been on its absolutely best behaviour, was now pressed down on his head by some restraining device up there, and that it would look completely naff whenever it was released from its grip. Life was a bloody conspiracy against his hair. He fumed in his panic.

  He could see that Boz and Madeleine were equally perturbed by their arresting circumstances, and it was Madeleine who vocalised their shared concern. 'Bloody hell, Dopotompo, what the heck's going on?' she protested. 'This isn't funny, you know!'

  'Funny?' responded Dopotompo quizzically. 'It ain't meant to be funny. It's meant to keep yer from breakin' yer bones. Coz I'll tell you, you don't wanta be jus' sittin' or standin' around when this 'ere thing gets i'self goin'. Coz if you are, you'll be all over the shop. You forgotten what Ize said 'bout how it works? It smashes its way along and it ain't too bothered 'bout your comfort. And Ize mean it ain't too bothered at all. Those there straps round you, and those there seats… well, I'll tell you, you'll be bloody glad they're there when this little chap gets i'self movin'. You marks my words.'

  'I want to go to the toilet,' said Renton, as clearly and as calmly as his agitated state would allow. 'I need to go now. How do I get out of these straps?'

  Dopotompo didn't answer.

  'Come on, Dopotompo, how do I get out? I need to go now. Badly.'

  Dopotompo chuckled quietly and then finally he responded. 'Well, me ole chum, you ain't as daft as yer look now, is yer? Toilet, my arse. You wanta find out whether you can get out, don't yer? And as yer rightly suspect, yer can't.

  'Ize didn't want to alarm you all - not just yet. But I'm afraid the cat's out the bag, as they say. You ain't gonna be drivin' this 'ere little thing yerselves. Somebody else'll be doin' that for yer. From outsides like. And you won't be goin' to where you want to be goin' either. But you'll be goin' to where weez want you to go.'

  'We? Who's this "we", old man?' asked Renton. 'I suppose Lysaars is behind all this, isn't he?'

  Dopotompo chuckled again. 'Oh that's good, that's real good, that is. You're real smart, you are. Good try an' all. But don't think I'm that stupid. "I suppose Lysaars is behind all this." That's a good un, that is. That's right real capital.'

  Dopotompo's smile disappeared and the steely side of rustic took over in his voice. 'Well, my friends, I think it's about time yer forgot yer little charade playin', coz yer wastin' yer breath. As Ize said, Ize tried to keep things pleasant like - for as long as I could. But now… well, you'll just 'ave to 'ope yer worries 'elp you keep yer minds off the trip! But that's life, my dears. It's a bitch, ain't it? Tell's yer what. Let's give yer the screen. No 'arm in yer seein' wheres yer goin'.'

  Dopotompo reached over and pressed a small button on the console. Immediately, above the console, a square of the outside world appeared. It was an image of Dumpiter as it spread out before the front of the easipeas. And as Renton later learned, it wasn't a camera that allowed them so see the bleak terrain out there, but a fibre-optic matrix, one that brought the outside world directly through the solid niobium and onto this screen. It was the only system anywhere near robust enough to withstand the punishment meted out by this monster - at its front end.

  Various thoughts were going through Renton's mind, none of them very optimistic ones. He realised they had been duped and trapped. They were going off to meet someone. And although some of what Dopotompo had said didn't quite make sense, as sure as oefedge was oefedge, that someone was Lysaars.

  But when Dopotompo banged shut the cabin door and left them alone in the gloom, he began to forget about their promised rendezvous with whoever it was. And when the easipeas began to move off he forgot about it entirely. His thoughts were totally absorbed by the movement of the easipeas, his position in it, and his chances of living through the forthcoming experience. Bowel-loosening fright had taken over.

  The easipeas, despite all its massiveness, accelerated away from its parking place at an amazing rate. Within only a few short seconds it was running along at about fifty mph, its top speed. In most conveyances this would be verging on the pedestrian, and certainly nothing to set the heart racing. But in this thing it was like hyper-travel through a built-up area. Only with none of the built-up bits staying built-up for very long.

  As it sped forward, it performed as promised - with every obstacle. It obliterated them instantly. But these impediments to its progress were ephemeral and insubstantial, just small mounds of rubbish. And Renton hardly felt them. Instead, he was just aware of the constant lurching sensation, as this great beast, which had swallowed him, now ploughed its way on. However, after only a very short time, the impedimenta became less ephemeral and more substantial, both in size and, it seemed, in mass.

  Dopotompo was right. Observed from the outside, the easipeas, whenever it met an obstruction, never appeared even to falter, let alone to slow. As its Newtonian-baffling device exp
loded whatever lay in its path, it would simply scoot on regardless, with not even a hint of an interruption to its progress. However… if you were in the damn thing, it was quite another story. It was like hitting a brick wall. Only it was worse. Because you couldn't then enjoy the relief of coming to a stop. Instead, you were still on the move - in something that was now lurching along more wildly than ever - until it was busy ploughing into the next thousand or so tonnes of something else - when that brick-wall sensation - along with more lurching - would hit you all over again.

  Renton had the distinct feeling that somebody had set a course for this thing that took it in a direct straight line from chez Dopotompo to its preordained destination and at top speed. Little nuances in the planet's topography and the distribution density of assorted debris between the two points had not been taken into account. Whoever had set the course had not chosen to make the comfort of its press-ganged crew one of his top priorities. Renton was entirely correct.

  As he stared at the fibre-optic screen in front of him he saw that the nuances in topography were becoming more like obvious statements, and the debris density was increasing on some exponential curve. He considered closing his eyes, but the new level of buffeting to his body made the thought slip his mind. It was purely dreadful.

  When hitting a brick wall is followed by a stomach-churning, swooping motion, things are bad enough already. But when in addition, several brick walls appear to come in nerve-numbing, rapid succession, and the lurching and swooping rise to a diving and bouncing, the assault on one's flesh and the hurt to one's bones is almost too much to endure. Renton no longer had any doubts concerning the advisability of restrained travel in an easipeas.

  And so the purgatory continued - and continued. For well over half an hour the easipeas smashed its way along - with no respite for its unfortunate passengers. And then the half hour became an hour. Then the hour became ninety minutes. And it was soon after this, just as Renton was checking that none of his body-parts had actually fallen off, that he saw it in the screen. It was a battlecruiser. Or that's what it looked like - albeit a very unshipshape sort of battlecruiser - with thousands and thousands of sticky-out bits all along its flank. 'Streuth,' thought Renton. 'This chap's really had it. He must have been hit by ion cannon. Loads of them. I mean, what else could do that sort of damage?'

  Then he had another thought. 'Shit, and we're going to hit it now, aren't we? It's right in our path!' He trembled. But then he had yet another thought. 'Jeeze,' he thought. 'What if they've gone 'n left any ammunition in that thing? What happens when we head butt some shell or something? What happens then?'

  The battlecruiser became a wall before the easipeas. Renton's trembling intensified.

  They were only metres from it now and then no metres at all. And then the easipeas went into a nose-up bounce. Just as equal and similar inversion looked inevitable, Renton realised what his battlecruiser was. It was part of Dumpiter. They had left the plateau far behind, and this wall of jumbled metal was not a spaceship but an escarpment - covered in spaceship rubbish; a vast inclined carpet of spoil. And somehow this machine knew the difference between things to barge through and things to ride up and over. And that's what it was doing now: riding up and over this hill. It was less traumatic than Renton had feared. And now there was better to come. For, as the easipeas cleared the top of the escarpment, it began to slow. As Renton thought rather contradictorily, it slowed very quickly. Then it was still.

  They had been travelling for nearly two hours. And whilst they'd survived it, they'd, all of them, suffered a degree of bodily bludgeoning like they'd never suffered before. 'How,' thought Renton, 'did they ever find people stupid enough to crew these damn things?'

  But then his thoughts were drawn to the here and now. Because the gripping mechanism in their chairs was being released and the cabin door was being opened.

  They had arrived. But where? And who was opening that door? What reception awaited them and who were the members of the reception committee? Well, here they were, whoever they were - and now in the cabin. Six shadowy figures had slipped into the easipeas. 'And I bet,' Renton thought, 'they've not come to say how-d'ye-do….

  50.

  This was bad. Much worse than Renton had feared. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it - no matter how hard he might try.

  Yes, his hair was an absolute disaster. It was not only plastered to his head, but it was also sticking out around his ears. And from what he could tell, it was all curling up at the back as well.

  But there again, it wasn't all bad news. Not quite. And certainly not in respect of the reception committee…

  Well, it had been a bit frosty to begin with. But as soon as Boz had worked out what was going on, and had then been able to convince them that they hadn't, as they'd first thought, captured three of Lysaars' associates, things had begun to improve markedly. Because, as it transpired, their surprise new hosts had no connection with Lysaars themselves - other than that they loathed him - as did all the members of the underground movement they represented.

  When Boz had set up his beacon on the Pummisson plateau, its signal had been picked up, not only by Renton's monoflight, but also by one of the agents of this underground movement - by the name of Dopotompo. Working on the assumption that any out-worlders arriving on the planet - especially at this time - must be friends of Lysaars, here to attend his shindig, Dopotompo had decided to intercept them. And after he'd intercepted them, to dispatch them, in an enormous vehicle, to his colleagues in their hide-away HQ. And that's where they were now: in a ramshackle, half-buried cabin in the middle of a rubbish dump, which, together with a few other cabins and the odd blockhouse, constituted the global headquarters of Dumpiter's one and only resistance movement: “The Front To Get Dumpiter Back” - more commonly known as “FRODUB”. And fortunately, as had soon become apparent, its members were far more proficient in providing hospitality than they were at thinking up a decent name for their organisation. Renton and his colleagues had been fed and watered and made as comfortable as possible while they were detained. That's to say, while they were obliged to wait for the arrival of FRODUB's colonel-in-chief who would soon be paying them a visit and then deciding on their fate.

  And now the waiting was over. One of their hosts had just told them that the colonel was now here, and would be with them directly. 'And,' thought Renton, 'with a well-groomed head of hair as well. I just know it…'

  51.

  Renton was right. Colonel Narry Zubfraim sported a close-cropped head of black, shiny hair - which finished off very nicely his lined but handsome face, and with those broad shoulders and ample chest, made him look every inch the guy in charge. And he certainly was. He was the number one dude. It even showed in his voice.

  'Gentlemen and lady,' he started. 'May I first of all apologise for the easipeas. Our friend, Dopotompo, was, of course, merely doing his job. But I do appreciate what you've had to endure. And I am genuinely sorry. I really am.

  'Although may I just say that you shouldn't be put off easipeases forever. At top speed, they are a bit of a trial, I accept. But at lower speeds, they're considerably more bearable. Not what you'd call comfortable, but certainly nothing to get too bothered about.'

  'Well sir,' interjected Boz, 'I have to tell you, that there may have to be a pressin' not to say a flattenin' reason for Bostrum T Aukaukukaura ever to get 'imself back into one of them there machines. But I accept your gracious apology. As I'm sure we all do. However…'

  'However,' interrupted Narry, 'now that the apologies are out of the way, you'd like to be off, wouldn't you? To attend to your own business.'

  'Yes, we would,' confirmed Renton. 'You see, this lady here… well, you see, she… well, she…'

  'What he's trying to say,' continued Madeleine, 'is that this woman here is in the final stages of being unremembered. And if she doesn't find the perpetrator of this process pdq, she might have a sudden loss of memory or even a sudden loss of life. Oh, a
nd I suspect you know the perpetrator in question. He goes by the name of Lysaars…'

  'Ahh,' said Narry. 'I see. But tell me, my dear, why…'

  'Let's just say we found out a bit more about paint than was healthy. That's Renton and me. And since then, with Boz here, we've found out even more.'

  'Yes, I've been briefed - up to a point. But I didn't realise you had such a personal interest in Lysaars. Or that there was this degree of urgency. I'm already feeling guilty that we've delayed you. I just wonder whether there's anything we can do to help you…'

  'If you know where he is, that would help us a lot,' offered Renton. 'You know, just point us in the right direction.'

  'Well, we do know. And we could do that. But it's not that simple.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, as you know, Lysaars is here for his "big event". And what we've just learnt is that he's moved in with our Guvner - into his palace - presumably to prepare for it…'

  'Do you know what it's all about, this "big event"?' asked Madeleine.

  'No,' replied Narry abruptly. 'But more to the point - if we can just stick to your own situation for a moment - the Guvner's palace is not the easiest place to get into. And even if we took you there, your chances of getting inside it are just about zero. And I should think your chances of actually getting hold of Lysaars are somewhere below zero. To say nothing about it being extremely dangerous…

  'So what I'm saying is that you might stand a better chance by waiting for the event itself, where we're expecting Lysaars to be a bit more "available".'

  'When is this thing?' asked Renton.

  'Tomorrow evening.'

  'No, that's too late. That would really be pushing it. I mean, that would take us right up to the… you know…'

  '…the deadline,' finished Madeleine. 'Tomorrow evening is when my treatment is scheduled to end, and maybe when I am as well.'