The Book That THEY Do Not Want You To Read, Part 2

by Andy Ritchie

  I passed his cup of tea to him and offered him the biscuits. I decided not to comment on the fact that I thought he looked better than he did before, in case it came out sounding very gay.

  Then a random thought struck me.

  ‘Tukaal,’ I asked, ‘if we’ve taken the power cells out of you, how come your shell-thing still works?’

  He’d finished putting all his bits and pieces away into his metal case, and had just taken a bite of a biscuit, which had been followed by an appreciative grunt.

  ‘The power cells were only there to power the neural net. The rest of the shell generates energy in just the same way as your body does, from the food that I consume. Of course, the shell does it more efficiently than a human digestive system does, which is why I could go longer without food than perhaps you could.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all I muttered in response, because another thought had occurred to me.

  ‘So you do need to go to the toilet, every now and again, for a shit, like.’

  Tukaal’s eyebrows raised themselves up in surprise like a couple of courting caterpillars. I guess the directness of my question had caught him a little off guard.

  ‘Yes, Jeth, I do have to go ‘for a shit’ as you so delicately put it. Even the digestive system of this shell produces some waste.’

  He smiled as he picked up his tea and took a hefty swig. His eyes, though, never left my face and I knew that he was waiting for me to ask another question, and I think he knew what question it was I was going to ask.

  ‘So where are you, inside that shell, where are you?’

  His eyes twinkled a little, as if he was relishing the polite interrogation.

  ‘I’m in the chest cavity. Whilst the shell has all the normal internal organs that a human has, there is only one lung. I inhabit the space that would normally be filled by the other.’

  The next statement came out before I could really stop it.

  ‘Christ, you must be tiny!!’

  Tukaal’s eyebrows once more leapt up in surprise...and maybe in indignation.

  ‘Physical size is relative, Jeth. On my world, I am considered pretty tall.’

  ‘And what do you eat, inside the shell, where do you get your energy from? Have you got a stack of alien energy bars stored somewhere inside the legs of that thing?’

  He shook his head, smiling as he did so.

  ‘No, no energy bars. I receive a basic, homogenised infusion of energy and nutrients from the food which the shell consumes.’

  ‘Which means...?’

  Tukaal took another swig of his tea before explaining.

  ‘On Sh-hon, we have no real concept of food as you have here on Earth. We do not ‘eat’ in the way that you do. On our world we simply absorb the energy and nutrients we need from what we call the Wel’Qa, which roughly translates as the Sea of Life. We simply immerse ourselves in the Wel’Qa for a while, allow the energy and nutrients to enter our forms, and then we get on with other things. We do not eat as you eat, we have no understanding of flavours, textures, sweetness, bitterness...all these sensations are as alien to us as our world would be to you.’

  ‘And that’s why you eat so much, why you insisted on that variety of stuff at Sukhis, and all these different types of teas and biscuits...’

  ‘Exactly,’ Tukaal interrupted excitedly, ‘it’s an opportunity to experience something truly extraordinary, something that, no matter how hard you try, you simply cannot imagine. That’s the real triumph of these shells, Jeth. They are not just a vehicle for enabling Ambassadors and Researchers to survive, to move and to interact, they are a doorway to another universe, a different universe, because they let whoever is inside it actually experience everything, not just watch it or listen to it or touch it, but feel it, actually be part of it...of course, you now have some idea of that, don’t you?’

  I frowned.

  ‘You have memories of flying, don’t you? The Researcher’s memories from the time he was inside an Utal Fring shell on the planet of Utal Ma. You know that what he experienced was not like flying in one of your aeroplanes here on Earth, where you are a passenger inside a big metal tube being powered through the atmosphere by jet engines. What he experienced, and now what you can experience, is being an Utal Fring, is feeling the air rushing past you as you dive through the clouds. Well, the act of consuming food is just like that for me. I get to experience sensations associated with flavour and texture that I simply did not know existed...and believe me, once you’ve opened the door into a whole new world of experiences, it’s addictive, you want more and more and more.’

  And with that, he gobbled up another Chocolate Digestive and washed it down with another slurp of tea.

  He was right.

  I had not simply watched some alien creature flying across an alien world. I had been that alien creature flying across an alien world...and although my experience of it had been brief, I had enjoyed it more than it is possible to express in mere words, more perhaps than I had enjoyed almost anything else I had ever done...

  ...and yes, like an addict who has fallen under the spell of drugs, I did find myself desperately wanting more.

  *

  With the teas drunk and a few of the biscuits eaten, we readied ourselves to depart, washing up the cups, packing away the rest of the biscuits, stowing our bags.

  But we did not depart immediately.

  Instead, Tukaal decided that he needed to move the Mondeo. He was concerned that if the car was left on the pay and display car park overnight, and subsequently came to the attention of the authorities there was, in turn, a chance that THEY would become aware of it as well. If THEY found the Mondeo parked close to the camp-site and were able to confirm that we had taken it, THEY may conclude that our next move involved something or someone at the camp-site. That, in turn, could lead them to the discovery that we were in the Researcher’s camper van.

  That would not be good.

  So the Mondeo would be moved to a quiet side street somewhere in the village and, as a further precaution, Tukaal would then use some nanites to attempt to cleanse it of any residual DNA (though he was somewhat doubtful about how successful that would be). He would then, on his way back to the camper van, call in to the site’s reception area and try to erase whatever records there were regarding the camper van’s presence at the site. Quite how he was going to do the last bit, he didn’t seem sure and, on his return to the van about forty minutes later, all he said was that he had been successful and did not elaborate further. I can only assume that he had either doctored some computer records or had altered a visitor’s log or something like that. I hope he hadn’t wiped the memory of some poor site warden and then quietly vaporised part of the reception building!

  As for me, well, whilst Tukaal was out and about covering our tracks, I was given the incredibly difficult task of using the Researcher’s AA map-book to plan a route north to Stirling which kept us off the motorways, clear of as many major A-roads as possible, and away from any big towns.

  That is not as easy as it sounds.

  At some time around 1 o’clock, with everything packed away and our route north agreed, Tukaal fired up the van and we left the Hayfield camp-site without any further ceremony or incident.

  -----

  Diary Entry 28

  [Collator’s Note: In amongst all the printed sheets, DVDs, memory sticks, scribbled comments and Post-It Notes which had been in the bag JP had given me that rainy evening at the top of Sunnyhurst Woods, was a notebook. It was an A5 notebook, spiral bound, and on the cover of it was a picture of Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story 3, with the slogan ‘Silence, Minions of Zurg’. This is the...]

  First entry in my new notebook...

  Shit, how sad have I become that I feel the need to write something like that down? Makes me sound like a seven year old girl who’s been given her first pink diary with a little gold lock and key...Jesus, I need to get a grip!

  The notebook is Tukaal’s idea, along with Post-It Notes an
d a seemingly endless supply of pens, all bought from a newsagent in Bacup. He said I was to keep them with me at all times and that I was to write down anything that came into my head that I believed belonged to the Researcher, however inconsequential the thought may seem. An image, a word, a memory, it didn’t matter, he wanted me to write down everything.

  Seems to me that it is something that could get very tedious very quickly but, for now, I’m happy to go along with it.

  I’m not sure whether the choice of cover was deliberate, though there is something ironic in Tukaal giving me a notebook with a spaceman on the cover.

  There’s nothing of the Researcher’s in my head at the moment, though, so I guess I shouldn’t really be writing anything in this notebook at all, but, what the hell, it’s good to live dangerously...and we have been living dangerously of late...which is why I find our current situation more than a little bemusing.

  You see, call me a traditionalist, but I’ve always tended to work on the principle that if you are trying to solve a great, planetary mystery, or if you are on the run from murderous madmen who have at their disposal all the resources and technology you could dream of; or if, like us, you happen to be doing both, then the last thing you should do is stop in a small village called Orton, just off the M6, leap eagerly out of the camper van and hurry excitedly into a building that looks like a converted village school.

  Yet that’s precisely what Tukaal did.

  Why?

  Well, I think it may have something to do with a sign we saw at the roundabout at Tebay (near J38 of the M6), a sign which said ‘Chocolate Factory’.

  The journey so far (bullet points — must learn to write in the notebook using bullet points — much quicker, less waffle!):

  A624 towards Glossop, picking up A6016 then the A57.

  Took A6018 at Mottram to Ashton-under-Lyne, then picked up A627 (this avoided the M67 and the M60)

  A627 to Oldham, and then A671 through Bacup (where we stopped at a newsagents for stationery supplies and a couple of sausage rolls) to Burnley

  A628 north, then onto A65 to Kirkby Lonsdale.

  A683 north, bypassing Sedbergh on a couple of B roads to pick up the A685 to Tebay.

  A6260 brought us to Orton.

  Tukaal wanted to stop anyway.

  Driving, even though he seems quite at ease with it, does appear to tire him out — not sure why though.

  Kennedy’s chocolate factory has a tea room. It was empty when we entered. I think they were about to stop serving.

  Tukaal suggested we take some refreshments:

  Me — mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows on top, toasted fruit tea-cake with jam, chocolate brownie with ice-cream.

  Tukaal — mug of hot chocolate (though he had the one with cream, marshmallows, and chocolate shavings on top), bowl of soup (cream of vegetable), walnut cake with cream and ice-cream.

  There’s a little window in the tea room through which you can watch the chocolates being made. Tukaal just stood there, entranced, eyes wide like a child.

  As we left, he said he wanted to buy a few extra things before he paid the bill and that I should wait for him in the van — if I’d known then what he was about to do, I’d have dragged him out!

  He’s bought:

  Huge box of chocolates (I mean huge!) — 192 chocolates, at least 2 of every one of the 84 different varieties of chocolates — cost? £115!!!

  A jar of Bramble Thyme Old English Marmalade

  Elizabeth Botham Ginger Parkin

  Teoni’s Cookies Butter Fingers

  A jar of ludicrously expensive Griottines in Cointreau

  Two bottles each of Fentimans Dandelion and Burdock, Curiosity Cola, Shandy, Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger, Ginger Beer, Rose Lemonade and Victorian Lemonade

  Total cost (with our meal): £221.75

  That’s why he took so long, long enough in fact for me to write these three pages in my notebook...!

  And what is the justification for this extravagance?

  ‘Just because we find ourselves in this very demanding situation, Jeth, does not mean we have to forego the opportunities to explore the sensations which the world of food and drink can offer us...’

  Offer him, I think he means.

  After all, he’s the one on the inter-galactic quest to experience the new world of taste and flavour.

  For me, the idea of undertaking some kind of culinary tour of Britain whilst fleeing for our lives from THEM seems a potentially dangerous distraction.

  What’s next I wonder?

  Stopping for haggis when we get over the border?

  -----

  Post-It Note 4

  -----

  Diary Entry 29

  [Collator’s Note: This typed entry on the main CD was, I think, written quite late on the evening of Tuesday 14th September.]

  The Graham Arms Hotel at Longtown, near Carlisle.

  A place to be remembered for alcohol, good food and Bad Guys.

  Why alcohol?

  Because we had both had a few pints of Tarnmonath from the local Geltsdale brewery, followed by a couple of shorts.

  Why good food?

  Because I had pan-fried haggis (yes, the haggis did turn up), followed by chicken in garlic butter and bacon with garlic bread, and Bramley apple pie for dessert. Tukaal had battered king prawns with a chilli dipping sauce for his starter, followed by pork and apple sausages, mash, veg and wholegrain mustard gravy, finishing off with sticky toffee pudding, toffee sauce and vanilla ice-cream. Lovely

  Why Bad Guys?

  Because this was where Tukaal spilled (at least some of) the beans on who the Bad Guys are, what they have done/are doing, and how they relate to THEM.

  It has indeed been an evening of revelations.

  Like so many things in my head at the moment, I’m not entirely sure where the words came from.

  I have a vague recollection of thinking about them, but I’m pretty certain that that recollection was the Researcher’s...and yet, I sort of remember saying the words ‘Bad Guys’...and when I recall saying those words, I also recall the taste and smell of vomit! Bad Guys.

  Even now, the term makes me gag a little.

  Bad Guys.

  A strangely childish term, simplistic almost.

  Bad Guys.

  The words I came out with, just as we were starting our third pint and Tukaal was sampling the delights of Seabrook’s ‘Beefy’ flavoured crisps. This after he had already consumed a three-course meal!

  His response was nothing if not controlled.

  He simply frowned a little as he licked the froth from his upper lip and popped another crisp into his mouth.

  ‘Bad Guys?’

  He seemed intent on feigning ignorance, even though a sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true, intrigued emotions.

  ‘Yeah, Bad Guys. You’re not going to insult my intelligence by pretending that this is a term you’ve never heard of, are you?’

  I was smiling, but it was (I hoped) a determined smile oozing with steely intent.

  After all, I was playing a hunch. I wasn’t sure whether ‘Bad Guys’ existed, what the term meant, where it had come from, or anything. All I did know was that, somehow, it was important and it was...alien. In my mind, that was worth a punt to see if it drew some reaction from my friendly Confederation Ambassador.

  ‘Like the flying memories of the Utal Fring, the Researcher’s legacy re-surfaces.’

  I chose not to comment, partly because I wasn’t quite sure what Tukaal was going on about. Instead, I decided it would be better to simply stay silent with an air of someone who is waiting expectantly for answers.

  To my surprise and satisfaction, my approach seemed to work.

  ‘Do you remember when I was showing you those reports from the meetings of the Classification Council?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, you will remember that, at the 849th meeting, the Planetary Classification of the Earth was changed to ‘At Risk’ because, in
part, the Assessment Team had found evidence of what they termed ‘limited corrupting influences’.’

  I didn’t remember, but I nodded again to give the impression that I did.

  ‘Well, the term ‘corrupting influence’ in a Confederation report is a generally accepted euphemism for a highly organised, highly dangerous inter-galactic cabal which poses a strategic threat to the Confederation and its members.’

  ‘These ‘Bad Guys’.’

  Tukaal nodded.

  ‘So why not just use the term ‘Bad Guys’? Why the need for euphemisms?’

  Tukaal didn’t answer immediately. Maybe that was because he had a just taken a swig of his beer, or possibly because he was thinking carefully about how he answered that question. I suspected it was the latter.

  ‘There’s a bit of...’ Tukaal was choosing his words carefully, ‘...history associated with the use of the collective term to describe the wrongdoers against whom the Confederation has been battling, but I won’t bore you with that now. Suffice to say that the Confederation has come to...’ carefully chosen words again, ‘...discourage the use of that collective term.’

  [Collator’s Note: For a better understanding of the ‘history’ to which Tukaal is referring, please refer to Explanatory Note 4 in Appendix B.]

  More Confederation bureaucratic bullshit, I thought to myself.

  ‘It’s a shit name, though, isn’t it? I mean, ‘Bad Guys’. Sounds like something a child would come up with. It lacks...’

  ‘Gravitas?’

  I nodded eagerly.

  ‘Yes, that’s the word. Gravitas.’

  Tukaal sighed thoughtfully.

  ‘Again, I won’t bore you with the details of how a term, the use of which the Confederation is actively discouraging, comes to be translated into the principle language of a prospective member life-form, but I do agree with you that the choice is somewhat lacking in impact.’