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

by Andy Ritchie

  [Collator’s Note: For details of the rather surprising way in which the taboo term is translated, again please refer to Explanatory Note 4 in Appendix B.]

  ‘So who exactly are they?’

  Tukaal’s glass was now almost empty and the last Beefy crisp had long since been consumed. I however, still had half a pint left. I was worried by the thought of being drunk under the table by an alien.

  ‘To be honest, no-one really knows and that, I guess, is the most worrying, most insidious aspect of the...Bad Guys.’

  The way he hesitated before saying ‘Bad Guys’, and the awkwardness with which he eventually said it, suggested that to do so actually required conscious effort.

  ‘They break every convention that a successful organisation needs to have. They have no obvious base of operations that can be attacked, they have no obvious leaders who can be captured, they have no propaganda machine that can be silenced. Where they need to operate through physical force of arms, they use local groups, hired mercenaries, planetary parasites and scavengers. They plan, they scheme, they plot, but they always get others to do the dirty work. They exist, that we know, but they are like ghosts...and it is the fact that they are so...unsubstantial, the fact they lack a cohesive identity, which gives them their strength. There is no head to cut-off, there is no body to kill.’

  ‘So you could be talking about a dozen people...sorry, aliens, just a dozen, orchestrating everything.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Tukaal conceded. ‘It could be a hundred, a thousand. No-one knows for sure.’

  ‘To make matters worse,’ Tukaal continued, now clearly up to speed and bordering dangerously on ranting, ‘the Bad Guys milk this uncertainty and use it to their advantage, spreading rumour, innuendo and dis-information. The free media across the Confederation do not help either. Every act of terrorism, every planetary disaster, every financial crisis on a Confederated world, it is always reported as the possible work of the Bad Guys, even when it probably isn’t. As a result, they have an ability to generate a level of fear throughout the worlds of the Confederation that is wholly disproportionate to their size...’

  I’m not sure whether it was the beer, or whether I had happened upon a subject particularly close to Tukaal’s heart (assuming he has one), but his voice had become a little loud and his last statement about the level of fear generated being disproportionate to size had drawn a couple of curious glances from the other drinkers and diners in the Hotel’s Bar Lounge.

  I decided to de-fuse the situation by offering to get Tukaal another drink. What worried me was the fact that, in addition to yet another pint, he said that he would also like to try one of the single malt whiskies which he had heard a man order at the bar earlier and which, in Tukaal’s words, ‘sounded quite interesting’.

  He did, however, give me a £20 note to cover the cost, for which I was grateful.

  A few minutes later I returned with two more pints of Tarnmonath and two Highland Parks.

  He held the whisky under his nose and breathed deeply. His eyebrows rose as if to say that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the aroma.

  ‘So what do these Bad Guys want?’

  I was wary of returning to the subject which had produced so much passion in my alien companion, but I was genuinely intrigued.

  ‘To see the Confederation fail, to see a return to the chaos of the time before the Confederation existed, when they could subjugate and enslave with impunity, when they could exploit the riches of worlds without concern for the damage they created or the poverty they left behind...’

  I could see that he was winding up for another excursion down Rant Boulevard, so I interceded:

  ‘So do you think there will be Bad Guys here on Earth?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, yes, but by no means a certainty. The evidence found by the Assessment Team for the 849th Classification Council Meeting was of resource stripping...’

  [Collator’s Note: Conscious that some readers may not yet have read the Confederation Notes in Appendix A (and in particular Confederation Note 2), the term ‘resource stripping’ describes the activity of extracting from a planet its naturally occurring assets. On some worlds that can be as simple as taking water. On others, it could be taking life-forms for use as food, slave labour, pets, etc. On Earth, the evidence seems to suggest that it is ores and minerals. Gold is apparently always popular as are other precious metals; uranium is taken to satisfy those worlds still using nuclear fission; jewels such as diamonds also have value; then there is the biodiversity wealth of a planet like our own, where parts of the genome of the flora and fauna can be used as drugs, medicines, narcotics, etc.]

  ‘...and our experience is that low-level resource stripping rarely warrants the full-time presence on the planet of a member of the upper echelons of the Bad Guys. Normally, the day-to-day management of their activities is delegated to one or more members of the indigenous population.’

  ‘Mendelssohn?’ I suggested.

  Tukaal nodded his head.

  ‘I think that is a distinct possibility. He strikes me as the sort of individual who would fit the profile of one of their puppets, greedy for wealth and power, willing to do whatever is necessary to obtain them. There may, of course, be other humans, in addition to Mendelssohn, who have been seduced by whatever it is that the Bad Guys have been able to offer them. In return, Mendelssohn and his colleagues...’

  THEM, I thought to myself.

  ‘....will ensure that the ongoing resource stripping continues uninterrupted and unnoticed.’

  I thought about this for quite some time, and Tukaal seemed happy to let me mull it all over as he continued to ‘nose’ the Highland Park.

  Was that what the Researcher had come to suspect, that he had somehow wandered onto the radar of the Bad Guys and, as such, had found himself running from their local henchmen, the ones I have decided to call THEM?

  Is that why, when I recall the Researcher’s memories of the term ‘Bad Guys’, I also feel his fear and his alarm?

  As I mused on the possibilities that the Researcher’s memories presented to me, Tukaal took a sip of his whisky...only it wasn’t a sip, it was a gulp, the same size of gulp that he had been using to drink his beer.

  I momentarily forgot about our discussion on the Bad Guys and instead found myself watching intently Tukaal’s reaction to downing a double whisky.

  At first, rather disappointingly, there was no reaction.

  Tukaal just sat there, licking his lips and staring into the empty glass. He didn’t cough or splutter, he didn’t gasp. He just continued to make those noises with his mouth, as if he was trying to taste every flavour, experience every subtle note.

  Then I noticed that there was a build up of water in his eyes and his cheeks and his neck had reddened somewhat.

  ‘What do you think of it?’ I asked.

  ‘Truly extraordinary,’ was all he was able to say, still staring at the glass, still exploring and savouring the complex flavours and the warming sensation that comes from deep within.

  I smiled, not at his reaction, but at the thought of Tukaal’s little alien body, deep inside the chest of his human shell, experiencing the glow that comes with drinking a really good whisky.

  ‘So why hasn’t the Confederation done something about this ‘resource stripping’? Why have they sat on their hands for a hundred and fifty years?’

  Tukaal seemed to shift a little uncomfortably in his seat, which I thought was odd. He also wouldn’t look me straight in the eye.

  ‘What you need to realise, Jeth, is that the Confederation, like every organisation on every world, including this one, has to learn to prioritise its efforts and focus its attentions on those areas where it will obtain greatest reward.’

  ‘You’re going to tell me that the problem of Earth’s resources being plundered isn’t a priority, aren’t you?’

  ‘The quantities of resources being stripped from your planet are relatively small, the items being stripped are
, in galactic terms, of limited value, either commercially or militarily. In short, it’s like your local police force turning a blind eye to petty vandalism because they know they’ve got a murderer on the streets and they have to concentrate their resources on capturing the killer.’

  ‘So Earth is not a priority, is that what you are saying?’

  I’m not sure why, (maybe it was the beer — it does tend to make me a little more aggressive, I have to admit) but the fact that the theft of the Earth’s natural resources by a bunch of aliens bent on anarchy, with the help of some human stooges, was not really much of an issue to the Confederation angered me a little, resulting in a note of outraged indignation in my voice, which Tukaal picked up on instantly.

  ‘Calm down, Jeth. What I’m saying is that, given the challenges which the Confederation faces, primarily from the Bad Guys but also from others, some low-level stripping doesn’t warrant a significant response...’

  ‘So, just so I understand things,’ I interrupted, my mind now in full flow, ‘If the potential for mankind’s violent tendencies making their way across the galaxy hadn’t been of such a concern that it resulted in mankind being re-classified as ‘Sentient-Threatening’ by your Classification Council, the Confederation would have quite happily allowed the Bad Guys to continue to steal Earth’s natural resources until, at some point in the future, we ended up with the situation where there is nothing left to steal. Correct?’

  Disappointingly, Tukaal did not even hesitate before responding.

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  ‘Wow, that sucks!’

  I took a sip of my whisky but, somehow, I suddenly found it difficult to enjoy the warmth and flavour.

  ‘I know it sounds harsh and callous, Jeth, but there is a real need for the Confederation to prioritise. If it’s any consolation, one of the benefits of Earth’s membership of the Confederation will be the fact that the prevention of any further resource stripping and the elimination of the presence of all ‘corrupting influences’ will become a far bigger priority for the Confederation than it currently is.’

  It wasn’t really a consolation.

  Why?

  I’m not exactly sure, really. It’s just that there was something...cold and just a little unnerving about an organisation that is capable of simply standing by whilst a planet is actively stripped of its valuables by an organisation they have, on the face of it at least, committed themselves to eradicating...I know that Tukaal used the analogy of the police force turning a blind eye to petty vandalism in order to catch the bigger fish, but an equivalent analogy would be of a head-teacher standing by and watching a bully take a small child’s lunch money day after day after day and not being bothered to do anything about it because someone kept trying to burn down the school. The theft of the money may not be a big issue for the head-teacher, but it’s a hell of a big issue to the small child. Maybe what worries me is the fact that the Confederation doesn’t seem to recognise this or, if it does, it chooses to ignore it.

  With that, we both lapsed into what I can only describe as brooding silence whilst I at least contemplated what had I learnt from the conversation?

  The Confederation has identified the presence of a corrupting influence on Earth, which is stealing stuff.

  The term ‘corrupting influence’ is a euphemism for a group of inter-galactic villains intent on destroying the Confederation.

  The translation of this group’s taboo name into English has resulted in the rather gay sounding ‘Bad Guys’ (How crap is that name!!).

  The stealing of the Earth’s natural resources is small beer to the Confederation, who are only likely to intervene to stop it if mankind joins the Confederation.

  I drank the last inch of my beer and, after a few seconds, downed the last of my whisky.

  I suddenly felt tired, drained even, as if the efforts of the day had suddenly washed over me like some strength-sapping tidal wave.

  Tukaal also appeared suddenly tired and it was with a little unsteadiness that we both got to our feet and made our way out into the cool evening air and began the walk back to the tiny caravan park at Briar Lea House where there had fortuitously been a space.

  Once we were back at the van, having avoided the heavy showers which had been sweeping across the area since we had arrived, we quickly reached an accord with regard to the sleeping arrangements and, on this issue, I have to admit that Tukaal was extremely accommodating. He offered me both the double bed which could be made by altering the seats in the back of the van, and the one sleeping bag which we had.

  I accepted both these offers, firstly because I was still a bit pissed off with what I regarded as his Confederation’s approach to our species and felt it was only right that I should have both items if his Confederation couldn’t be arsed to prevent my planet from being asset-stripped by a bunch of intergalactic shysters, and secondly because I felt I needed both the warmth and the comfort if I was to get anything resembling a good night’s sleep. It was okay for Tukaal...the real Tukaal, the little alien Tukaal tucked up all nice and comfortable inside the human ‘shell’...

  ...then I wondered, just for a little while, whether he was able to feel discomfort in the way that we do, whether he would wake up in the morning with a stiff neck and a sore back and aching limbs, after a night spent either sleeping in the passenger seat at the front of the van or in the cramped bed in the ceiling where the Researcher appeared to have slept. Was he able to turn such things off?

  I made a mental note (or a written one, as stated here) to ask him about that.

  There was, of course, one other thing that I had realised as a result of our conversation.

  On Sunday afternoon, when it had become apparent that he was under surveillance by Mendelssohn’s men, Tukaal had given me a list of possibilities as to the potential identity of THEM. Conspicuous, now, by their absence from that list were those working on behalf of the Bad Guys. Curious that he should choose to leave them out. It made me wonder what else he had failed to share with me.

  So here I am, it’s just after midnight, I’m wrapped up warm and cosy in the sleeping bag (though I am a little uncomfortable at the thought that I am sleeping in a dead man’s sleeping bag...but, then again, it isn’t a dead man, more a dead alien...does that make it any better?...no, it doesn’t), typing up the events of day.

  Next to me is my precious, never-to-be-left-behind Buzz Lightyear notebook, a couple of pens and a packet of Post-It Notes. Makes me feel like I’m going to sleep in WHSmith.

  *

  Just one more thing to note down before I call it a night. It may be my imagination, but I’m sure that, over the last day or so, I’ve been able to remember things far more clearly, and to a far greater depth of detail, than I think I used to be able to do in the past.

  Take the conversation with Tukaal about Bad Guys. Not only can I recall it almost word for word, but I can also remember everything else that was going on whilst we were having the conversation; the smell of the bar, the taste of the beer, the expressions that came and went on Tukaal’s face, even the stains and blemishes and patterns of spilt salt on the wooden table at which we were sat.

  I can recall every spirit they had behind the bar, the faces of the people who were sat around us, even the exact amount it cost to buy the beers and the whiskies.

  Now the ability to recall that level of detail is anathema to me. Often, I get to the top of the stairs and have difficulty in remembering what it was I was going upstairs to get!

  So how come I can now remember things with such unusual clarity and lucidity?

  Am I tapping into a previously under-utilised skill that has lain dormant within me for all of my life?

  Possible, but unlikely.

  Am I now, because I have committed to writing this diary, making a subconscious effort to record as much as I can about as much as I can, desperate to capture everything to ensure that what I re-tell is as accurate as possible?

  It has potential; but again, I d
oubt it is the safest bet.

  I think it has something to do with the Researcher’s memory oil that now flows around my body. I believe that I have unwittingly become, like some real-life Peter Parker or Bruce Banner, blessed with a new super-power...and if that is the case, then why the fuck couldn’t I get something really cool like being able to climb walls, spin webs or turn green and immensely strong if I happen to get angry or outraged!

  Why do I just get landed with ‘the ability to remember things a bit better’?!?

  I know I shouldn’t really be churlish about it. After all, if the unwelcome injection of memory oil has indeed resulted in almost perfect recall, then I guess it’s better than nothing...

  ...but I can’t escape the fact that, whichever way I look at it, it’s still not what anyone would call the most amazing of super-powers, is it?

  Besides, what sort of super-hero name would I be able to give myself...Memory Man?

  That’s not exactly going to strike fear into the hearts of the universe’s super-villains...is it?

  Actually, if truth be told, if the Researcher’s only legacy had been absolutely no improvement in my crap memory, then I would have been more than happy with that.

  But it isn’t.

  The Researcher has left me with something else...and that’s the reason I’m still typing, even though I’m dog-tired, even though I’m having to fight desperately to keep my eyes open, even though my entire body feels incredibly weary...

  It’s left me frightened to go to sleep.

  No, that’s not right.

  It’s left me frightened to dream.

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  Post-It Note 5

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  Diary Entry 30

  Wednesday 15th September

  [Collator’s Note: Another hand-written entry in JP’s new notebook.]