Unfinished Symphony-E2-Devil Inside-Prelude
Here come the world
With the look in its eye
Future uncertain but certainly slight
Look at the faces
Listen to the bells
Its hard to believe we need a place called hell
Last time on Doctor Who INXS
Unfinished Symphony-Episode Two
Devil Inside-Prelude
There is a book. A wholly remarkable book. Perhaps the most remarkable, certainly the most successful book ever to come out of the great publishing corporations of Ursa Minor. We won't go on about the book, but it does have something important to say about space. "Space," it says, "is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly hugely mindboggingly big it is. I mean you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist, but that's just peanuts to space."
As it is with most things, the book knows what it is talking about. In the vastness of space the distances that are covered so immense the normal mind, most likely, are unable to understand and comprehend them. One has to live a long life and travel a great distance before they can claim to even have a glimmering of how large the universe really is.
Al the Gastropodian was one of those few individuals. As with most of his kind, Al was long lived and lived for one reason. To collect things. Gastropodian culture lived and died but a modification of the human phrase, “He who has the most toys when they die, wins” They refer to it as, “He who has the most toys, truly lives” And Al was currently living enough for 3 Gastropodians.
Al owned a chunk of space, equivalent to about four of Earth solar systems. In it he began to accumulate, stuff. The word stuff is applicable because on the most part, no one would consider Al's objects valuable. Gastropods didn't categorize one possession over another. Just just cared they had more. So within Al's little slice of heaven, he had gathered and stored, mounds of just about every type of object in existence. He had a collection of disused refreshment containers that was around the same mass of Jupiter. Within the collected sphere were metal cans, glass bottles, semi transparent emotional barriers, all of them at one time or another, held liquids that were consumed for their taste and emotional response. Any containers that held liquids necessary for survival, such as water, had their own pile. Toys, used weapons, clothing, discarded advertisements, all of them sooner or later found their way to Al. And Al loved it. He had spent the last few million years or so setting up his little collection in just the right way.
And along came interstellar commerce.
The little chunk of space Al had claimed had gone over the years from being part of a backwater system on the edge of the known universe, to prime real estate tracts, itching to be developed. Because of this Al's little collection had gone to his pride and joy, to the albatross around his neck that was going to kill him. Gastropod's didn't have a concept of taxes before this, but Al was learning about them very fast.
So he had done what no collector likes to do, he started to sell off parts of his stash to allow him to acquire different types of stash. At first the idea was abysmal, no one wanted interstellar trash, no matter how varied and different the piles was. It looked as if Al was going to have to either vaporize some of his collection to pay property taxes, or find another tract of space.
That was until someone had wandered across his space craft pile.
Unbeknown to Al, his collection of used and discarded space crafts (not to be confused with his collection of in-atmosphere ground vehicles and in-atmosphere air crafts), was considered a ship's graveyards of sorts. Many cultures, unaware of Al and his obsession, had long wondered where the vast and completely unrelated pile of dead ships had come from. Some thought the area of space haunted, others cursed, some thought it was some interstellar phenomena such as the Bermuda Triangle or the Vargon Octagon.
When Al found there was such a curiosity about the place he did what any well meaning Gastropod in need of interstellar commerce, what do.
He started to charge admission.
So slowly but surely, Al's collection of useless junk had become the galaxy's largest salvage and curio shop. The edges of Al's space were marked with a sensor net and anyone passing the net were given directions to the main gate where they could pay the admission, take one of Al's many worker bee ships, and grab whatever they could take with the small ships. Since the value of the objects Al collected was never the point, many people found the vast stretches of space to be similar to buried treasure. All you needed was patience and an unusually high tolerance for other species discarded bodily fluids.
The space craft section was his bread and butter.
Al over the millennium had collected the largest array of ancient and out of date ships in the known galaxy. If someone was working on restoring a classic space craft or finding parts for a museum piece from a culture that was no longer in existence, the message was always the same.
“Have you tried Al's ?”
So as the TARDIS materialized into the cramped and not so sanitary business office of Al's Galactic wide Salvage Yard and curiosity Shop, the Doctor was finishing the tale of Al to Donna.
She paused and digested the tale and finally said, “Right, but what was the part about the book then ? Seemed like it was just thrown in for effect”
The Doctor dropped his head as he sighed, “It was for effect, I was trying for a flippant and light hearted way of explaining it. Like the Guide.”, he said.
“The what ?”, she asked.
“The guide ?”, she shook her head, “To the galaxy ?”, again a shake, “Never mind. I was trying to get you relaxed so when you met Al.”
She took a half step back, “Why do I need to be in any mood to meet Al ?”
“Well”, he said pulling on his coat, “He's a Gastropod for one”
“Alien”, she said, “Got that”
“Well Gastropods aren't like every other alien”, he had checked his pockets and put his hand on the door, “So I need you in a good mood and not to make a scene.”
“A scene ?”, she said putting her hands on her hips, “Why would I make a sc...”
And he opened the door.
“...OHHHMYYYGODDD !”, she screeched, “It's a giant slug !!!”, he closed the door quickly, “That was what I was trying to avoid”, he said under his breath.
Donna was dancing in a half circle around the console, pantomiming as if she was shrugging invisible spiders off her shoulder, “That thing”, she said between gaps, “...was huge...and green...and slimy !!”
“And a sentient being”, he countered.
“It's a slug !!”, she stopped and bellowed.
“A sentient slug”, he amended.
She stopped and locked eyes with him, “I don't have to touch him do I ?”, he asked.
“No”, he shook his head, “Of course not, Gastropods frown on physical contact, it has the same effects of killing their short term memory”
“What ?”
“Never mind”, he gestured towards her, “Come on Donna, you wanted to travel in space”
“Well yeah”, she said inching towards him, “With nice looking aliens like Harrison Ford and that Michael Rennie guy, not with a slug !”
“Well not everyone is a movie star”, he said herding her towards the door, “Now be polite, we need his help”
“Fine”, she said quickly.
“I mean it Donna, Al is a great guy but he isn't known for being disrespected.”, he waggled a finger at her.
“I said fine”
“I don't want another thing like the cat”
“How was I supposed to know the thing could talk”, she crossed her arms in frustration.
“It was driving an air car Donna, if it could manage that I am sure speech wasn't too difficult”, he moved until her eyes met his, “Promise ?”
“Promise”, she said.
“Ok then, let's meet Al”, and he opened the door.
To be continued....