Dark World Recap 2

The first recap is here.

The trip to Darren's old friend and mentor, Dr. FitzHugh, does not turn out well: the doctor went on a private expedition and has not returned. His daughter, Clio, goes to get some notes of his on a strange pidgin, Neo Patwa, and is attacked. In the confusion, Lassiter disappears.

Dr. Fleming believes that Dr. FitzHugh's disappearance was voluntary, and he gives Darren a clue that should lead to the doctor. Lassiter re-appears, saying he has encountered an old friend, Rick Shafer, who appears to be both remarkably well informed and patently insane.

The trio travels to Atlantis, an old haunt of Dr. FitzHugh's, where they are captured by people like the man who attacked Clio. These men seem afraid of Lassiter and connect him with various evil entities. The trio outwit their captors only to be met by Dr. FitzHugh, who is determined to go to the dark world for research. He reveals that he has discovered something extremely significant; it is related to a strange language (‘Est id deusk? Deusker quem temos.’ ‘Is it dark? Darker than darkness.’). He also says the door between the worlds has closed and Lassiter is the key to re-opening it.

They are interrupted by Nazis who want to send an expeditionary force to the dark world; the way indeed opens, and they are claimed by the mysterious Dark Lady and vanish.

Dr. FitzHugh prepares to depart, but Clio shows up at the last moment. She tries to join him, but winds up clutching air as he disappears. She says that Rick Shafer told her where her father was; she has no idea how Shafer gets around so quickly, because he arrived at Atlantis before she did.

In order to prevent Clio from rashly barging into danger, Dr. Fleming makes a bet with her that he can toss her in the lake, which he does by skill and trickery. As he, Darren, and Lassiter make good their escape, he also claims that he did it to distract her from her grief and simply because "she was annoying me."

They decide to return to the doctor's home and laboratory to figure out their next move.

I'll take a very brief break from the story. When we return, Dr. Fleming has an ambiguous and frightening experience that sets the stage for the first actual adventure with Shafer.

Next: No Place Like Home

The Frozen Pirate: A Free Book Review

The Frozen Pirate (audiobook here) by W. Clark Russell is an odd item. Written in 1887, it has a sci-fi element rather unusual for the time and even for the author, though Russell did write horror stories.

The story begins with a terrible storm and a kamikaze iceberg wiping out a ship and leaving the narrator adrift in a lifeboat in antarctic waters. He encounters a massive island of ice and goes ashore, where he eventually discovers a pirate ship run aground some distance from the water. The ship includes a generous helping of Frozen Pirate (tm)--heat 'em and serve!

Mostly by accident, our hero manages to revive one of the pirates--they've been in deep freeze for just under fifty years, so they're still good.

Sort of good.

Kind of amoral to evil, really. This is a realistic pirate, you see, and while he's willing to help the narrator get the ship back in the water, if possible, there's treasure aboard, and he finds the math of splitting it all in half a little too daunting and has an idea for avoiding the trouble.

So the narrator's early problems of loneliness and surviving the elements unassisted become the problems of obnoxious companionship and surviving its dangers. And then there's the task of getting the ship safely launched before the northward-bound island breaks up and takes the ship with it.

There are two negatives that I should mention. Writers were completists at this point, and the narrative continues well beyond the point where a modern writer would stop. I myself would simply relegate the closing chapters to a brief epilog. Also, while it is worth explaining how he gets the ship to England and disposed of the treasure, it's rather annoying that he goes from being fairly moral and ethical to wanting to dodge the standard procedures that would have left him with little of the treasure. He turns a bit pirate himself, and I'm not sure the irony is intentional.

Still, the idea is a good one, and if you're used to the period, you'll find the book worth reading. The twist in the pirate's fate is fairly ingenious, if not altogether original today.

A note about the audiobook: there are several readers, which is usually a bad thing. What's worse, there are a number of frequent mispronunciations that I at least found painful. In case you don't know it, the Thames, the river that passes through London, is pronounced "Tim's"; it rhymes with "gyms," not "James." So I don't really recommend the audiobook, though it's otherwise a good way of getting through a rather long story.

The Frozen Pirate
E-book
Audiobook

Return to Dark World

It's been a while, and since I do write ahead, I'd forgotten where I left the story here on the blog. And I've been thinking about posting synopses at the beginning or end of each major story arc. So:

The story thus far...

Henry Lassiter has sought help for his lycanthropy, turning to Dr. Victor Fleming, a typical 1930s jack-of-all-sciences-master-of-all. The interview gets too intense, and Darren Christopher, a globetrotting missionary kid, does an exorcism that appears to diminish the problem somewhat.

Lassiter contracted his condition while surveying in Europe, where he found himself unexpectedly exposed to another world or reality, complete with fierce creatures called "li lupes de asel." A group allied with the Nazis tried to harness his lycanthropy for its own ends and got massacred.

On returning to the US, Lassiter claims to have been hunted. Dr. Fleming takes him to a colleague named Dvorak, but they have an odd experience with a strange, bulletproof woman and even more wolves. Soon after, Darren encounters a priest who explains a little of what is going on: an impingement of a dark world with our own.

The visit to Dvorak is inconclusive: he is nearly killed by an unknown mastermind, and Dr. Fleming decides to try another colleague, Dr. Adam Newman of the Better Angel Foundation.

Dr. Newman isn't any help either; Lassiter thinks he's connected with the German group that kidnapped him earlier. Darren apparently triggers yet another connection between worlds, though this time of a more positive nature, perhaps, and he and his friends escape.

Dr. Fleming is out of ideas, and Darren suggests visiting an old friend in Boston to check on the peculiar languages they keep running into.

Next: Good Morning, Beantown

The Dueling Machine: a Free Book review

The Dueling Machine (free audiobook here), written by Ben Bova with Myron R. Lewis, is a classic, early virtual-reality mystery/adventure.

I encountered Bova's sci-fi in the mid seventies; as usual, the later work isn't as good—I have a general rule not to trust written sci-fi after 1960 or certainly 1970—but his was reasonably good anyway. And the dust jackets always alluded to The Dueling Machine as if it was some kind of classic.

It is. It showed up on Gutenberg recently, and the audio version arrived soon after, so I finally got a look at the story. (I'm sure the actual book differs a bit from the Analog novella, but probably not much.)

As our story opens, mankind's interest in exploration and colonization has been overcome by the expense of colonizing and the realization that it's a whole lot more comfy on the couch at home, even if the rising population results in the government's micromanaging your life. This leads to general grumpiness.

It doesn't help when Dr. Albert Robertus Leoh invents a 3D communication system that somehow reaches across hundreds of light years instantaneously, severely irking the likes of Albert Einstein. So he invents the dueling machine: a virtual reality system that lets you and a mutual enemy kill each other thoroughly without actual harm to anyone.

Except that suddenly the hatchet man for an imperialistic dictator starts challenging people to duels they don't survive, with results that destabilize several worlds. Dr. Leoh is brought in to investigate, along with a Star Watchman, math geek, and klutz named Hector. Can they solve the mystery and thwart the bad guys before getting killed? (Because posthumous revenge isn't nearly as much fun as it sounds.)

I admit that I wondered at the lack of a panic button for duelists than would bail them out before they needed a change of clothes. That would have solved the whole thing. But that point aside, this is a good story. I should also mention that one of the deaths is recorded in considerable detail, which could be a bit intense for some readers.

The Dueling Machine:
Gutenberg e-text

LibriVox audiobook),

A Knyght Ther Was

A Knyght Ther Was (also available as an audiobook) is a novella by Robert F. Young. I was already familiar with Young from his novel Eridahn, which I liked and which has the distinction of being one of the few sci-fi novels my mother considers worthwhile.

Like Eridahn, A Knyght Ther Was is a time-travel story with all the twists and turns I at least look for in that sub-genre. After all, why bother travelling through time if you can't mess with your past self on occasion?

Anyway... A Knyght Ther Was features a time thief named Tom Mallory who is going to use another Malory's work to find a suitable point in time to rip off the Holy Grail. He's going to impersonate Sir Galahad, the last guy to deal with the Grail before it was taken up to Heaven--it seems like a reasonable point to take it forward in time instead.

Then the unforeseen problems arise.

The oddity is, I did not think I would like the story. I thought Young would get cute with the Grail, and the tone is initially quite cynical. There were also several plot wrinkles I thought I could predict, and I was right about some of them. I saw the Lancelot twist coming immediately, for example. Others were both surprising and satisfying, especially Mallory's unexpected encounter just after his moment of triumph: it works out exactly as it should. It was at that moment that I knew I would consider the story a classic if he didn't mess it up.

And he didn't! There was a remaining matter he could have completely blown--I thought he would, really; it's another place where he surprised me, because I was sure I knew what he was up to: the mystery of Rowena.

The major surprise was that despite the cynical opening, this takes place in an essentially Christian universe. The two really honest and admirable characters are Christians, and they talk about God in a way that's generally right. And that's all the more peculiar because so far as I know, Young wasn't a Christian himself. (That's not to say I would be surprised if he was.) And I have to admit that this is more Christian than some supposedly "Christian" fiction I've encountered.

It's a short piece, just over two hours as an audiobook, and I'm sure you'll keep coming back to it. Let's have that info again:

A Knyght Ther Was
E-text
Audiobook

Dark World: Mysteriouser and mysteriouser

(The story begins here.)

“You recognize the dagger?” Darren asked.

“The crest,” Lassiter replied. “It was on some of the stuff that belonged to Althaus and his friends. Some society or other.”

“That figures,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “A pointer to an obvious enemy.”

“You don’t believe it?” Darren asked.

“I’m undecided. It’s both credible and convenient.”

“It’s not that credible,” Darren stated. “A real assassin wouldn’t attack that way.” Seeing the doctor’s look, he said, “Go ahead and strike at me the way the attacker did.”

Dr. Fleming complied, miming a downward arc that Darren easily blocked; then Darren sent a right hook less than an inch from the doctor’s chin. “I could have put a knife anywhere I wanted in your chest, stomach, or throat,” he added helpfully.

“Karel was attacked from behind.”

“It doesn’t matter; anyone used to a knife would attack like this.” And Darren poked his fist horizontally toward the doctor. “See how much harder that is to block? And it’s faster: while you’re drawing back for that dramatic downward sweep, I can launch a lethal attack of my own. No, this was an amateur job—or meant to look like one.”

Lassiter had resumed work on his sandwich. “He’s right—I’ve seen some real knife fights, and they keep it horizontal, with thrusts, not downward sweeps.” He popped the last mouthful in just as a chime sounded.

“Dvorak’s amazing machine has finally decided that he’s out of danger,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “A real doctor would’ve figured that out some time ago, but it’s not bad for an automaton.”

Lassiter frowned. “I hope Antonin doesn’t double-check it. He wasn’t happy playing cook while his boss was in that traveling coffin.”

“It’s not that easy to trust an important job to a machine,” the doctor murmured as he absently ran his hand over the ornate surface of the automaton.

“Maybe that’s because we know it’s a blind, inferior version of its creator,” Darren suggested.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Fleming asked as he began to explore the cabinet-like structure more carefully.

“These things of Dvorak’s try to incorporate his knowledge and skill into a machine that acts in circumstances he couldn’t completely foresee. It’s like trying to guide someone with no medical knowledge through surgery—and doing it over the telephone. It’s worse, really, because at least the novice surgeon can ask questions. Dvorak had to guess at all the possible situations, which is humanly impossible.”

“Brilliant,” Dr. Fleming cried as he continued his probe now of the machine’s interior.

“Thank you,” Darren said, abashed.

“Not you, the scheme—though you can be assistant genius for the day if it pleases you. I think I know what happened.”

Next: The Assassin Unmasked

Dark World: Dr. Fleming Investigates

(The story begins here.)

Lassiter was hungry as usual when Darren released him from the infirmary, and he was very quick to commandeer Antonin for chef duty, which left Darren and Dr. Fleming alone in the workroom to the doctor’s undisguised relief.

“Your timing is excellent; another ten minutes and there would’ve been a successful murder here.”

“Yours or Antonin’s? He’s the more imposing figure.”

“But I am far more motivated. He was driving me insane with all his assertions, questions, and pacing. He claims that the machine attempted to kill Dvorak, which is credible on one level and nonsense on a few others.”

“Tell me about it,” Darren said. He knew that his friend needed a reasonably quiet sounding board at such moments, so he resolved to be the opposite of Antonin and see what happened.

“To begin with, there was no one else in the room. We had a clear view of Antonin, and he did nothing more troubling than commit mechanicide—if he did even that. The damage to the card reader should be minor, but the cards are probably lost. I can’t help wondering whether that was intentional.”

Darren merely gave him an encouraging look, so he continued, “I sometimes think Antonin’s real reason for working with Karel is to thwart him: Antonin despises machines; he truly believes the true path is organic. As near as I can tell, he thinks Dvorak’s machines may unleash a terrible disaster on the world. So if he spent the night making up cards for an attack—”

“You think he might have tried to kill Dvorak?”

“That’s where it falls apart. No. Antonin Čapek is a very loyal man—and something of a pacifist. He carries a gun, but he does not shoot to kill. He might have programmed some kind of ‘accident,’ but nothing truly dangerous. And he was clearly surprised by the dagger. For that matter, the mechanical arms don’t show blood in the right places: there wasn’t much blood shed, but the hand that wielded the knife would have picked up some blood. And again, Antonin could not have carried out the attack himself, because the dagger swept down in an arc that would have been unmistakable to even a casual observer, and the attack came while Karel was standing.”

“The machine couldn’t have aimed the blows anyway.”

Dr. Fleming considered the matter for a moment. “Actually, that wouldn’t have been hard to manage. Loading the cards activates the unit, and the operator’s position at that moment would be very easy to guess. But the cards Karel loaded were his own, and only he or Antonin could have arranged a mechanized attack. I technically could have, but it would have taken longer, since I’m not as familiar with the machine, and you know I wasn’t punching cards all night.”

Just then Lassiter returned, armed with a half-eaten ham sandwich. “Antonin is getting a proper breakfast together, and he wanted me to warn you so I wouldn’t eat it all myself. He’s smarter than he looks.” With that he resumed his breakfast.

“We’ll join you in a moment,” Darren said absently, still looking at Dr. Fleming. “Are there any other clues?”

“The dagger itself: see the crest on it? I don’t recognize it myself, but it’s evidently German—the assassin’s calling card, something to ensure that Karel’s enemies get credit for the attack.”

Lassiter gasped and almost dropped his sandwich. He swallowed a mouthful and stammered, “I’ve seen that before!”

Next: Mysteriouser and mysteriouser

Dark World: Un Nove Sperantia

(The story begins here./Le conto comencia hic.) As an added feature, mouse over anything you want translated below.

“What do you mean, ‘A new hope’?” Darren asked. “Haven’t you encountered Christians before? Where did you come from otherwise?” He had to re-phrase this a time or so, but finally the man in the robe smiled understanding.

“Christianos certo ha venite a iste mundo, sed de voluntate: pro salvar o adjutar alcun altere. Sed tu es sol, sin amico o companion. Tu pote venir con me o non—e io te consilia de remaner. Haber un ponte al mundo normal forsan nos adjutara. Normalmente le via se aperi solo pro admitter malo additional.”

“It lets some out, too,” Darren muttered. He continued aloud, “Why me? Why now?”

“Io non sape. Io suppone que tu ha experientia de iste mundo?”

“Yes, and the last time was with friends. We drove off the invaders, though.”

“Le porta numquam se claude vermente—al minus, non de tu latere. Quando uno veni a iste mundo, le porta vermente se claude. Ergo non veni si tu pote evitar lo, o tu anque sera prisionero hic.”

A fog began to gather, obscuring the scene and muffling the voice, which called, “Illo nos separa actualmente, sed le porte se aperira de nove…”

Darren was alone on grounds without a trace of forest.

“I’m not sure whether I gained more answers than questions, but that helps a little.” He paused briefly and decided to collect Lassiter and see how Dr. Fleming’s investigation was proceeding. As he turned, he thought he sensed something—a faint stench, a coldness, something that would never show up on Dr. Fleming’s instruments and thus did not exist. He glanced back, but it was gone, and the shadow he thought he briefly saw—and saw move—was surely nothing but a trick of eye or mind.

Next: Dr. Fleming Investigates

Dark World: Light in the Darkness

(The story begins here./Le conto comencia hic.) As an added feature, mouse over anything you want translated below.

Antonin did something to shut off the security system; then he ran, not to Dvorak but to the desk-like controls, leveled his pistol, and emptied it into area where the cards were held and read. “Murdering machine!” He turned to the others. “I told the master not to trust these things! Organism and inorganism must always be at war. Only organic tools and slaves can be trusted.”

Dr. Fleming was already at his friend’s side. “He’ll live. The wounds are relatively superficial, but that’s a nasty-looking dagger on the floor.”

“Dagger?” Antonin asked.

“Yes, the kind organisms use to kill each other. I wonder where it came from? Karel never carries a knife.” He paused and glanced at Darren. “Attempted murder in a locked, windowless room. I suppose you’ll say this is the work of demons.”

Darren thought very briefly—even prayed—and replied, “No, I don’t sense anything here beyond human evil.”

“Excellent. Then this is a job for physics.”

“So you admit there’s more than physics?”

“Everything is physics; it’s just that some things are more obviously physics than others. Step outside and commune with your God; Antonin and I will take care of Karel. He wouldn’t want you standing around here praying for him.”

Darren bowed stiffly and departed.

He did in fact step outside. Dr. Fleming’s brusqueness was no doubt the result of stress, but Darren hoped for some uninterrupted prayer. He also wasn’t sure that Lassiter would be any help; let him stew a few minutes longer.

Darren hadn’t gone very far when a shadow and breeze came on him, and he found himself facing the edge of a forest that was new to the area. It took him less than a second to assess the situation: he was not carrying a gun, not even one with normal bullets, but he didn’t sense the previous effluvium of evil, either.

A voice hailed him from the trees. “Veni a me, filio. Io te monstrara le via a…” The voice broke off, and the speaker, a robed figure, looked around as if puzzled. “Io senti necun periculo…necun malo.”

“I don’t sense any danger or evil either,” Darren said. “Do you understand English? Or—”

“Io pote comprender English—anglese—mi filio, sed io non pote parlar lo. Un dictionario nos adjutarea, sed apparentemente nos comprende le un le altere sin illo.”

“It would probably be a few decades before such a dictionary could be produced anyway. But why is there no evil here—no wolves or enchantress? I thought these phenomena were basically evil with a little good sometimes mixed in by the grace of God.”

“Generalmente, si. Sed le gratia de Dio importa multo: le malo appella al malo, e le bono al bono. Evidentemente un grande bono se trova in te, e solo le bono appare.”

“There is no good in me, Sir; I am a sinner.”

“Sed claro tu ha acceptate le Bon—le Filio de Dio—in tu cordie. Su bonitate supera cata malo in te e in iste mundo tenebrose. Isto es un nove sperantia.”

Next: Un Nove Sperantia

Dark World: Riddle of the Locked Room

(The story begins here.)

“Victor!” Darren called softly. “Someone’s walking around downstairs!”

Dr. Fleming exercised his great self-control and merely grunted, “Our door’s locked, so I don’t care. Put a chair against it if you like.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“The acute senses of a jungle savage and the ability to comprehend the crucial ‘big hand-little hand’ distinction! Excellent, Darren; by breakfast you may have evolved past needing a tail.”

“There is someone—”

“It’s Antonin. I don’t know whether he’s really a sleepwalker or an insomniac out for exercise, but he does that sometimes. It can’t be Lassiter, because he’d make a din like an exploding boiler factory getting out of the infirmary. And it can’t be his ghoulish friends, or your hackles would be up and your tail bushy. Go back to sleep—or at least let me do so.”

———

The next morning found everyone up bright and early. Dvorak, armed with enthusiasm and a continental breakfast, invited his guests to experience Antonin’s culinary skills while he had some time alone with his new tool. He let himself into his workroom and locked the door behind him. Darren decided to fetch Lassiter from the infirmary, and Dr. Fleming and Antonin paused by the workroom to examine an intricate gadget that Dvorak would soon seek to replicate purely by punch cards.

That was when they heard the shout, which was abruptly cut off.

Antonin was the first inside since he had a key and the security system’s permission to enter unmolested. But the moment the door was open, the scene was both clear and inconceivable: Dvorak, spattered with blood, lay crumpled on the floor with some small object beside him.

The mechanical artisan continued swiftly and silently fashioning its artifact, oblivious to the horror and outcry.

Next: Light in the Darkness

Dark World: Points of View

(The story begins here.)

Darren wondered again at Dr. Fleming’s determination to bring Lassiter to such an embattled stronghold. Was it purely that he hoped human means could triumph over the dark forces they had encountered? Or was there some other factor involved?

Dvorak interrupted these thoughts. “So, Mr. Lassiter, I wonder which side you are on. Mr. Christopher is an avowed supernaturalist; Victor had been a thorough secular materialist like me, though this talk of ‘transformations’ may mean he has wandered. And dear Antonin actually favors medieval alchemy to—”

“I do not, Master,” Antonin stated quietly yet firmly. “You believe that evolution has switched from organic back to inorganic. Yet the greatest triumphs of evolution, including consciousness itself, have come through organic matter. If we are to use the flow of evolution to our advantage, we must use organisms—even synthetic or modified ones.”

Dvorak chuckled dismissively. “Medieval homunculi, yes. Or golems? No, they aren’t organic enough. It is our tools that change now. Isn’t that true, Victor?”

“Human evolution is finished,” Dr. Fleming said. “We change our tools, not ourselves. It is quicker and easier to build an airplane than to develop wings, to wear a coat than to grow fur. But I would agree with Antonin that machines augment our bodies, not our minds. Intellectual inventions are not mechanical—language and mathematics are true tools of thought, not machines or organisms.”

Lassiter stirred uneasily. “I don’t usually believe in things I can’t see or test, but I’ve encountered some things lately I can’t explain. These clever ideas may not be as clever as you think when you run into realities like that.”

Darren smiled. “That is the problem. We are constantly confronted with things our technology and intellects can't truly fathom. What we need is not technological or organic progress, but spiritual progress. And we can only get that from God.”

Dvorak laughed. “You really should meet Dr. Newman; he could at least give you a more scientific-sounding alternative. The only God or Devil greets us from the mirror, and he thinks he has found a way to determine the view. Redemption without a god or cross—the ultimate triumph of Science, if he is right. But I leave such matters to others. Tomorrow I shall do what my puny intellect allows for the betterment of mankind.”

Next: Riddle of the Locked Room

Dark World: The Werewolf Who Came to Dinner

(The story begins here.)

“I hope Victor doesn’t mind sharing a room with me,” Darren observed as he helped set up an extra bed in the guest room.

“We have few visitors,” Antonin said, “seldom more than one at a time.”

“At least I don’t snore.”

“Dr. Fleming has spent the night here before. He doesn’t snore either.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect him to. It’s too unevolved.”

A chime, clear but not quite shrill, interrupted, and Darren glanced at the other man, who seemed only mildly surprised. “Your other friend has awakened, I think: that alert means an acceptable change in vital activity.” He looked around, annoyed. “We cannot very well fit another bed in here, however; he shall have to remain in the infirmary.” He headed for the door, Darren at his heels.

“I believe Victor and I would both object to sharing a room with him anyway.”

“Does he snore, then?”

“Perhaps slightly. The larger problem is when he howls.”

A moment later they found Dvorak and Fleming examining Lassiter, who claimed complete ignorance of events since leaving Fleming’s lab. He also claimed extreme hunger, which led Dvorak to prescribe dinner for him, the better to observe his condition.

Darren thought Dvorak’s slight glance and smirk in Fleming’s direction suggested another reason, and Antonin confirmed the suspicion sotto voce as they repaired to the dining room. “The master wishes to make a game of this. I have never seen Dr. Fleming so nervous before, and the opportunity is too tempting.”

Sure enough, at the table Darren found his friend glancing now at Lassiter (or rather his hair), now at Darren. He met one such gaze with a confident smile and a slight shake of his head. He certainly did not sense the approach of evil, and there was a further consideration that was reasonable if not absolute: all the previous “irruptions of evil” they had experienced or heard of occurred outdoors. Even Lassiter had admitted that a werewolf was not likely to enter a building it had not recently occupied.

Dvorak, meanwhile, was proving expansive as host. “We seldom entertain on such a scale. I hope, Mr. Lassiter, that you will not mind a night in the infirmary?”

“I’ve had worse nights. I’d rather not be restrained, though. It’s probably not necessary.”

“I’m sure it won’t be. The infirmary, like all the rooms here, is a small fortress. Do you agree, Victor?”

“As he said, it shouldn’t be necessary to restrain him—not for some weeks, anyway.”

Dvorak smiled. “I am used to more substantive threats, especially from the Germans. Their memories are long; fortunately, their minds are weak. Even here they occasionally try to exact vengeance; I doubt the supernatural shall succeed where German ingenuity has so far failed.”

Next: Points of View

Dark World: Helpers of Hephaestus

(The story begins here.)

Dvorak’s assistant led the way to a kind of workroom. He unlocked the door and made a point of examining the area minutely, gun in hand, to Dvorak’s evident displeasure.

“Antonin! Enough! This is the most secure room in the manor; if anyone but us enters it, he will not repeat the mistake.”

Darren halted immediately, his foot just before the threshold. Dr. Fleming brushed past him into the room. “Don’t worry, Darren; we’re with them. It’s coming alone that would prove disastrous.”

Antonin glanced back. “Yet caution is wise—especially before the unknown.”

Darren entered the room and looked around. “This place calls for caution. All those arms jutting from walls and ceiling as though strange beings were trying to emerge from bondage!”

Dvorak chuckled. “In a way they are. This is Hephaestus’ workroom, you might say, and he built metal workmen to help in his labors. I hope someday to produce freestanding workers, but for now they remain imprisoned in the walls, reaching out only hand and arm to assist their creator.”

“Hephaestus was crippled.”

“Our ignorance cripples us all. Only Science can cure us. These partial beings are part of that cure: they help me not only build new units but conduct experiments. Soon I hope to supervise them in surgery—work too precise for the inexact hand of man. And it’s all done by humble cards.” He pulled out a small drawer to reveal a precise stack of cards. “Would you believe that this stack is really another arm, one with a cutting torch, waiting for me to call it forth? And with this new reader, my assistants shall become even more powerful.” He gestured toward something that looked like a large desk with a wardrobe at one side. “The precision of this instrument shows the true promise of the concept. It can thread a needle quite easily, and with the proper operator, even the most delicate surgery becomes child’s play.”

Dr. Fleming eyed the contraption with mild puzzlement. “It’s rather ornate, isn’t it? All those knobs and excrescences—I didn’t think either of you went in for such things.”

Dvorak scowled slightly. “We don’t. Producing this required skill beyond our own. It’s the work of a colleague, though we provided the more important components. Unfortunately the man had an assistant with Victorian tastes who decided to show off his skills by adding all these embellishments. If I hadn’t been in a hurry to test it, I would’ve broken them off and filed them down.”

“What kind of test?” the doctor asked.

Dvorak laughed. “I had suggested that I could at last get a proper haircut. Antonin considered it too risky, but he was not willing to offer his own head in place of mine. So instead I shall use it to craft a delicate component its own builder would find challenging. I already have the card set prepared; all I need do is enter the cards, set the initial position, and watch the finest craftsman never born.”

“You’ll do that tonight?”

“Tomorrow; it’s getting late, and I want to be fresh for the experiment. Besides, there’s the small matter of your patient to be settled. You wanted him restrained?”

“He is capable of great feats of strength and ferocity, and I would like to try provoking such an episode while he is properly restrained and monitored.”

“He has no more than average strength.”

“He can. . .transform,” Dr. Fleming ventured. “In the other state, his strength is superhuman.”

“If he can ‘transform,’ as you call it, perhaps you should take him to Dr. Newman; transformation is his specialty, not mine.”

“Your facilities are better, and I would like to avoid any sensationalism if possible.”

“Very well. We can make arrangements while Antonin helps your friend prepare your quarters.”

Next: The Werewolf Who Came to Dinner

Dark World: Keeper of the Keyboard

[Slight change: I originally meant to make the Dvorak Manor arc short, but I'll lengthen it a bit to accommodate a few worthwhile characters.]
(The story begins here.)

“The fundamental flaw of would-be technocracies,” Dvorak continued, “is the human element. The experts who make the decisions have human shortcomings—prejudices, ambitions, and so forth—that interfere with their judgment. A machine does not; it can follow logic alone.”

“But the problems of human life are too complicated for a machine to solve,” Darren objected. “A machine can follow simple rules, such as those of arithmetic, but it can’t truly create, so it can’t adapt to new situations. It can’t even understand current situations.”

“Understanding is a problem,” Dvorak admitted. “The information must be in a form that the machine can use. Centuries ago, philosophers talked about philosophical languages—the Real Character, the Ars Signorum, and so on—that would describe things instead of just naming them with arbitrary labels. They didn’t realize how long an adequate description would be, of course. Such a language would be unworkable for human beings, but a machine could conceivably use it.”

“It still wouldn’t understand the situation,” Darren said. “You would merely codify your own understanding and have the machine apply it blindly. That could lead to worse human error than mere prejudice or ambition.”

“But it could be refined. Just as modern breeders can accomplish in a few generations what took evolutionary forces, operating blindly, hundreds of generations to achieve, so the machine and language can be refined. For that matter, some of my colleagues believe that the universe is self-ordering: it may be its nature to generate both complexity and unity, much as a seed does. If so, all I need do is produce the initial machine, and a kind of mechanical evolution will take over.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You may think this machine and this language will solve everything, like the genie from Aladdin’s Lamp, but you may open Pandora’s Box instead—and then who will shut it for you?”

“It cannot be shut. Though you fear it, progress is inevitable—but hastening it will save untold misery. If Korsakov’s pioneering work of a century ago had received its due, we would even now have an age of information beyond anything the world has ever known.”

“Korsakov?”

“Semyon Korsakov. Where others saw punched cards only as a means of controlling machines, he thought of using them to collect and correlate data. The Imperial Academy of Sciences rejected his idea, but some true intellectuals pursued it—secretly, to avoid official interference. I am their heir. Come, I shall show you something more impressive to the ordinary mind than my keyboard.”

Next: Helpers of Hephaestus

Dark World: From the New World

(The story begins here.)

Dr. Fleming smiled at Darren’s bewilderment. “It isn’t magic, you know,” he whispered as he indicated Lassiter’s strange conveyance. “It’s controlled by radio or sound, and there’s a metal strip on the floor that probably powers and even guides it.”

“I am not a benighted heathen, Victor, but thanks for the explanation anyway. It just seems rather cold and mechanical compared to being borne along by one’s fellow men.”

“A modern hospital room is cold and mechanical compared to a witch doctor’s hut.”

An open door and the view through it interrupted the debate. A man with dark, shoulder-length hair sat at what Darren first took to be an organ. An image flashed through his imagination: Captain Nemo sitting at his organ following the destruction of the mysterious warship. Darren could not understand why that image; he could find no trace of the the overwrought, vengeful submariner’s pathos.

But Karel Dvorak turned to face them, and the image vanished, especially as Darren saw that it was not an organ at all, but some strange collection of keys or levers of unknown purpose. “You appear startled, sir,” Dvorak stated.

“I thought for a moment you were an organist, sir,” Darren replied.

Dvorak chuckled. “I can see how one could think so. I am not a musician, though I suppose you could say I am a composer. A composer of music might produce a symphony; the symphony I produce here is from the new world that my keyboard, here, makes possible. This device shall someday be famous along with me.” His gaze moved to Dr. Fleming. “Your patient’s vital signs are quite normal. Indeed, the only irregularity I find is that he has remained unconscious. The ride is scarcely lulling.”

“Mr. Lassiter is a man of many hidden irregularities. This, meanwhile, is Mr. Darren Christopher, who has some tedious irregularities of his own. Darren, Dr. Karel Dvorak.”

The two men bowed slightly in acknowledgement, and Darren said, “I take it that this device of yours is medical in nature?”

Dvorak chuckled again. “It is universal in nature, as is my own work. I meant what I said about creating a new world. If I survive long enough, I intend to usher in what the bumbling Soviet and German fools promise: a true technocratic paradise, free of the divisions that threaten the Czechoslovak Republic and the rest of the world.”

“Pardon me if I find that terrifying.”

“You aren’t alone. They are afraid that I shall succeed where they are doomed to fail; that’s why they are determined to kill me—that and the services I rendered to Masaryk’s intelligence efforts during the Great War. Some Germans still hold a grudge about that period.”

“But still, any technocracy is only as good as the supposed experts who tell everyone else what to do. Why are your experts better than the others?”

“Because my expert harnesses the inexorable, inevitable accuracy of the machine,” Dvorak answered, indicating his keyboard.

Next installment: Keeper of the Keyboard

Dark World: Dvorak Manor

[In an attempt to get back on schedule somewhat, I'll post a few chapters (sections, whatever) of Dark World to get the "Dvorak Manor" arc going; then I'll do some reviews and such. I'd rather not do even a Christian horror tale going into a holy day.]

(The story begins here.)

“It’s a castle,” Darren murmured, gazing at Dvorak Manor. “What did he do, bring it over from Europe?”

“No, it’s all American stone,” Victor replied. “When Karel Dvorak adopts a country, he doesn’t look back.” He guided the car expertly through a minor labyrinth that separated the drive from the main complex of castle and outbuildings.

“I see what you meant about paranoia. No one can get in or out quickly without knowing the route well. I take it you’ve been here often?”

“A few times. I automatically map places I visit.” The doctor parked the car and got out. “Keep your hands in sight and make no sudden moves.”

Darren joined the doctor and stood by the car for nearly a minute before seeing any sign of life from the manor. Then a tall, muscular man with close-cropped blond hair emerged from a doorway. He approached swiftly and silently with a military gait. Only when he stood before them did he speak.

“Dr. Fleming, the master greets you and enquires about your mission and your friends.”

“The man in the car is a patient—and rather a curious case. This is Mr. Darren Christopher, also a curious case, but more annoying than problematic. Darren, this is Antonin Čapek, Dvorak’s assistant and aspiring automaton.”

The man’s face remained impassive; if he had a sense of humor, it was carefully stored somewhere far away. “Is the patient dangerous?”

“He can be extremely dangerous, and so can some other people involved with him—whether friends or enemies, I do not know. I would suggest restraining him.”

“The master will not appreciate incurring an added risk.”

“I didn’t appreciate it either, but I need a safe place to work, and this is the safest I know.”

“It is the most imperiled,” Antonin stated. But he fetched an odd contrivance that made Darren think of a sarcophagus on wheels. When he had brought it to the car, he opened it and, with Darren’s and the doctor’s help, placed Lassiter inside.

The machine now reminded Darren of an iron lung, and he was startled when it moved off by itself into the recesses of the manor. Antonin followed it, and Darren and Dr. Fleming brought up the rear. After they entered, a heavy door shut and locked behind them.

Next: From the New World

Dark World: To the Manor Borne

[Worse pun than usual in the title. Sorry.]

(The story begins here.)

“How do you intend to get to Dvorak Manor?” Darren asked. “The tree’s still blocking the road; it didn’t disappear with the woman and her pets.”

The doctor stirred uneasily at the reference. “The car’s fenders are reinforced, and its motor is powerful; I can probably push the tree enough out of the road to proceed.”

“Then why didn’t you do so before?”

“I didn’t say I could do so quickly and easily. It will take a minute or two, and we shall be sitting ducks until I get through.” Lassiter moaned faintly in the back seat, where Darren was stationed. Without looking back, the doctor said, “Keep an eye on him. I’d like to be underway before he regains consciousness, and if he shows signs of backsliding, you may have to convert him again.”

Silence held until the doctor pushed past the tree; then he asked quietly, “Is Lassiter still unconscious?”

“Yes. Why, do you want to rouse him with smelling salts and bludgeon him unconscious again?”

“Don’t be facetious; I only do that to werewolves. How hard did you hit him, anyway?”

“Not nearly that hard. I think he’s resumed his near-coma.”

“Very convenient.” The doctor paused briefly. “Darren, did you feel anything unusual when that woman looked at you?”

“You mean the pull? Of course. We all have a world of evil inside us; she was calling to that evil, trying to use its power to control us.”

“And Lassiter?”

“She already had an opening there: the power of the curse is gone, but not its effect. He now has a door open to a part of himself most of us keep sealed off, and the true monster within can surface quite easily.”

“I see.” Another pause followed. “You spoke before of another world touching ours. Do you mean Hell? Is she a demon?”

“Not Hell and not a demon. There is something demonic afoot, certainly; but I suspect she is still physically human, and the nature of that other world is as unknown to my theology as to your science.”

“And you felt something before she appeared?”

“I’m used to such evil, yes. I could feel it coming like a cold, rank draft from a swamp. That’s why I looked at Lassiter’s hair: I expected a breeze.”

“Well, give me plenty of warning next time.”

“You expect another attempt?”

“Don’t you?”

Darren didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They drove on in silence to the fortress called Dvorak Manor.

[I'll resume reviews and such for a few days. The next installment of Dark World will be Dvorak Manor. First, however, I'll post a belated explanation about the story itself.]

Dark World: Practical Theology

(The story begins here.)

At the gunshot, everyone froze. At first it had no other effect: no bullet hole appeared between the large, dark eyes. Then everything and everyone changed.

The eyes became tinged with fire, and Dr. Fleming could feel himself melting, burning before them. The werewolves leapt from the prominence, only to meet more effective fire on the way down: Darren’s shots sent them tumbling to the ground, where they writhed.

Dr. Fleming glanced at Darren and saw something somehow worse than the werewolves: Lassiter had gone from passive to aggressive, and while he wasn’t changing into a werewolf, he was changing into something. His face twisted with rage, his eyes seemed scarcely human, and if he didn’t quite achieve a bestial form, it wasn’t for want of desire or effort.

Darren’s attempt at an exorcism got nowhere, and he barely ducked a ferocious swipe. “Time for some practical theology,” he said as he dropped the man with an unexpected left. “Paul said to lay hands on no man suddenly, but I suppose a single fist is different.”

“Finally some theology I can believe in,” Dr. Fleming commented as he ran to join him. They would be safer if they were closer together. Then he paused. There was something different…

“They’re gone! The woman and the creatures and…and everything!”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Darren grunted as he lifted Lassiter’s feet and began dragging him to the car again.

“Have you encountered something like this before?”

“Not personally—not at this level. But I’ve heard of such things. It’s an irruption of evil.”

“I hope this annoys you, but I happen to know what ‘irruption’ means,” the doctor replied, taking the heavier end of their companion and helping Darren load him in the car.

“I’m sure it will annoy you to find it doesn’t annoy me a bit. This is an in-breaking of evil, as though another, darker world connected briefly with ours.”

“Then why didn’t it happen at the other spot? They did push the other tree down, didn’t they?” Dr. Fleming took a moment to handcuff Lassiter, and Darren nodded approval.

“Probably. Will you entertain an irrational, supernatural conjecture?”

“Of course. I asked you, didn’t I?”

“I suspect their time is limited. Lassiter’s encounters were apparently brief, for example, so perhaps they pushed over both trees, withdrew, and somehow waited for us. It may be that the first tree we found had just been pushed over, and they couldn’t return immediately.”

“Thank you. That was irrational and supernatural, and I feel sane by comparison.”

They were back in the car by now, and Darren asked the obvious question. “Now what?”

“We continue our journey to Dvorak Manor.”

Next installment: To the Manor Borne

Dark World: The Dark Call

(The story begins here.)

“Pushed over that tree? It doesn’t look weak enough!” Dr. Fleming said.

“I suspect the other one suffered the same fate,” Darren replied. “I’m used to such tricks in places where larger animals are available, but here the claw marks were at the right height for a man.”

A chill came over them suddenly, and Darren bolted to intercept Lassiter, who had left the car and was walking around in a daze. Darren felt almost the same: the morning light had dwindled unexpectedly to twilight, and he knew he had to get them all in the car and out of the area immediately.

“What’s going on?” Dr. Fleming muttered, and his voice was as close to panic as Darren had ever heard. Even during the werewolf attack he had been calmer than this. “How did it get dark so suddenly? There are no clouds, no eclipse…” His mind scrabbled for some foothold in the situation, and he remembered as a child being told that if he would look up a chimney during full daylight, he would be able to see the stars in a night sky. He had experimentally disproved the notion, to his regret. “Night has come. But how?”

“It’s the wind that bothers me,” Darren said, trying to steer Lassiter into the car.

“What wind?” the doctor asked. “I don’t feel anything.”

“The wind, Victor, that is ruffling Mr. Lassiter’s hair.”

It was true: Lassiter’s hair was blowing in a breeze that stirred nothing else.

Dr. Fleming glanced about, and his gaze fell on a prominence he had somehow not noticed before. On it stood a woman with long, raven hair. Could she be the one Lassiter had described? No; for how could anyone speak of this woman without mentioning her great, dark eyes? They were pools of night, enveloping and overwhelming all else, calling something forth from the depths of a soul the doctor denied he had. He stepped forward…

“Resist!” Darren’s voice commanded as his steel grip seized the doctor’s shoulder.

Dr. Fleming felt as though waking from a deep and terrible dream—but he was the sort who always wakened instantly and in full possession of his senses. He was also in possession of a gun, and it was aimed at the strange woman. “Who are you?”

She smiled. It was neither happy nor sad but beguiling, like a void that drew all into its emptiness. “Yo es li desir, li destine de tot homes, de tot animes.”

“You are not the desire or destiny of this man or this soul,” Darren called back.

She glanced at him but fixed her gaze on Lassiter. “Veni, accepta li don. Revela li potentie de—”

If Lassiter accepted the gift, the power he revealed was not good: he screamed and doubled over, clawing at himself. “I’m burning! Burning from inside!”

“The silver!” Dr. Fleming muttered. Darren was already half dragging the squirming man to the car, where he stuffed him in the back. The sight roused the doctor to a full awareness of his danger. He adjusted his aim. “Madame, I am scientifically trained to be a crack shot. Surrender, or I fire.”

She spread her arms, and a wolf-like creature emerged on either side. Still her gaze and her smile seemed to draw something within the doctor, and it was less because of his iron will than his strict training that he aimed between her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Next: Practical Theology

Dark World: If a Tree Falls

(The story begins here.)

“I believe he’s asleep,” Dr. Fleming said, indicating Mr. Lassiter, who was slumped beside him in the front seat of the sedan. It was a dreary morning for a drive.

“I’m not quite fresh myself,” Darren Christopher murmured. “We had a rough night making all the preparations, especially with unseen assassins supposedly breathing down our necks.”

“His exhaustion is still unusual,” the doctor replied. “I think the transformation wearies him, especially when it’s interrupted so rudely. He’s almost in a coma.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to move him?”

“My friend has better hospital facilities than I do. That’s his primary qualification just now—that and his paranoia. His place is a fortress, and it always helps to have a safe environment when dealing with the unknown. Unfortunately, it also means that he has limited his approaches. There are just two ways of getting there, and if we have been watched, we may be anticipated.”

“You expect an ambush?”

“I acknowledge an unavoidable risk. Keep your eyes open, use the clips with the silver bullets only when necessary, and remember that Lassiter may turn on us in more ways than one. Or do you think you cured him with your exorcism?”

“There’s always an element of choice: what I ran off, he may invite to return.”

“Annoyingly plausible—perhaps even true, if only psychologically.”

“You still think it could be some extreme form of psychosom—”

Dr. Fleming swore softly as he hit the brakes. He only just remembered to put his right arm out to prevent Lassiter from hitting the dash, which only worked because he was driving slowly to begin with. “Tree in the road,” he muttered as Lassiter plopped back against the seat, still unconscious.

“At least we are dealing with old-fashioned villains,” Darren said. “I thought that trick went out with the horse and buggy, at least in America.”

“It may not be a trick at all. There was a windstorm here last night, and I’ve seen some other old trees and limbs blown down. That’s why I was being careful. Speaking of which, keep me covered while I check on the tree.”

Darren rolled his window down and prepared either to poke his arm and head out or to open the door and move.

Dr. Fleming returned almost immediately. “False alarm: it was broken off, not sawed. But we’ll still need to detour.”

They drove on in silence for nearly an hour, and Darren noticed that Lassiter was stirring. He wasn’t surprised when they encountered a second tree across the second route. “I’ll check this one.”

He took scarcely longer than his friend had to investigate and return. The doctor had already turned the car as best he could when Darren trotted up.

“There’s evil at work here. Let’s leave.”

“They sawed it down?”

“Of course not. They pushed it over.”

Next installment: The Dark Call