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Introduction

Welcome to Around the Bend dear reader. This collection of stories by Darrell Bain will both entice and entertain. Old friends to Darrell's writing will enjoy this collection as it encompasses a wide range of writing styles and genres that have been written throughout the years. If you are a stranger to Darrell Bain, I can think of no better way of being introduced to his writing and creative wit. If you are an old friend, you will find this volume most entertaining as it may introduce you to a side of Darrell you haven't seen.

Darrell began writing science fiction with Robert A. Heinlein as his major influence, but later branched off into mystery, children's fiction, romance, adventure, military and humour. He is known for his Medics Wild! Series, which is roughly based on his tour in Vietnam as a medic but has recently written, in collaboration with Jeanine Berry, a new series entitled The Sex Gates and the soon to be released, The Master of the Sex Gates. This volume along with The Pet Plague and Space Pets has enjoyed spectacular success, and is expected to become science fiction classics.

Darrell has proven to be a science fiction writer of the old "type", bringing to mind such greats as Robert A. Heinlien, Mike Resnick, Isaac Asimov and Larry Niven.

Deron Douglas

Publisher, Double Dragon Publishing

SHARKS PLAY NO FAVORITES

Sharks Play No Favoriteswas Bain's first published story. It appeared in The Testament of Lael, a chapbook anthology with a theological theme (loosely speaking). Bain has always admired the short-short story form as exemplified by Fredrick Brown, an acknowledged master of that genre and one of Bain's favorite authors. He decided to see if he could write in that format. They don't come much shorter than this one, but you will have to be the judge of its worth.

Once upon a time an odd friendship developed between an atheist and a preacher. They loved to argue, in a friendly sort of way, even though they could never agree on anything.

"Jesus could walk on water," the preacher remarked one day as they were strolling together along a beach. "It has been written in the Bible."

"No way," the atheist disclaimed. "He was only a man. He couldn't have walked on water."

"Nonsense," the preacher said. "Why, even I could walk on water if I had enough faith, even as our Lord Jesus did."

"Prove your faith, then," the atheist dared. "Here is the ocean; walk on it for me, just as you say Jesus did."

The preacher hesitated for a long moment, then abruptly came to a decision. He knelt and prayed. Resolutely, he then rose and walked confidently out into the foam, the surf, the breakers, and on up onto the top of the rolling waves.

The atheist watched and wondered, but he did not kneel, nor did he pray. "It must be mind over matter," he thought. He hesitated also, but he was no less resolute than the preacher. Determinedly, he steeled his mind and walked forthrightly into the foam, the surf, the breakers, and on up onto the top of the rolling waves.

Salt spray soaked the both of them as still they continued to argue.

"This truly shows the power of faith," the preacher proclaimed ecstatically, gliding ever farther from the shore.

"It's simply mind over matter," the atheist insisted stoically, matching the preacher stride for stride.

Their argument might have gone on and on, but at that moment the waves around them turned into a bloody, churning froth from their lacerated bodies. Just before they died, the preacher and the atheist finally agreed on one thing: whether walking on water was a matter of faith or a state of mind, it should never be attempted in shark infested waters.

THE GOOD BOOK

The Good Book is the most widely praised work of Bain's short fiction, both by editors and readers. Oddly, it has never been professionally published. Somehow it has always just missed the cut for one reason or the other. For instance, in one call for stories, hundreds upon hundreds were submitted and The Good Book was the last one that wasn't chosen. In other cases it simply didn't fit the editors' requirements or some such thing. It has been posted at Bain's authorsden.com website and a couple of other places but has never been widely distributed. It is presently being used (with Bain's permission) as the theme for a graduate thesis in the film arts, and is being considered for a future movie. Bain stated that he was extremely pleased to have it included in this anthology since it is his favorite of all the fiction he has ever written, both novels and short stories.

Jim Belton was usually called "The Professor" by his fellow inmates on death row. They called him "The Professor" because he always had his nose in a book. Actually, it was a misnomer. While intellectual enough, Belton wasn't a professor of anything; he simply loved to read. Belton was reading now, stretched out on his bunk with one book in his hands and another beneath his head, overlaid with a thin, prison-issue pillow. He was totally absorbed, as always, even though he had long ago lost count of the number of times he had read this particular book. It was one of his all time favorites and he had shut out the world, trying to finish it one more time before his execution. He was also using it to try to shut out the overpowering unfairness of his date with the electric chair at midnight.

A guard walked down the aisle separating the double row of cells and stopped in front of the one where Belton was spending his last day on earth. The guard spoke Belton's name, then raised his voice and repeated it when he got no response. "Belton!"

Belton blinked and looked up. "Huh?"

"That's the third time I've called you," the guard complained. "Is it that good of a book?"

Belton sat up, then glanced down at the worn binding of his book. He smiled and a bit of tension drained from his face. He thought of explaining to the guard just how wonderful this particular book was then let it go. "Yeah, it's a pretty fair read," he said. "What's up?"

"Your lawyer is here."

"Oh. Okay." Belton folded the corner of the page he was on into the book to mark his place then remembered he had promised himself to quit doing that and use bookmarks instead. He had been promising himself the same thing since he was a small boy, whiling away summer afternoons while his contemporaries pitched balls and rode bicycles in the small east Texas town where he had grown up. He hesitated, then left the corner of the page folded over. I'll start tomorrow,he told himself, then chuckled silently. If I'm still around, that is.

The wait was interminable. Belton couldn't go anywhere. He was already in the death cell, only a few steps from the execution chamber. He paced the cell's narrow confines, wondering what this last lawyer might want other than a pro forma visit on execution day. Belton knew he hadn't convinced him of his innocence; he had never convinced anyone, not even when he still had money to hire the best. Now he was solely dependent on the state for his defense; the same state which was also trying very hard to put him to death, and was almost certainly going to succeed tonight.

"I'm sorry, Jim, but your last appeal was denied," Teddy Morton, Belton's public defender said, trying to inject a note of sympathy into his voice. "I thought for a while I could get to the next appellate court but there's a stickler of a judge presiding. He won't consider any sort of motion unless it's submitted during regular court hours, and today is Sunday."

"Would he consider an appeal tomorrow?" Belton asked, wondering as he did why he had asked the question. He wasn't going to be around tomorrow. He wasn't going to be anywhere. Belton didn't believe in an afterlife.

"Possibly, but what's the point, Jim? You're scheduled to be executed tonight," the nondescript little attorney exclaimed, sympathy dissolving into indignation at the thought that if today were Monday he could collect another fee from the state for the appeal. Teddy Morton wasn't so much avaricious as almost totally dependent on his public defender's fees.

A hint of an idea was trying to form in Belton's mind, tenuous as yet but somehow it seemed important. He stood up, still holding his book, wondering if he would manage to finish it one last time before he was strapped into the electric chair and his brain burned to cinders. His rugged face was set in lines of resignation.

"Thanks anyway," he said to his attorney. "I know you tried." A thought stirred in his mind then was lost again.

The little lawyer fluffed the lapels of his jacket and stuck out his hand. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He didn't think there was, and he didn't really believe Belton's story of mistaken identity. He had heard that tale too many times before.

"No, reckon not," Belton sa...