by Steve M
And golfers are notorious for their ego. Most golfers that are Nons believe that they can spot a “hot ball” faster than a Criminology professor can spot a fake 100-block chain.
And why did Koven do this? One of the oldest reason known to humans: he did this to gain the approval of his father, Eflin.
As the cruiser settled into orbit around Dis 29, a resort planet, Koven frowned. He knew Tanit would be angry when she learned that he chose to spend his day off with his parents instead of fulfilling his commitment to her.
He walked to the edge of the airlock.
“Is there anything you want me to do while you are visiting your parents?” asked Rusa.
“No. Would you like to come with me? It’s a very pretty planet,” Koven asked.
“No, thank you. There is maintenance to do here,” she replied.
“OK. I will be back tomorrev,” Koven said as he activated his personal transport device.
“Koven,” said Rusa, “I will miss you.”
Koven stepped out from the airlock and the PTD took over. As he zoomed faster and faster down to the planet with his eyelids tightly shut, he wondered if any android had ever said they would miss a human before. It was a peculiar thing for a machine of metal, sensors, electronics, and computer code to say.
Koven’s mother, Indira, was not at home when he arrived. She was at the 21st green, the learning annex attached to the golf course. She was teaching a sunset course on the Evolution of Leisure Activities.
Evening-time courses were always full, three hundred packed into each lecture hall. Later in the evening, Eflin would teach a course on the History of Golf. It was the most attended course in Dis 29 history. Day courses were less entertaining and more serious.
But life was excellent for the Modi couple on Disney 29. Their condo overlooked the ocean and was near the top floor, just under the clouds. They taught in the morning, played golf together every afternoon, and taught entertainment classes in the evening, the kind of class where participants applaud at the end of the lecture.
“Good evening, Son. Welcome,” said Eflin to his son.
“Hello, Father,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve brought you a present,” he added with enthusiasm.
“Why?” asked his father coldly.
“Because I know how much you like to golf. And I know how much you like to win.”
“True,” replied his father. “I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”
“Yes.”
Koven took his travel bag to one of the visitor rooms. He pulled the pack of golf balls from his bag and went back to the large kitchen. His father handed him a cup and Koven took a sip. Eflin liked coffee and always made sure that he had the best beans imported from Primus Earth. Koven set the box of golf balls on the counter.
“Do they explode when I hit them?” asked his father. He took one from the box and tossed it in the air and caught it. He looked at it closely.
“No. But they go farther than normal balls. Use them on the tee, but don’t try to putt them,” Koven replied.
“Ah, hot balls,” said Eflin. “You know, Professor Seintus was caught using hot balls a few revs ago. He was suspended for thirty revs.” Eflin was grinning from ear to ear.
A few words should be said about this grinning business. Imagine if you are required by law and profession to always tell the truth. No matter what, you must be honest. This has strange effects on the human psyche. Social interactions are difficult, romantic relationships are even more so. The historian walks a path known only to other historians. Some historians even suffer from a mild form of schizophrenia, as they are compulsively thinking of the lies they could tell when asked a question but don’t permit those words to leave their lips. It is like an inner voice that constantly provides lying answers for every question.
So imagine the thrill to a historian when given the chance to cheat at something and a very low probability of being caught. And if they are asked, they will confess to the minor deception. It is the second best thing known to a historian. Do I need to tell you what the best thing is? Really? OK. Sex. You should have guessed that one.
For the first time Koven could remember, his father seemed pleased with him.
One hundred fifty tox or so later, Koven and his parents were at dinner at DelFerino’s a premiere Lunian Cuisine Restaurant on the ground floor of their building. Being two of the most prominent historians on Disney 29, they were afforded the window view. There, they could look out the window and watch the splashdown of the large barges from the freighters in orbit above the planet. These million-kilogram metal containers would descend from the sky rapidly, until a few hundred maatars from the surface of the ocean they would reduce speed before hitting the water. It was quite a sight to see. Even at reduced speed the splash was significant and would send water shooting several hundred maatars into the air. While they watched and ate, Koven told his parents about his mission.
“Remember that the PPS has a flaw on the underside,” said Indira to her son.
“Thank you for reminding me, Mother,” he replied.
“You’re welcome. Do you listen to music while you are on missions?”
“Yes. Usually Beethoven or Implosive Intent,” Koven replied.
“You should try some lectures. There is one about combat that I used to play often during missions. I think it was called ‘Not My Time.’ Saved my butt a couple of times. I’ll send you a copy.”
“Let’s hope that he doesn’t get into life-or-death circumstances,” said Eflin. “Your history is not good in that area.”
Koven was immediately back on the shore of the pond, his brother’s yells for help amplified by memory. He felt his jaw set tight, his lips tighten, and he tried but failed to stop the tears from forming in his eyes. He got up from the table quickly and excused himself to go to the bathroom. And for the short period he was in the bathroom wiping the tears from his face, he hated his father again.
Koven was more quiet when he came back to the table. His mother was fussing at his father as he approached. The rest of the dinner conversation was about other topics.
When they got back to the condo, Koven tried to call Tanit. She had left him a very short message. In it she told him just how upset she was with him. She called him a gutless bastard, a coward, and ended the message abruptly after telling him that she was beginning to realize that he wasn’t worth the effort.
Tanit didn’t answer his call. He left her a rambling message, very out of character for him. He told her that he was scared. Scared of disappointing her. Scared that she deserved more than him and would eventually come to that conclusion. He told her that if she would just give him one more chance, and if she would help him work through his fears, he would try his best to be the kind of boyfriend and lover that she needed, that she wanted, that she deserved.
Tanit watched his message the next morning while she was eating breakfast.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The auditorium held nearly a thousand educators. They were seated at tables by department. Department flags in the center of the table denoted each department at the university.
On the stage at the front of the auditorium sat the most important department heads and deans. Dean Midge was seated next to Dean Bormanian, the head of the School of Sciences and the man on the hot seat because of Professor Klept.
Universities are like other organizations. They like a good awards ceremony with free food and drink. It was the biggest award of the 500 rev cycle. It was the Educator of the 500 Rev Cycle Award.
Professor Trill couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He had begun his campaign to win the award 499 days ago. He had support from the Language and Literature Department, having slept with the department head, Helen Coriander, in order to gain her support. He would break it off with her in the coming weeks, soon after the award was sitting proudly in his office. He also had support from the Psychology Department head, Kaliman Burns, in exchange for forgiveness of a debt
caused by a very ill-advised bet.
“When you are absolutely certain of something, beware.” —The Final McGee
Chancellor Ruiz sat between Trill and Longley. He needed to sit next to the awards winner and the runner-up. And in this case it would possibly prevent an ugly scene. Even Chancellor Ruiz, at the top of the org chart, always given filtered news, knew about the rivalry between the two departments and their department heads.
Trill got up to make a brief speech. It is customary for the winner to give a short speech. The main speech had already been given by the chancellor. And a further speech had been given by Dean Midge. All that was left was Trill to give his short speech. It was customary for the recipient to go through a laundry list of people to thank. But Trill had no one to thank but himself.
He got up from the table. As he walked around the table towards the podium, he stopped next to Professor Longley and extended his hand. It was not the handshake of a man acknowledging a worthy opponent. It was a handshake more akin to a middle finger. Longley smiled for the cameras with all the sincerity of a beauty pageant contestant. Trill removed an e-paperfrom his pocket and placed it on the podium. It was not a list of names.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and indeterminants,” Trill started.
“Tonight I won’t speak to you about all the people that I need to thank. They will be thanked tomorrow in person. Tonight I want to speak to you about the disaster looming on the horizon. Yes, I want to talk about the catastrophe coming because of Professor Klept.”
There was a murmur that spread through the room. Professor Longley sat like a stone statue, his face expressionless except for a slight squint of anger.
“We all know what will happen if Klept restarts his experiment. It will be a galactic suicide of unmatched proportion. This very august university will be destroyed as well as the entire planet. Centrum Kath will no longer exist. Stop and reflect on that for just a moment. The survivors of this catastrophe, the few million of them that continue, will be without our guiding hand, without our administrative organization. Simply put, they will regress again to the level of the quarantine planets.
“And how do we prevent this?” asked Trill. “Professor Longley has put thousands of agents into the field in the search of Klept. He is doing an admirable job. The daily Klept report is available to all of us, and I sincerely suggest that you read it. It is riveting. Riveting in its failure.”
And with those words, Chancellor Ruiz extended his arm and patted the arm of Professor Longley, who was no longer expressionless. His anger was now easy to read.
“And I don’t wish to impugn Professor Longley. He is doing the best he can. But he has other responsibilities besides stopping the collision of Andromeda and the Milky Way Galaxies. And these other responsibilities aren’t just stopping probable futures from becoming facts. Part of his workforce of agents is deployed in missions to maintain planets in quarantine. Men, women, and indeterminants that could be deployed in the search for Klept are being used for other missions. At the risk of sounding like a historian, it reminds me of the Emperor Nero.”
Ruiz had to pat Longley’s arm more as she thought Longley might get up from the table and charge at Professor Trill. That would make a good picture for the campus newspaper but would cause problems at Ruiz’s salary review next month. And she had spent two years packing the review committee with her people. It was big bonus time.
“So Professor Longley, I commit to you that the Sociology Department will do everything in its power to help you. We succeed when you succeed. It is that simple. And how do we propose to help? How can us mere sociologist assist the brave men, women, and indeterminants of the greatest History Department in history?”
Trill took a dramatic pause.
“Let us help you. Let us unburden you. Those mundane tasks that you waste valuable resources on, let us do them for you. Those planets that are in quarantine, don’t waste your agents on them. They are not worth your time and effort. Not with Klept on the loose and threating destruction on a scale larger than humans have ever caused before. No, forget them. Let us administer to them. We will ensure that they remain without contact from outside. We will perform their progress assessments and submit the report to Chancellor Ruiz.
“Now, I am no historian, but I believe that this will permit you to put a few more agents into the field. And while I am not a historian or a mathematician, I know that it is a numbers game. A game of one. The one agent that will find the needle in the haystack. The one agent that will find the clue that brings Klept into custody. And while we are but merely sociologists, we believe we can help you get to a circumstance where that one agent will be successful.
“And why do we do this? I will confess that it is a selfish motivation. And not one you think. We do this because we are selfish about the survival of this great institution. We won’t let it die. We will have future sociologists that will stand at this podium and accept awards like this one. That is why we do it. Do we know much about administering to quarantine planets? No. But we know enough and we’re not shy about asking questions when we don’t know. So let us help you. Earth 4 was a black mark on the university. We can’t be involved in genocide again.”
Chancellor now needed a death grip on Longley’s arm to keep him from attempting dental realignment in Trill’s mouth.
“And our offer is not done without thought. We have trained agents along the lines of our friends in the History Department. They are the few, the proud, the sociologists. We have a small force ready for deployment immediately. This is our offer to you, Professor Longley.” Trill stopped again for a moment.
“I wish to thank everyone for the award. I will cherish it for the rest of my life. Thank you. Now let’s eat.”
Professor Trill picked up his reader and walked back to his seat at the table. He received another beauty pageant smile from Professor Longley. Many people clapped. They were impressed with this humble man using his moment in the spotlight, not to applaud himself, but to offer assistance to a colleague in need. Even some professors are suckers.
As Longley looked out at the crowd clapping, some of them giving Trill a standing ovation, he wondered how this many people could be fooled so easily by this hollow man known for his own vanity. Then he noticed him standing and clapping enthusiastically. He would have a very private word with Professor Wingut. He knew he would see Fitzcaraldo clapping and standing. But Wingut? That was a betrayal, and he intended to let Wingut know it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
High Priest Pens stood on one side of the thick velvet curtain in his quarters at the temple.
“Come no closer,” said the voice on the other side of the curtain.
“That is ridiculous, I am the High Priest of the Cult of Allor. Come out and speak to me.”
“This you must understand. My identity is known only to my victims. If you come any closer I will become the man who assassinated the High Priest of the Cult of Allor. Do I make myself clear?”
Pens rubbed his head and stepped back away from the curtain.
“Good man,” replied the man behind the curtain. “What do you require of me?”
“An assassination,” replied Pens, now more cautious in speech.
“Do you have the deposit?” asked the man behind the curtain.
“Yes,” replied Pens. He walked over to his wooden cabinet. From it he removed a large wooden box. From it he removed a cloth bag with a drawstring. He took it to the wooden table near the curtain and poured out the gold coins on the table. He counted them until he had reached one hundred and had no more to count. Then he swept them back into the bag with his hand then cinched the drawstring tight.
“What about the Virginia stones?” asked the man.
“I have them too. But I don’t know why you want them. They are worthless,” replied Pens.
“On Earth 7 only,” came the reply.
Pens reached into his pocket and removed another bag. He poured the stones onto the tabl
e and again counted them to one hundred.
“Good. Now come over here and extend your arm into the curtain. Hold both bags very still, else there will be a new high priest.”
Pens was scared now. He picked up both bags and moved over to the curtain and extended his arms. He held both of the heavy bags out from his body. And in an instant they were taken from him. Yet he didn’t see the hands of the man behind the curtain. The bags sparkled around their edge for a tix before they disappeared. Pens was now even more scared. He was hiring an alien to kill for him, someone that could easily kill him.
“Who is my target?” asked the invisible man.
“Tal, mother of Allor,” Pens replied. He heard the man laugh.
“It is important to my plans. She must die soon.”
“I have no interest in your plans, only your money,” came the reply.
“When will it happen?” asked Pens.
“The answer to that question will cost you your life. Do you still want an answer?”
“No. No,” replied Pens quickly, and he moved backwards from the curtain two steps.
“You only need to know that it will be soon. Before you bring all of the other regions under your control.”
How did his assassin know about their plans? An invisible man had listened to their planning. Who else knew of their plans? Would he sell the information to Ceros?
“How do I know that you won’t give Ceros advance warning?” Pens asked.
“You don’t. But I will tell you this: you know I am not from Earth 7. And the interests I represent want the Cult of Allor to be victorious. Believe it or not, it doesn’t matter. It is fact.”
“But how do I know if I can trust you?” Pens asked.
There was no answer. Pens repeated the question. After repeating it a second time he pushed aside the curtain.
He was alone.