Mention of the astronomical designation drew sustained belches of amusement from the Nimrazzian luminaries on the reviewing stand, interrupting the reading of the citation. Following their hosts’ example, Hazelshen pretended not to notice.
“MSgt. Kravitz performed tasks above and beyond the normal duties of his post that proved instrumental in the successful initiation of peaceful contact between the Terran and Nimrazzian…” Col. Hazelshen hesitated as half a head appeared, floating just behind her ear. The colonel cocked her head closer to the hovering face, forehead wrinkled and a pained expression on her face. Then a thin smile broke though. “… between the Terran people and the Nimrazzian solifugians.
“In the process of creating a special treat for the crew of the TPS Intrepid, Msgt. Kravitz, with the material assistance of Tsgt. 1Randolph Urquell, caused their vessel to approach the planet Nimra in a uniquely unthreatening manner, allowing the solifugians to recognize the peaceful intent and desire for mutually beneficial relations prior to actual First Contact. By doing so, Sgts. Kravitz and Urquell acted in keeping with the highest traditions of the Expeditionary Marine Forces and the United Terran Uniformed Service.” Ernie heard Randy swallow a laugh, making a noise in his throat that sounded distinctly like the Nimrazzians’ chortling. Ernie wanted to bust a gut, too but he did a better job of restraining himself.
The colonel then repeated essentially the same speech, substituting Randy’s name and rank where appropriate. Finally, the colonel draped phantom ribbons over their heads and saluted, before turning on her heels and marching into oblivion.
As soon as the Quantangle shut down the medals disappeared from their chests. As if on cue, the entire Nimrazzian delegation clacked, slid and dove for the water, their endurance on land stretched by the length of the ceremony. The officers making up the ship’s official delegation to the ceremony broke ranks, mingling easily with one another. Now that no one was monitoring their behavior, they left a wide half-circle between themselves and the two noncom heroes.
Given the gap in fundamental science, the ship’s commander had made an executive decision and greeted the Nims as if they were simply explorers on a peaceful mission of discovery. But that didn’t mean that he and his tech sergeant were off the hook as far as the crew was concerned.
Senior officers, from the captain on down, had found that the ship’s repairs could not proceed without their immediate attention. That left the junior officers to attend the humiliating ceremony, cozying up to a bunch of giant water scorpions. By rights they should be blasting the Nims to their liquid Hell, prepping the planet to be another outpost of the Terran Imperium.
Lt. Bengessert cast a look of cold disdain in Kravitz’s direction. No one had volunteered for this detail, even if it came with being the first to see the New Land—not that there was any land to speak of: a few rocky outcrops stuck their heads far enough out of the water to dry off in midday.
With the Nims gone, he abandoned any pretense of respect for the pair of fubars. From the expression he wore now, Ernie guessed Bengessert wanted nothing more than to frog march them back to the orbiting ship and shoot them out the nearest missile tube. Right now he was probably picturing himself pushing the fire button.
Standing apart from their escort detail, Randy Urquell paced the floating platform, waiting to load back onto the shuttle for the trip back into orbit. Ernie fingered the spot where the holographic medal reached on his chest, wondering where they would be sent next.
Having just been declared heroes, Ernie could be fairly certain they weren’t headed out an airlock as soon as they left for their next port of call but they’d probably be beached on the nearest colony world. He just hoped they’d have tasty local fauna for himself to work with. And some nice grains for Randy.
Proof the Gods Love Us
Chris Wong Sick Hong
“Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”
–not Benjamin Franklin, apparently
<<>>
Take a seat. You beat the rush and I caught the bartender checking you out as soon as you walked in the door. Even if you don’t swing that way, it’s nice to be appreciated. The beer’s cold, the nuts fresh, and the bar clean. If you had anything better to do, you wouldn’t be here. Neither would I, and it just so happens that I have nothing on my schedule for the next long enough, so we might as well talk.
Isn’t it beautiful? No, not the microbrewery logo laser-engraved on the pilsner glass, but the dark amber ambrosia within. Fit for the gods themselves and gateway to the secrets of the universe. Not many people know that. Not many people know either that back when it was first invented, beer saved the world.
Oh, the naysayers might claim that alcohol is the third leading cause of death worldwide—like we all don’t have it coming anyway—but a drink like this deserves respect. Beer is as old as civilization. In some ways, beer is civilization.
Back in those hazy ancient days, when older than dirt was still too young to drive, when the kings of Ur, Babylon, Eshnunna, Lagash and the rest suffered hardcore obelisk envy for Kemet’s bright limestone sophistication, you don’t think they grew barley just to make bread, do you? Well, they used barley for money too, but what better place than beer for money to go?
And it’s true sanitation was more loosely defined back then and weak beer was safer than drinking any water—due to the amoebas that would crawl up your nose and turn your brain meat into a bad case of the Mexican shits—but that makes beer depressingly practical. And who drinks watered-down beer if they can help it?
Anyway, beer is even older than that. Older than the gates of Babylon, older than Stonehenge, older than Gobekli Tepe. If you can ever figure out how to pronounce that last little gem I’ll buy you a pint. Any time you get about twenty people together—and twenty isn’t enough to crown a hobo king, let alone make a decent run at proper civilization—there will be conflicts. What else can grease the wheels of society so well, or at least take the edge off of being the losing side of a debate argued at spear point?
But beer saved the world before even that, even if it took humanity a few millenia to remember how to turn grass into liquid courage. Unfortunately, that was so long ago—right around the time memory was invented—that reliable eyewitnesses are few and far between. Fortunately, the most brilliant and best kept secret of all history, but especially mythic history, is that it’s history. No one remembers it, nobody really cares, and that means we’re free to make up what’s actually true.
You seem like an insightful, educated, appreciative drinker, so I’m going to tell you how it happened. Cheers.
<<>>
*drinks*
<<>>
Everything has to have a beginning. That’s just common sense. But when some smartass asks, “If you’re so smart, where did the beginning come from, genius?” you punch them because everyone knows the answers to that one: the gods. And not just any gods. The old gods.
Back before the world was made, they gathered in a not-yet-Irish not-quite-pub to plan the creation of existence, of pints of Guinness, and shepherd’s pie. Better yet, unlike city planners, who to this day can’t find a sewer line unless it’s hooked directly into their overworked sphincters, they had at least a dash of competence to them. It was a nice not-quite-pub, not very crowded because no one else existed and within stumbling distance of free parking. Let’s call it Mikey MacGuire’s. It’s not like it matters.
As you already know, the old gods, those booming apocryphal whispers from beyond Beyond that grab you by the hindbrain and shake, have never disappeared or truly been forgotten. Every culture names them different names. Every era clothes them in different clothes. Scholars and the intricately unhinged sink lifetimes into exploring the niceties of prehistoric idols, sacred geometry, human development and how the Ancient Aliens guy from the History Channel gets his hair to do that, but that’s complicated so fuck it. I’ll just call them what they are and if they have a problem with that... they don’t
know where I am right now.
Their work was nearly finished—the majestic glaciers of Argentina, breathtaking Alpine vistas, the multicolored sands of frigid Thule, the intricate fjords of Norway and whatever the hell Australia is supposed to be—all of its bits and pieces arranged on the un-table before them. The most important of what was yet undone was the keystone, the linchpin that would bind the world complete.
“This shall be our greatest creation of them all,” Big Daddy Rainmaker pronounced. “Humanity.” If there had been a non-godly audience, the cheers would have been deafening. Even the other gods, properly awed by the magnitude of the task before them, nodded in sage agreement and understanding.
“And what shall these humans look like?” Big Daddy’s wife and sister, Oceania, asked reverently.
(Lay off. They’re gods, it was a different time back then and Arkansas had to come from somewhere.)
“Nothing but the grandest visage is worthy,” Big Daddy Rainmaker replied.
Thunderdome, excitable as usual, slammed his fist into the un-table. “Then it is agreed they shall look like us! What better reminder of the majesty and grandeur they will be heir to?”
“Look like you, you mean,” his sister, Sparkle Princess, replied. “Two heads, an extra nose and a shiny bald spot with what looks like fungus growing on it.” She could never pass up a chance to poke holes in his vanity.
Thunderdome sat straighter and fixed Sparkle Princess with his most regal, five-eyed glare. “My countenance will inspire epics and ballads for as long as this world exists! Descriptions of my magnificence will survive in literature forever!”
“And someone said inventing book burning was a bad idea,” beetle-headed Stinky Kid mumbled. Big Daddy Rainmaker shot him a warning glare filled with the promise of hurricanes, but he was otherwise ignored.
“Perhaps you have another idea to discuss, Sparkle Princess?” Oceania said.
Eminently pleased now that all attention was on her, Sparkle Princess primped and giggled. “Thank you, mother. They should be as radiant as the aurora, mighty as the tides and tender as the breeze which heralds spring in the east.”
Stinky Kid interrupted again. “We already have unicorns. Besides, we haven’t invented the aurora yet.”
She whirled on him with the disdain instinctive to older sisters everywhere. “I’m a goddess. I can see into the future.”
“That’s a bit hard when time also hasn’t been invented yet, don’t you think?”
They bickered as gods do, because despite near-infinite cosmic powers there wasn’t much else to do. It’s hard to be content when you’re too big to fit into the concept of being, and that’s why they decided to create creation in the first place. I don’t know. It made sense at the time.
The petty threats and insults caromed through the not-quite-room, gaining life of their own because they were, after all, divine proclamations. In a quiet booth a few tables away, Fate waited inscrutably.
<<>>
*drinks*
<<>>
Late, uninvited and just in the nick of time, Mr. Mojo Sex Machine crashed the party. At once the squabbling stopped. The gods turned to face their common nemesis.
“Why are you here?” Big Daddy Rainmaker demanded.
“Don’t you have something more important to do, like jam your head up your ass?” Sparkle Princess chimed in. More was said, but none were as eloquent as these two gems.
“Please, please.” Mr. Mojo raised his hands for silence. “I know my presence makes you all terribly insecure, but I was invited by our good friend Fate. This project needs me.”
As one, the assembled divinities swiveled to glare at Fate, who stared back over his pint of fine autumn lager. They weren’t pleased but said nothing. It’s hard to argue with someone who knows how and when you die, and does nothing but smirk when you ask if it will be embarrassing.
“Very well,” Big Daddy Rainmaker conceded. “You may stay.”
“All right!” Mr. Mojo Sex Machine pulled an almost-chair up to the un-table and rubbed his hands together in delight and anticipation. “Can we get some buffalo wings for brain food or did you already decide buffalo won’t get wings?”
Ignoring him, Big Daddy Rainmaker continued, “We were discussing what form humanity should take.”
“There is no better form than my—our own!” Thunderdome proclaimed, slamming his fist into the un-table once again, causing the cutlery to jump.
“You might want to be careful with that,” Mr. Mojo said. “You only have the one fist and it would be a shame to wear it out.”
“I am eternal, funny man,” Thunderdome replied. “As you should well—”
“Whereas I believe something more sophisticated and dignified is appropriate,” Sparkle Princess interrupted, trying to reclaim the center of attention.
Stinky Kid coughed into his crusty hand. “Unicorn whore.”
“Children,” Oceania warned, and the fighting started again.
<<>>
*drinks*
<<>>
Eventually, the argument calmed down enough for all assembled to remember their original purpose. Mr. Mojo Sex Machine took the opportunity to inject some wisdom into the discussion.
“It doesn’t matter what they look like,” he said.
“Impossible!” Big Daddy Rainmaker cried. “We are gods. Everything we do has meaning!”
Mr. Mojo farted, and thus new holy gospel was born.
Oceania wrinkled her nose in distaste. “This is our grandest creation ever,” she proclaimed, “for humans must see our glory in themselves and be moved to worship.”
“And possess such beauty they may glance at each other and never lose hope,” Sparkle Princess said.
“The strength to shape mountains and tame the skies!” Thunderdome added.
“And motivation to excel, driven by an irrational hatred of unicorns,” Stinky Kid mumbled.
Mr. Mojo Sex Machine pshawed that all away with a wave of his hand. “Just give them two sets of interlocking dangly bits and they’ll be too busy to worry about that other stuff.”
The gods paused. “... dangly bits?” they asked almost in unison, knowing full well they wouldn’t like the answer.
“You know, so they can make more of each other.”
“Why would they need to make more of each other when we will create the perfect amount?”
Mr. Mojo threw his hand up in despair and said a quick prayer to himself that their eyes might be opened to wisdom. Believing themselves eternal, the other gods could not conceive of creations that were not. They argued the point for eternities, and despite the opposition of every other god, Mr. Mojo would not surrender the point. Since the way of things before there were things required the opinion of everyone invited be taken into account, the universe stalled, almost tripping into oblivion before it had a chance to be.
Forgotten in his almost-booth, Fate watched and waited, ordered another drink. This was going to be a long night.
<<>>
*drinks*
<<>>
“Why don’t we move on then?” Big Daddy Rainmaker proposed, his voice dripping frustration, which he had just invented so everyone would know exactly how displeased he was with the lack of progress. Still, no headway appeared possible and everyone had tacitly turned politician, deciding the issue could wait until after they invented elections. “How shall humanity live?” he tried instead. “What will motivate them to the utmost heights of introspection and achievement? How shall they interact among themselves to bring glory to we gods?”
Again, Oceania was the first to answer, with passion that swelled like the tides. “They shall be wise in the ways of nature,” she proclaimed, “of wave and wind, storm and snow. They shall converse with animals and trees, be guided by the fertile earth, and all shall be better for it.”
“They shall accord each other firm dignity, be solemn when solemnity arises, and joyful when their hearts be free. All shall meet as equals under the unending s
ky!” Thunderdome added. He started to thump the not-table again, but an irritated look from Big Daddy Rainmaker stopped him in mid-exclamation.
“Though the world be beautiful, they shall shape it lovelier still and the forests and plains will ring with laughter and delight,” Sparkle Princess said.
“And every full moon they shall make burnt offerings of unicorn meat in the humble recognition that for all their glory, there are forces still more powerful than they.”
“Not if there is no moon.”
“Then how would anyone see unicorns at night?”
“Children!”
After that argument subsided, Mr. Mojo Sex Machine started another one.
“And what of those who cheat and steal, kill and maim? Who seek power not for progress, but for their own petty aims? What will be done with them?”
Again, the almost-room rang with offended incredulity. How could a creation of the gods be less than the gods themselves? It was inconceivable, an affront to the very dignity of space and time. Only a churl would speak such heresy.
In the shadows, Fate watched and said nothing. Time did not pass, because there was no time to pass.
<<>>
*drinks*
<<>>
Sighing, Big Daddy Rainmaker rubbed his temples. “Is everyone clear on what democracy is?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain it again. He wasn’t sure he completely trusted democracy himself, but something had to be done or they’d never finish making the blasted world.
Stinky Kid was the first to answer. “It means that if enough of us don’t like unicorns, there won’t be unicorns.”
Big Daddy Rainmaker, not fully foreseeing how his invention of frustration would affect him, whirled on Stinky Kid. “What the hell is your problem with unicorns?” Lightning light-years wide flashed in his eyes. Everyone else backed away from the table a little, not that they’d admit if you asked them later.
How Beer Saved the World Page 19