Minutegirls

by George Phillies

  "Point of Order," Senator Carnevale's voice echoed across the chamber. "Hearsay evidence. When may we interrogate these FEU agents about their allegations that they are from some other star system?"

  "Denied," Meyer said. "We are hearing technical testimony about findings of Fleet Technical Staff, based on hypothetical translations from an unknown foreign language, which incidentally means that crossexamination of the Jreetkch is as suspect as Dr. Markovian's heroic effects. Also, if the Honorable Senator's opinion is correct, these persons are FEU agents, and bringing them to Lincoln exposes us to a biowarfare hazard. We can, however, offer remote questioning, since we have established the persons in question on an isolation satellite that has been reconfigured to their specifications.

  "Very well," Carnevale responded affably.

  "We are now open to questions by seniority. The Chair as Senior Member does not wish to waive his prerogative of speaking first. Objections? So ordered." He turned to Dr. Markovian.

  "You are claiming that the FEU, Goddess curse its nonexistent soul, has gone out and allied itself with creatures from another planet?" Senator Meyer asked.

  "Several planets. Lots of planets. And several creatures, too," answered Markovian. "However, I am reporting the Jreetkch claims, not advancing my own."

  "Do we have an estimate as to how large this alliance is? North America saw those cats," Meyer continued, "and appears to have concluded that the cats were some sort of sex toy." He sniffed.

  "We have no direct measure of its size," Markovian said. "However, the Jreetkch we rescued from the Gisbures say that they and their allies are facing four hundred species of opponents. Fortunately, not all opponents are in this continuum," deGrazia answered. "Nonetheless, the potential opponents may have a thousand times our GNP. Also, their weapons are many centuries in advance of our own, though supposedly natural-law limits on weapons design mean that these centuries of advance do not signify greatly. Finally, there is no indication that the Jreetkch are aware of Pontefract tubes, a lacuna we have been exceedingly careful not to fill."

  "Unfortunately, the natural hyperlinks connect continua. Thus, the FEU potentially has 400 accessible allies, each in all likelihood larger and more advanced than they are. Or so your report indicates," Meyer said. "Committee will note that I am not expressing an opinion on this claim as translated by Dr. Markovian." He wondered to himself what the stock markets were doing at the moment. "I see you all want to speak again. I believe that as the formal minority the Democratic Republicans have the first option for remarks. Senator Fuller?"

  "Mr. Chairman, Honored members of the committee, I believe based on remarks that we are for once united on an interpretation. These alien empires, wars spanning the cosmos...these are all a European hoax. I salute Dr. Markovian and his vast staff for their most excellent job of determining the precise outlines of the hoax, including the hoax within the hoax of the Jreetkch Line of Revolution--as I interpret their Alliance's name--and its visitors to here. However, the notion of alien intelligences is absurd on its face, and what we have here is an incredibly convoluted plot to confuse us. I am however, prepared to yield my time to anyone who wishes to dispute my interpretation, because I am old enough to realize that I can be wrong. Also, I ask the Chair what his position will be."

  No one spoke. Meyer finally gave himself the floor. "I am not sure it matters whether the giant crayfish are an FEU hoax or are what the Jreetkch say they are," he answered. "I confess that the most significant piece of evidence to my mind is the one that has quite literally not been considered by anyone other than Sandra Miller, namely that each of the two children has an alleged collection of ten million edifying novels for the young, and if there are really ten million novels, and if they are all as edifying and long as Miss Miller has claimed and no one else has examined, they would be a bit hard to fake. Mind you, I view the two most serious challenges to the 'hoax' interpretation to be 'How did they pull this off?' and 'Why? What was the point?' In either case, the constructs are backed by a very large novel technical base, including many classes of warships, whose construction dockyards certainly are not hidden inside Sol system. In either case, they are hostile, and lurk beyond a series of warp points that make it impossible for us to follow them. No matter whether the French made and equipped them, or whether they are French allies of some sort, they have many ships, good weapons, and are hostile. I realize 'it doesn't matter' is much less satisfying than a floor debate about whether the giant crayfish are FEU citizens or are escapees from Star Commando Jill, but until I see a point at which our policies are affected by the question I don't know what the floor debate would accomplish. Is there disagreement?"

  Meyer raised his hammer, hovering over the ceremonial bell. Fuller emphatically nodded agreement. Meyer knew the answer, namely that of the full committee he, Sugiyama, and Thorne were alone in believing that the aliens were what they appeared to be, Fuller confessed privately that the FEU interpretation was requiring more and more baroque supports, but as a politic matter, it was neither advisable nor worth the time to debate an issue on which Molitor was undecided and no other votes could be won. The budget debate was far more pressing, because fleet losses on ships and expenditures of consumables had been staggering.

  THE PALAZZO MORBIUS

  FRONT ATRIUM

  November 15, 2176, 8:45 AM EST

  "Sandra, didn't anyone bother to mention you're a national hero?" a frustrated Morbius asked. "I suppose they were too busy."

  "I'm a grel..I mean, I'm a what?" Sandra looked appalled.

  "National. Hero. After all, you boarded a Battleship -- a big piece of one. By yourself. And you killed enemy sailors. Hand to hand. By yourself. The aliens were even uglier than the ones on Star Commando Jill, which is saying a lot. Not to mention larger and better equipped for hand to hand, well, hand to pincer, combat," said Morbius.

  "Goddess preserve me. Do you know what it means?" Sandra's voice raised in shock.

  "It means there are all these people who want you to speak to them, instead of you doing your work as my intern?" Morbius asked blandly.

  "It means that every MinuteBoy--and their nonvolunteer brothers--in the country is going to hit on me. Or at least want my pinup for their bedroom, preferably of me wearing a power armor underliner." Sandra explained.

  "Say again?" a befuddled Morbious replied.

  "On the bright side, I get all the hand to hand combat I want, fighting off guys who want me horizontal," Sandra said.

  "That's really a bit pessimistic," Morbius said, his voice curiously flat, "Young men these days really are more polite than EU Peace Police. Besides, you are supposed to have at least one hideout blade someplace on your person at all times, in addition to the sidearm you routinely carry, either of which might be a more rapid, not to mention quieter if you count all the screaming, method for disposing of miscreants, relative to beating them to death..."

  Sandra broke into giggles. Morbius had been pulling her leg, at least about methods for fighting off MinuteBoys.

  "More seriously, it means that you will be invited to a variety of press appearances, training lectures, and chances to inspire young girls to volunteer as Girl Guides, MinuteGirls, and...though you don't recruit for them...Phoenix Guards." Morbius asked innocently.

  “Oh, right. Can I owe you the time? And how did you find out?" What had the Dark Lady said about her?

  "You can owe me the time. The Three Musketeers are even more understanding. And I am Morbius, the one and only." He smiled broadly. Then he looked more puzzled. "I can understand a pose in power armor, with sword. Or dress uniform. But...underliner?"

  "Yeah. Minuteboys." He looked baffled. "ummh, have you ever seen one? An underliner, I mean," she asked, baffled at his lack of comprehension. He couldn't possibly be that old, so old that the topic no longer signified to him. For one thing, she'd met Fidelity Blake.

  "My physical fitness for active combat was prior to the Incursion. My detailed knowledge of weaponry is
dated. Which makes me younger than Gustafson. He almost fought in Viet Nam." Morbius said. He did wish that life extension would give him back his youth, but so far gerontics did little better than the perfect age freeze.

  "It's a tensegrity fabric. It powers up so you can get into it, depowers while being worn. Depowered, it's form fitting and contour rigidifying. Minuteboys say 'figure-enhancing'," she explained. He did know, didn't he? "It's optimized for all-body optimedical scans by the power armor, so it has extreme broadband optical compliance."

  "Optical compliance?" a baffled Morbius asked.

  "Total optical compliance." Sandra clenched her fists.

  "Oh, right," Morbius answered. "Of course. I should have remembered the obvious." Oh, what? he thought. But poor Miss Miller has gone through enough and does not need to be upset further. Sandra grumbled something under her breath about Minuteboys. "Look up 'swimming suits, history of' someday," Morbius suggested.

  "That reminds me. Recalling there is never, ever a good time, could I collect on a bit of my vacation? Say, a long weekend?" Sandra asked. Please, she hoped. I've been waiting a year for our schedules to mesh, and so has he.

  "Take two weeks," Morbius answered. "You need it. You've earned it. Don't feel obliged to rush back."

  THE HOUSE OF LOST DREAMS

  PAXTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  November 15, 2176, 10:12 AM EST

  Gustaphson scanned the lead Editorial in the New Washington Star-Intelligencer.

  "While all components of the Popular Army and our Militia defenses did not perform equally well -- a challenge to which the leaderships of the Popular Army should now be responding -- it remains the case that:

  We Won Again!

  EU attacks on the Clarksburg warp point were crushed by the gallant Lincoln Planetary Self-Defense Forces. The Chinese invasion of Harbin was repelled, their mindless hordes fleeing before the hands of our heroic young women and men.

  Our national defense was put to the test. Despite the success of our opponents at falsifying claims that they have achieved allies from beyond the stars -- supposed allies who if they were real would have been taught signal lessons that they shall not soon forget -- We Won Again!

  We Won Again! -- so we can reject the unsound council of the gloommongers and doomsellers who say that the Popular Army and Solar Navy are not good enough.

  We Won Again! -- so we can reject the braying calls of the globalists -- no, galacticists -- who say we should entangle ourselves with foreign alliances.

  We Won Again! -- so we can reject the bleating shrieks of the neoauthoritarians who want to revive those ultimate enemies of a free state, the standing army and the permanent levy upon incomes.

  We Won Again! -- so our victory silences the fevered ravings of the extremist minority that proposes repeal of the Total Extermination of Foreign Intercourse Act.

  We Won Again! and we will win again and again and again, so long as we maintain and repair our Popular Army and our other defenses."

  Morbius Himself

  ...The Palazzo Splenderoso Morbius

  Paxton, Massachusetts

  November 15, 2176

  The Pi Musketeers, linked across thousands of miles by totally encrypted optical cables, stared with dismay at their good friend's latest editorial.

  "Generally," the Hexagon Lord said, "I prefer to check that I won before I announce that one of my new strategies works. Morbius is putting the results before the analysis. Of course, for him it's always worked before."

  "I hope you were not right, Cheryl," Gustaphson said.

  "What did I say?" Copperwright asked.

  "Your warning to Miss Miller," Gustaphson took a sip of his cocoa. "That someday our good friend Morbius will make a less than brilliant decision, and we will be too busy genuflecting to point out that he is an idiot."

  "Perhaps we could return to our morning business," the Hexagon Lord responded. "Incursion 2176 should have a stupendous market -- if we get it out the door in time. The Glorious Fourth of July. What happened? What do we want to say about what happened? I do believe that our most recent draft should be the final. If nothing else, I am expecting very important company this afternoon."

  THE PALAZZO MORBIUS

  FRONT ATRIUM

  November 15, 2176, 10:03 AM EST

  "Grant, I had an odd conversation with Sandra earlier this morning. I fear I may have upset her, and I don't know what I said. It must be one of these younger generation things, like heliotrobing," Morbius said.

  "I understand." Grant smiled blandly. He was quite sure his grandfather had mentioned heliotrobing, but couldn't recall what it was, except that there were girls involved, and great-grandfather had strongly disapproved.

  "In any event, I noted that she was a national heroine, and she lamented that every MinuteBoy in the United States would be hitting on her, or want her pinup for their bedroom. And then she said something about the preferred garment for the pinup was a power armor undersuit. Which, in addition to its other features, is 'optically compliant'. She viewed this feature as significant. It bends under light pressure? I don't see why that would so upset her. I don't like being in the position of having hurt an intern's feelings. It's bad for morale, and makes me come out as a cad. That also sounds like an odd design feature."

  "Sir, no, sir." Grant paused. "Umhhh, optically compliant means it's transparent. Totally transparent."

  Morbius clapped hand across forehead. "Oh. Teenage boys haven't changed in two centuries, have they?"

  "Whatever you say, sir," Grant answered.

  "That reminds me. Your work this last year has been truly excellent, not that it was at all bad beforehand, as though you had found new depths of motivation." Morbius said.

  "Depths, sir? I just try to do my duty." Grant answered.

  "You're even going out for morning runs with my bodyguards. That's exemplary, not to mention that physical fitness helps mental alertness," Morbius said.

  "Absolutely, Sir. May I show you what I've done so far on the question you asked yesterday?" Grant asked. He did not add 'may I get you off this topic before we get to other aerobic issues involving your bodyguards?'

  Chapter 31

  "All men and women are equal before the uncertainty of the future."

  "In the mystery of strategy, all women and men are initiates."

  Arthur Smith, Supreme Lord of the Hexagon, Tactical Aphorisms and Reflections, AWA Press, Northampton, Massachusetts (2092).

  THE HOUSE THAT IS A SQUARE

  SOUTH OF HUMBOLDT BAY, NORTH CALIFORNIA

  November 15, 2176, 3:19 PM PST

  Great breakers rolled across the Pacific, broke thunderously, and surged across the beach sands. Sandra Miller stared at the footbridge leading to the front door of the Lord of the Hexagon's modest home, all 20,000 square feet above ground of it. The moat was shallow and ceremonial, though a half dozen koi could be seen swimming in its depth. The walls were tiered with porches. A tower rose at each of its six corners. She clutched her tabletcomp nervously. She had thought she had been nervous during her boarding action. This was far more frightening.

  "At worst," she said to herself, "he doesn't believe me about the children's stories, my welcome has worn out, and my alternate vacation is on Xi Bootes."

  She stepped across the bridge, the boards echoing her footsteps. Affectation, she though, the boards have been tuned so that they will clatter even if I step lightly.

  She read the sign above the door. Was that a literary reference? Or the simplest of all puzzles? "Friend," she spoke. There came the distant sound of trumpets.

  The door swung open. "Sandra?" the house's one occupant had been waiting for her.

  "Arthur? If I'm not being too forward?" she asked.

  "Never. Especially not after the translation you sent," Smith answered. "The Jreetkch Children, and their collection Ten Million Edifying Tales for the Young. Each fantastic in heroic deeds, but each carefully described in geographic detail. Including, if you are awake
, the warp connections of world after world after world. The Gisbures had the Jreetkch warp map in their hands, and failed to notice. But you figured it all out."

  "All the hard work has to be done yet," she answered.

  "Details," Smith answered. "You have delivered up with your two translations the proof of principle. But I am rude to leave you on the doorstep, and, besides, there was a far more important matter. Allowing you have not been too bored by my occasional bits of encouragement."

  "They meant more to me than anything in the world," she answered. "Knowing that someone cared about me."

  Their eyes locked. They bent forward, leaning into each other's arms. Their lips met.

  After a while, they paused for breath. "Arthur," Sandra asked. "My hideout knife? Left coat pocket? Would you slip it out of the way?"

  "How could I say 'no', my love?" He reached for her pocket. Their lips met again.

  ###--The End—###

  Chapter about George Phillies

  George Phillies is a retired Professor of Physics. He had previously worked at the Worcester Polytechnic Institute. He had also been a member of the interdisciplinary Interactive Media and Game Development Associated Faculty. He taught in both areas. His lectures on game design, polymer dynamics, and statistical mechanics were all video recorded and may be seen on the GeorgePhillies channel on youtube. Phillies’ ongoing scientific research is focused on polymer dynamics.