Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera

by Michaels, Gibson

  Human colonists from both the Confederacy and the Alliance began settling on Golgathal, which the humans had finally stopped calling by its disrespectful name of Kitty Litter and started referring to by its new official Raknii-inspired name of Lethal Dawn, as the battle there truly had been a deadly awakening to a bright future relationship between Raknii and humankind. The Mystic Fleet Port Facility was towed from the Helix nebula to Golgathal, to serve as the first major trading port to facilitate the exchange of goods between the Raknii and humanity. Appropriate numbers of female Raknaa volunteers were sent to Golgathal as potential mates for the former assault troops there, who had turned to more peaceful pursuits under human occupation. Over time, other humans also came to settle on all of the worlds of Region-7, in an unnoticed reenactment of the settling of the American West.

  * * * *

  Chapter-32

  Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods. — Albert Einstein

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Camridge

  December, 3870

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing here, after all this time?” asked Diet’s mother. “At least you finally shaved off that nasty beard you showed up here with last time, but I can’t be disturbed right now.”

  “I tried to tell him that you didn’t wish to be disturbed, madam, but he pushed right past me quite rudely,” said the butler.

  “I don’t doubt that he did. He’s like a force of nature… always was. Never mind, Reginald, I see that he’s determined to break my chain of thought, just as he always did as a child.”

  The striking middle-aged man circled around behind the desk so he could see what was displayed on the computer screen. “Perhaps I might be of some assistance, Mother. I’m not quite the stupid little boy that you remember.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m wrestling with very important things that you couldn’t begin to comprehend.”

  “Ah, still pursuing that elusive second Nodel Prize, I see. You’re still struggling with that whole space-time continuum problem that’s been frustrating you for over 40 years now… trying to solve the unsolvable, I think you called it once?”

  “Nothing is unsolvable. It’s merely a matter of gathering enough facts and arranging them into the proper order to make sense of it all.”

  “So which is it, Mother? Not enough facts, improper arrangement or the making sense of it all, that you’re still struggling with? I’d think, after 40 years, you’d at least know in which area your problem resided.”

  “Don’t be impertinent. I simply do not have the patience to deal with your nonsense today.”

  “Or any day. Nothing new about that, Mother. You never had the patience to deal with much of anything, where I was concerned, now did you?”

  “I see I’m not going to get any work done until Mommy gives her little man some motherly attention, whether he deserves any or not, am I?”

  “You still haven’t forgiven me for having an IQ higher than yours, have you?”

  “Don’t be absurd! It isn’t one’s IQ, but what one is capable of doing with it, that’s important. You never applied the brains that I gave you to much of anything… that’s what I find unforgivable.”

  “You’re never going to solve that space-time continuum problem if you insist on continuing using that same false assumption that has dead-ended you and your colleagues into a mental cul-de-sac for so many years.”

  “False assumption? That shows how little you know. Any assumptions that I might make are the result of decades of observations and extensive mathematical modeling… mathematics far beyond your meager abilities, in spite of your test results.”

  “Not so meager that I don’t know that you’ll never solve that problem if your continue to treat a constant as a variable — which is why you can’t seem to get the universe to fit into all of those nice little theories you’ve that made for it.”

  “Treat a constant as a variable? What are you babbling about?”

  “Time, Mother. Mathematically, the rate at which time passes is almost always treated as a variable in most of your equations, which is why your equations can never fully explain why people traveling at hyperlight speeds in tachyon space don’t emerge significantly younger than the rest of the universe, as your theories all predict that they should. No one spending significant amounts of time within tachyon space seems to live appreciably longer than those who do not, as the equations predict. Embarrassing, isn’t it, when the universe just doesn’t feel like cooperating with how you’ve determined that it should work.”

  “Of course time is a variable. As one approaches the speed of light, time slows down. Einstein proved that thousands of years ago.”

  “No, Einstein postulated that, thousands of years ago. By extension, theoretically time should actually flow backwards if traveling faster speed of light were achieved… which we have… which it doesn’t. It’s time that’s refusing to cooperate and causing all your problems, because you’re making the same false assumption that Einstein did.”

  “Oh, so my brilliant son is pretentious enough to think he’s actually going to correct Einstein now. Please proceed… this I just have to hear! Just what is it that you think Albert Einstein was so wrong about, concerning time, Mr. Smart-Guy?”

  “Einstein’s mistake… and yours, is the false assumption that time exists as a physical entity within our universe, which can be acted upon by various forces such as gravity and speed. In actuality, time either transcends the physical laws of this universe and all of the others, such as tachyon space, making it immune to the effects of physical forces, or it does not actually exist at all.”

  “Pfft… of course time exists, you idiot. I was really hoping you’d come up with something original, or at least more amusing that that nonsense.”

  “Does it? Or is it possible that time is really nothing more than a mental construct that we puny humans have invented as a means to put the aging of the universe into some sort of context — to differentiate between events and keep one moment from slamming into the ass of another, within our own minds?”

  “Don’t be crude… the only ass in this conversation is you! Time exists because it can be acted upon by forces such as speed and gravity. Variations in the rate at which times passes under the effects of extreme gravity or speed can be measured.”

  “Can they? Does the rate at which time passes change, or are those forces acting upon the things we’re using to measure it with, giving the appearance that the rate at which time passes is changing? Even if it weren’t, how could we possibly know?”

  “That’s what we employ mathematics for — to compensate for the effects that these forces are having upon our measuring instruments… and the rate at which time progresses still varies, regardless of your ridiculous ideas.”

  “Does it really? Or might there be a fly in your mathematical ointment? Math can be manipulated and twisted around to ‘prove’ almost anything you wish it to… at least mathematically. Take the Banach-Tarski paradox, for example, which indicates that mathematically it’s possible to break a mathematical ball into a number of pieces and then rearrange and reassemble those pieces into two identical copies of the original mathematical ball.”

  “I’m surprised that you’ve ever even heard of it,” said Diet’s mother. “But the Banach-Tarski paradox is merely a mathematical model built on earlier work by Felix Hausdorff, who proved that mathematically it’s possible to chop up the unit interval, or the line segment from 0 to 1, into many countable pieces, slide those pieces around and then fit them back together to create an interval length of 2. That certainly doesn’t mean that anyone is ever going to be able to slice up a gold ingot and then reassemble it into two new ones, like the original.”

  “Of course not, Mother. That’s my entire point. The Banach-Tarski paradox, or what some mathematicians often refer to as the Banach-Tarski decomposition, because
it’s really a proof and not actually a paradox at all… accentuates the fact that among the infinite set of points that make up a mathematical ball, the concept of volume and measure cannot be mathematically defined for all possible subsets. Quantities that can be measured in any familiar sense are not necessarily preserved when a solid sphere is broken down into subsets, and then those subsets are reassembled in a different way using translations and rotations. These immeasurable subsets are extremely complex, lacking reasonable boundaries and volume in the ordinary sense, and thus are not attainable in the real world of matter and energy.”

  “Of course they aren’t, that’s what I just said… but I must admit, you obviously have been reading up on your math, which is rather odd, as you never liked math as a child.”

  “I always did want to impress my Mommy. It never happened, but I always wanted your approval anyway, for some strange reason. Silly me.”

  “That’s it, blame me for your failings. Just get to your point!”

  “The Banach-Tarski paradox doesn’t provide us with a prescription for how to produce the subsets. It merely proves their existence, and the fact that there must be at least five of them to produce a second copy of the original mathematical ball. The very fact that the Banach-Tarski paradox depends on usage of the axiom of choice, or the interchangeable usage of any number of identical subsets, and yet remain so strongly counterintuitive… has been used by some mathematicians to suggest that use of the axiom of choice must be incorrect. But the benefits of adopting the axiom of choice are so great that such an obvious black sheep of the mathematical family, such as the paradox, is generally tolerated.”

  “Yes, yes… I know that, but again, what is your point?”

  “As the Banach-Tarski paradox cannot be used for any useful purpose in the real world, it really tells us nothing new about the physics of the universe around us. It does, however, expose a great deal about how ‘volume,’ and ‘space,’ can assume unfamiliar appearances in the strange and abstract world of higher mathematics. In other words, not everything that works on paper, works in the real world… including your mathematical compensations for the effects that physical forces are having upon your measuring instruments.

  “Next time, Mother, if you’ll excuse the audacity of my thinking just one more time, try making the derivative of time a constant — and then after you work through the wreckage of how that will affect the rest of your calculations, you might be pleasantly surprised at the new equations you arrive at.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve already done that and know exactly where it might lead.”

  “I have… and I do. Our entire concept of time is wrong. Time is merely a mental concept, unto itself. The rate at which time passes is a constant. It stubbornly resists having its derivative changed by either physical or mathematical forces. It doesn’t speed up, it doesn’t slow down, it steadfastly refuses to flow backward, and it certainly won’t stop. It just plods along blindly at its own pace, completely oblivious to anything that the physical universe or whatever mathematical gymnastics we puny humans try to throw at it.”

  “Well, if you’re really that confident in this ridiculous idea of yours, why don’t you publish? Are you afraid of having your inferior math skills examined by real theoretical scientists?”

  “Not at all… the math has already been confirmed by your super-computer at MIT, and then again by an even more powerful one.”

  “If that’s true, publish. You might even get the Nodel Prize if you’re right. It does come with a hefty financial stipend as well. There’s never been a Nodel Prize awarded to successive generations in any one family before. That’s something I could finally take pride in, at least! Besides, I think you’re just full of shit. There is no computer more powerful than the super-computer at MIT.”

  “I don’t need a Nodel Prize, or that little $5 million financial stipend that goes along with it. You need it much more than I do, on a variety of levels. And you’d not be proud of me at all… ever. You’d be jealous and would never forgive me — just as you’ve never forgiven anyone winning that award before you win a second one. And there is a computer more powerful than the super-computer at MIT… infinitely more powerful. The last one my father built, just before he died.”

  “Your… father?”

  “An inconvenient biological necessity for conception, I know.”

  “Why did you bring that sordid subject up?”

  “I know who my father was, Mother.”

  “I really don’t see what he has to do with anything. A thoroughly disgusting little man with no sense of decorum, whatsoever.”

  “Decorum… yes, it seems I share his inadequacies in that area.”

  “As totally an unpleasant a person that he was, at least he was incredibly brilliant and unsurpassed in his chosen field. What have you ever accomplished besides something illegal, which had the ABI here looking for you? What have you done with the life that I endured so much to give you?”

  “Oh, nothing much, really. I merely made sure the Confederates won their little War of Independence… brought down the Consortium… built a corporate empire and became the wealthiest person in history. I became a vice admiral in the Alliance Fleet and a full admiral in the Confederate Fleet. I got married and had a child of my own… assumed my title as Baron and dined with my great-uncle Kaiser Wilhelm VII in his Imperial Palace in Berlen.

  “Oh yes, I almost forget… I also personally accepted the surrender of the Raknii supreme-master in his own palace, and ended the alien war. No achievements that you would find worthwhile, I’m sure… but thank you for asking though.”

  The cold, white-haired woman rolled her eyes in disgust. “Either you’re thoroughly delusional, or acting infantile again. I always hated it when you did that.”

  “Even when I was one… motherhood never really was your strong suit.”

  “You have a child, you say?”

  “Yes, his name is Hans and he turned three, in September.”

  “Hans? Why in the world would you shackle a poor innocent child with a stupid name like ‘Hans?’ That’s almost as bad as that idiotic nickname you chose for yourself as a child… club, or whatever it was. Hans doesn’t really flow with Masterson, at all.”

  “It was Bat, Mother, and I don’t go by the name you gave me anymore… I go by the one my father gave me: Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt.”

  “Baron… pfft! That’s rather pretentious, don’t you think? Of course you always did have delusions of grandeur.”

  “It was called ‘pretend’ and little boys do that when they play, but a baron is what I am, Mother.”

  “Ungrateful is what you are. I gave you a perfectly good name. Why did you stop using it?”

  “Why not? You never used it anyway. I was always just ‘you’ or ‘idiot’… often both, back-to-back. My friend Hal always did think my original last name was ironically appropriate though, as I was his Master’s son.”

  “Who is this Hal person?”

  “Oh, he’s that computer that I was telling you about. Hal’s not really a bio-computer, as we understand them, though… while you were juggling numbers to support your theories about mass and energy, time and space, my father was busy doing something miraculous. While you were chasing the accolades of your peers, my father had no peers. He spent his life all alone… creating an artificial, sentient life-form and becoming a god!”

  * * * *

  Chapter-33

  It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but retire a little from sight and afterwards return again. Nothing is dead. People feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand, looking out the window, sound and well in some new disguise. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

  The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

  January, 3871

  Admiral Enrico Melendez walked alone towards J.T. Turner’s tomb, in the Arlinton National Cemetery. He was troubled, and had bee
n for almost a year now. There was no doubt that the man and woman shown in the Raknii surrender video had been the same ones who had stayed behind after J.T.’s funeral. He definitely recognized the woman and he’d recognized the baby. So had Marilyn Fredricks. Neither had actually spoken to the man that day, only to the wife. But the fellow who’d bloodied the supreme-master’s throat and said all the pretty words in the video had certainly looked like him. To have been that close to meeting him — a German baron, a Confederate admiral and the mysterious head of Confederate Fleet Intelligence, who’d driven the Alliance Fleet wild with what had to be inside information, and of whom his counter-intelligence Ghostbusters had never been able to get the slightest whiff. Well, he’d been damned elusive during the war, too.

  ABI investigators determined that Baron Guderian was also sole owner of Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster, a German registered conglomerate with extensive holdings throughout the worlds of humanity, but especially throughout the Alliance and Confederacy. By some accounts, his net worth was well over a trillion Alliance dollars, making him the wealthiest person in all of recorded history. For one man to have achieved all that, and then to have also personally marked “PAID” to the entire alien war was totally inconceivable. But it wasn’t the unbelievable Admiral-Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt who was troubling Melendez, but his brother. It was the brother who’d been captured on Bavara and gave that lengthy speech in the Raknii language, no less, who really bothered Melendez, for he’d recognized that man too: Bat!

  He was sure of it. Marilyn Fredricks was sure of it. Admiral Bradley, SecDef Campbell and President McAllister were all sure of it. The president had been so sure of it that she’d called in ABI Director Fred Danforth and sic’d him onto the case… the first new clue concerning Bat’s disappearance in years. Unfortunately, the German government wasn’t cooperating at all, even after an appeal for information directly from the president, taken to Berlen personally by the Secretary of State. Kaiser Wilhelm VII was a stubborn bastard who didn’t allow anyone in his government to discuss members of the German Royal Family with anyone, period… even for the president of the United Stellar Alliance.