by I K Dirac
“And of course someone else we're very proud of is our First Citizen, the High Admiral, the military genius who brought us victory.” Jim thought he detected a few boos among the cheers. He also noticed traces of a smirk on Joko's face. “It's his big day today. I expect you all saw it. He was there with all the other admirals in the Triumph. Everybody was cheering. Quite right, too. There's nothing quite like an admiral is there? They're all heroes, every one of them. Makes your breast swell with pride just thinking of them. They tell me that all the mums and dads read stories about them to their kids, like the one about the three admirals who always go around together. They can't ever be parted. It turns out that one can read, one can write and the other likes the company of intellectuals.”
The uniforms all seemed to find this very funny, raising their glasses and shouting out their appreciation. Joko kept going.
“Mind you, some of the stories are a bit hard to believe. My friend came up to me the other day and said 'Joko, have you heard, there's a cannibal restaurant in town?' A cannibal restaurant, I said, a cannibal restaurant? I can't believe it. Well you wouldn't, would you, playmates? But he insisted. 'It's true Joko. I'll take you there.' So we went. A rather swish place it was and sure enough when we looked at the menu, there it was – 'Roast thigh of young boy' and 'Steamed breast of young maiden.' Then further down I saw 'Professor's brain' and the price, 5 Sovs, and then 'Admiral's brain, 50 Sovs.' So I called the waiter over and said to him can you tell me why Admiral's brains are so much more expensive than a professor's? 'Oh,' he said, 'we had to tap all the top brass to get that one.'”
The cheers and laughter were accompanied by a drum roll from the musicians. Then Joko did a double take.
“Ooh, I knew I'd be in trouble if I told that one. Here they come! Here they come!” He started high-stepping round the stage while from the wings two figures dressed as police high-stepped after him waving weapons. The audience joined in, yelling insults and throwing food and other things at his pursuers. After a few circuits they caught him and carried him off stage, waving to the audience.
The audience waved back at the departing Joko as they clapped and cheered. De la Beche and Doctor Culpepper raised their glasses in appreciation. Mister Betelgeuse sat impassive. Jim felt Dolly's hand encroaching further up his thigh. Just as he feared it might be reaching its destination, one of the uniforms, who Jim recognised as the heckler, shouted over to her.
“Dolly, Dolly, where have you been all night? I've been looking for you. Come over and join the fun.”
She waved at him dismissively.
“I'm having fun here with my new friends.”
“Bring them over as well. Everyone can join the party.”
They joined their tables. The heckler, clearly drunker than the others, was beginning to slump forward into his drink. Dolly leaned over and pulled his head back.
“This is Turgun. He's a Squadron Leader. You're a hero, one of the bravest of the brave, aren't you, Turgun?”
“Yes I am,” said Turgun, attempting without much success to avoid slurring his words. “One of the bravest, just as you said,” before slumping down again. She pulled him back upright.
“He led the final attack on the Mandrinians, didn't you Turgun?”
“Yes I did, but you're not supposed to know that. It's all supposed to be a secret.”
“What do you mean, secret? You and your boys have been boasting about it all night.”
Turgun looked sheepish. So did most of his companions.
“Well maybe we did, in here. Don't tell anyone else about it.”
Dolly's attention had begun to revive him a little. He gazed at her face.
“Dolly, Dolly. Did I ever tell you that I think you are beautiful?”
“Often dearie, usually when you've had a few.”
“Yes, but I mean it now, Dolly. I always mean it. And you said I was a hero. After all the fighting us heroes need our reward – a bit of attention, a bit of loving. How about it?”
She laughed.
“In your state, I could get more loving out of a wet rag.”
The other uniforms roared with laughter. Turgun was peeved.
“That's no way to treat a hero, Dolly.” Then he noticed Dolly's hand, which was again on Jim's thigh. He was affronted. “What's he got that I haven't?”
“He's cuddly, dearie. Nobody could say that about you.”
“But he's half your age. I bet he doesn't even shave.”
She laughed again.
“Maybe it's not his face I'm interested in, dearie. Anyway, enough of this. I want you to meet these new friends of mine.”
De la Beche extended his hand. “Captain Sir Sechaverell Horatio Frobisher de la Beche, bart, master of HMS Bountiful. Honoured to meet you, darling.”
Turgun stared at him, blinking. He knew that there was something here that he couldn't quite believe, but in his present state he wasn't sure what it was. His companions seemed equally bemused.
“Sorry. Didn't catch all of that. Say again.”
De la Beche smiled benignly.
“My apologies, darling. It can be a bit of a mouthful. Perhaps this will help. My card.”
Turgun stared at the card, blinking even faster as he tried to focus. He managed to make out the first word.
“Captain. It says you're a captain. What of?”
“Of HMS Bountiful, as you can see on the card.”
Turgun did not seem impressed.
“HMS Bountiful? Never heard of it. What sort of ship is it?”
“I'm surprised you haven't heard of us, darling. We're well known in all the better parts of the Galaxy. We're a privateer. We work on contract and we have an absolutely blue-chip client list.”
Turgun wasn't sure that he was any the wiser. He looked around at his companions to see if any of them could help him with words like “privateer”, “contract” and “client list”. It didn't seem that any of them could.
“Don't understand all that fancy talk. We're just simple sailors. We like fighting – and drinking and females, too,” he added. His companions all started laughing and clapping.
De la Beche nodded.
“Glad to hear it, darling. We ourselves are not averse to combat on occasions. Some of our contracts need a little enforcing, so we have that in common. Might I introduce my companions. Doctor Cuthbert Culpepper is our distinguished ship's physician, Mister Betelgeuse, our First Mate, is acknowledged as one of the finest minds in the Galaxy and Jim is our cabin boy.”
Turgun seemed puzzled, but thought he might try a jibe at his love rival.
“You don't look like a fighting crew. Never heard of a 'cabin boy'. What does he do?”
“I assure you that HMS Bountiful has a formidable reputation. As for a cabin boy, well you might call Jim our amanuensis.”
Turgun guffawed, almost choking on his drink. “I thought that was illegal. It is round here.” His companions tittered dutifully. He steadied himself with another tot. “OK, OK, just a joke. What brings you here?”
De la Beche went into expansive mode.
“We're here to experience your magnificent planet, acknowledged by all as the premier planet of the Galaxy. We saw the glorious Triumph today and we were advised that this establishment was where the movers and shakers of Orson come to relax. We came to see and admire.”
Turgun grinned, mollified.
“That's us, isn't it boys? We've moved and shaken a few things lately.”
They moved and shook in agreement.
“Well of course, after all the excitement you need to relax.” said de la Beche. “What happens next? Any more exciting assignments? Another war perhaps?”
Turgun shook his head sadly.
“Nah. No one wants to fight us these days. Too scared.”
“I thought you had just come back from a war?,” said de la Beche, surprised.
Turgan grimaced, took a large slug and looked around, as if making sure no one was overhearing their conversation.<
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“Don't tell anyone I told you this; it's just between us here, if you know what I mean.” His stared at his glass, turning it in his hand “You can keep a secret, can't you? Don't want any of this to get out. Not supposed to tell anyone, you see.”
“Of course, darling. Our lips are sealed. Mum is absolutely the word,” said de la Beche.
Turgun breathed in and then sighed.
“It wasn't a war. Not a proper war. It was a turkey shoot. The Mandrinians didn't have anything to fight with. They wanted to surrender even before we turned up, but the Admiral wouldn't have it. He wanted his war. We were told to give them a beating. Make sure there was a good body count and teach them a lesson, so we did.”
He looked round at the rest of his table. They all nodded in agreement. De la Beche sounded sympathetic.
“Well that's how these things go. When the Commander commands, one must obey. So what exciting thing is he asking you to do next?”
Turgun shook his head.
“Can't tell you that. Secret.”
“It's up to you, of course, and I don't want to pry, but you have already been telling us things you say are secret. What's so different?”
Jim saw that Turgun's eyes were beginning to lose focus; his speech was becoming more slurred and was tinged with more than a hint of resentment.
“We're all grounded. We have to stay here in case anyone tries to get at that thing up there. Boring, boring, boring.”
“You've lost me there, darling. What thing up where?”
Turgun was beginning to sway.
“Up there. Goes round and round. You know … one of those things.”
“You mean a space station?”
Turgun looked alarmed.
“I didn't tell you that, did I? No I didn't. No...”
De la Beche took this as an affirmative.
“So what is it about this station and who is the someone trying to get at it?”
“Dunno. They won't tell us anything. Everything's a secret.” He banged a fist on the table. “They're paranoid, that's what they are, paranoid. Maybe they think someone might try to hijack all that stuff they have delivered.”
“I do sympathize. What sort of stuff are we talking about?”
Turgun waved both arms airily.
“Goodies, food, drink, that sort of thing. I saw a load of Chelodoney coming in when they took me up there. Nothing but the best for them up there.”
“Really, darling. And who might ‘them up there’ be?”
Turgun shook his head.
“Some of our bigwigs. They don't stint themselves. And I saw another lot, dressed funny. Dunno who they were, but they looked as if they were enjoying themselves too. I didn't see any of the good stuff though. That's always the way. When there's trouble they can't send for us quick enough. Otherwise, heroes have to know our place.”
He slumped forward, knocking over his half-filled glass, his face flat on the table.
“I think he's done for the evening,” said Dolly. “That's heroes for you.”
Jim realized that most of his companions were also near comatose.
“Now,” continued Dolly, giving Jim's thigh a little squeeze while winking towards de la Beche, “Maybe this young thing would like to see some of my etchings in my room upstairs. I think it would be good for his education.”
Doctor Culpepper gave a throaty chuckle. De la Beche smiled indulgently.
“Excellent idea, darling. Jim's education must be one of our priorities. Don't you agree, Doctor?”
Culpepper chuckled again. “Absolutely. I've learned a thing or two from etchings myself. Which artists are your etchings by? I take it you don't have anything by Dürer or Breugel?”
“Don't think so, dearie, but they are very lively, if you know what I mean.”
“Very good,” said de la Beche. “Be sure and take notes so you can tell us all about them when you come back.”
Jim was blushing furiously. Dolly gave him a peck on his cheek. “Maybe next time, eh?” As he saw them, Turgun opened one eye and groaned.
“Dolly, Dolly, what about us heroes?”
14
Jim’s hands were in a sink, carefully washing some of Doctor Culpepper’s utensils and trying to avert his eyes from the two figures lying prone on trolleys. One was suffering from severe inebriation and vomiting periodically into a bucket. The other, in between occasional moans, was muttering something into the Doctor’s ear that Jim could not quite catch. Culpepper’s response, by contrast, was easily audible.
“Serves you right. You knew damn well what that cat-house was like. Riddled with it. Amputation may be the only thing for it.”
The moans grew louder and the mutterings clearly more urgent, but Culpepper was evidently no more sympathetic.
“There’s one last thing that we could try, but believe me it will hurt.”
Jim turned his head slightly to get a glimpse of a face that showed a mixture of fear and relief. Culpepper opened a drawer, took out an instrument shaped like a pistol and pointed it at the now bared crotch. There was a slight buzz followed by a loud yelp of pain as the figure on the trolley jerked bolt upright. His hands shot to his crotch and then shot back again, accompanied by another yelp of pain. Culpepper gestured to him to go.
“Off with you now. It will only hurt for a couple of days. Let that be a lesson to you.”
The figure, who Jim now recognized as Lemmie, and whose main function seemed to be sweeping and cleaning all the ship’s surfaces and serving beverages to the other crew members, limped towards the door, moaning softly. The Doctor moved over to the other trolley and pointed the instrument. The effect was the same. The figure jerked upright, uttering a loud stream of oaths.
“You can be off, too,” said Culpepper. The figure, who Jim didn’t recognize, clutched his head.
“Me head’s splittin’, Doc. Can’t you do somethin’ for it?”
The Doctor pointed the instrument and yet more oaths streamed out. Then a few seconds of silence, as the hands went to the head again.
“Oh, that’s much better, Doc. You’re a miracle worker.”
He slid off the trolley and walked a little unsteadily to the door, occasionally touching his head as if to make sure it was still there.
Jim watched as the door closed, then turned to see Culpepper shaking his head.
“There you are, Jim. That’s sailors for you. Wining and wenching are the only things they care for. If one doesn’t get them, the other will.”
Jim wondered which one he would prefer, then thought that he didn’t know enough about either to decide. Maybe neither, as the cure seemed as bad as the malady. He asked why the cure had to hurt.
“It doesn’t,” said the Doctor. See this little dial on the side? It goes from zero to ten. If I set it at zero it’s painless. At ten it’s excruciating. The Captain likes me to keep it at ten for the crew.”
“So they don’t do it again?,” asked Jim.
Culpepper snorted.
“You don’t know sailors yet, do you Jim. They always do it again. The Captain just likes to see them suffer for it.”
Jim finished washing and drying the utensils and then began tidying the room. Culpepper meanwhile busied himself eyeing up an array of bottles of his finest whiskies, trying to decide which to sample first. As Jim cleaned the terminal on which he had viewed the Mandragore text, he found himself thinking about it again and wondering how he could not be sure whether it was sense or nonsense, or maybe a mixture of the two. Whatever it was, it was intriguing. He asked Culpepper if he could see some more.
Culpepper paused as he was putting a glass to his lips and looked at him in surprise.
“More? I thought that last lot would be enough. Made my eyes go squint. Well, if you must. Any particular subject you would like that madman's opinion on?”
Jim had to think. It was becoming clear to him that matters of religion were a lot more complicated than he had believed. The Mandragore text seemed to hint at
conflicts, although it was rather too theoretical for him to follow, and the Orsonians seemed to think their god was part of their military. What was it about gods that made them so pugilistic?
Culpepper look at him sternly.
“You really do not want to ask that sort of question, Jim. The Captain insists we don't do gods on this ship – and a very good thing too. Everyone we deal with has their own gods –and very nasty pieces of work most of them are. None of them get on together. They fight like cats in a sack. We have to tread very carefully. One wrong word and the job’s gone.”
Jim thought this rather confirmed his suspicions about gods. Culpepper sighed, made a couple of gestures on the screen, and once again it filled with text.
The Origin of Deities
According to Charwin and Bussel1 deities exist in the superluminal realm of tachyon matter once known as “dark matter”. In their model, massless tachyonic particles are the equivalent of fermions and bosons of ordinary matter. Their force carriers do have mass, but their high masses and small distances of interaction would introduce into the subluminal world an immeasurably small amount of “a-causality” and are therefore undetectable. They were created at the time of the Big Bang, when tachyon–antitachyon pairs were flung out of the quantum vacuum (QV) into the real vacuum (RV).2
Charwin and Bussel claim that the laws of evolution by natural selection operate in the tachyonic realm and in Principles of Mathematical Theology3 they assert that deities are tachyonic sentient entities. In normal mode they have zero rest mass which means that their standard velocity is infinite, allowing them to traverse all space simultaneously without the need for dimensional manipulation. Superluminal velocities also allow them to transcend the laws of causality,4 a property regarded as essential for any deity.
The original model of Charwin and Bussell, the so-called classical model of Mathematical Theology, is now regarded as over-simplified. For a more sophisticated and thoroughgoing quantum treatment of the subject see Quolkingorne and Eidenberg.5.
Princ. Ont., vol ii, ch 30, pp 345-6
References
1. C. Charwin and A. W. Bussel, The Origin of Deities, Denebian University Press.