by I K Dirac
2. See S. Squawking, Black Holes and the Origin of Particles, Altairean Monographs, vol 234, pp 564-640.
3. C. Charwin and A.W. Bussel, Principles of Mathematical Theology – From First Light to Last Trump, Denebian University Press, pp 321-5.
4. G. Ten-Deyn, "Tachyons, Backward Causation, and Freedom", Proceedings of the Biennial Meeting of the Cassiopian Philosophy of Science Association, vol 1970, pp. 425–6: Ten-Deyn gives a powerful argument to show that retrocausal tachyons do not involve an intolerable conceptual difficulty, as claimed by the Case of the Logically Pernicious Self-Inhibitor.
5. T.X. Quolkingorne and F.G.W. Eidenberg, The Foundations of Quantum Theodynamics, Pluto Press.
They stood staring at the screen. Eventually Culpepper spoke.
“What did I tell you? Mad, quite mad. Did you understand a word of that, Jim?”
“I’m not quite sure.”
The Doctor shook his head.
“Where do gods come from? I haven’t the faintest idea. All I know is that they seem to be everywhere. Most places you can hardly move for god-botherers.”
“Even here?”
Culpepper laughed.
“The Captain might think he’s god sometimes, but a more godless lot you would be hard to find anywhere in the Galaxy.”
15
Feminarchy
Nothing excites greater fear and anger across the entire Galaxy than the Feminarchy. To many it is nowhere and everywhere – a clandestine organization, composed entirely of females, with members on almost all inhabited planets of the Galaxy. Its aim is to eliminate all forms of dominance or control of females by males.
Feminarch ideology asserts that males in almost all societies construct social norms that aim to control female behaviour and activities to ensure paternity. The main agent for this control is religion, where a male god, or occasionally gods, often through what are claimed as revelations or sacred texts, gives males dominion over females in almost all social roles, and lays down detailed requirements for females in the spheres of behaviour, morals and reproduction.
Naturally, Feminarchy is banned or proscribed on almost all planets, because its ideas and opposition to religion are seen as inimical to social order and discipline. Proscription, however, has not prevented the Feminarchs from taking advantage of conflicts between Galactic polities. They have managed to establish themselves on a planet that they control in the neutral zone between the Southern Cross Federation and the Orsonian Empire and which they have renamed Penthiliope.
The origins of Feminarchy are said to be in classical times. The Feminauts were a mythical race of female warriors who engaged, largely successfully, in wars with their many male enemies. Their most famous battles were with the Gorgareans, part-human, part-animal male creatures with horns and cloven feet, who would attempt to abduct and rape them. They were also said to have taken part in the Thragian Wars, the founding myth of the first Samonian Empire. The first Queen of the Feminauts, Penthiliope, was engaged in a complicated love tryst with her sister and warriors on both sides of the Thragian conflict, and was killed in an act of revenge by the Samonian, Dactylles. Penthiliope is now the icon of the Feminarchy, as well as the name of their planet.
Reproduction on Penthiliope is normally by parthenogenesis. The Feminarchs claim that the normal or default form of the genome is female, with two X chromosomes, while males have one of the X chromosomes replaced by another, the Y form. The male Y chromosome is degenerate and will become extinct in future generations. Maleness is therefore at best a transitional form. It has been claimed that some males, called drones, are still kept for reproduction purposes in specially built enclosures to ensure a degree of genetic diversity and are milked periodically for seminal fluids, which after selection for female gametes are used to impregnate designated members.
The exact number of members of the Feminarchy is difficult to ascertain because of its clandestine nature. Most governments claim numbers are insignificant, although this is somewhat belied by the size of forces that many of them employ to counter the organization. There have been periodic reports of Feminarch revolts on several planets. The authorities on these planets assert that they quickly petered out through lack of support, although some reports claim that they were only repressed with considerable force.
While much of activity on the planet is shrouded in secrecy it has been reliably reported that the Feminarchs have developed a formidable fighting force, capable of taking on major adversaries.
An extract from Lonely Planets, the memoirs of Gaudi Brandeschi, interstellar traveller and troubadour. The book is banned in most Galactic jurisdictions on grounds ranging from salacious recitation to lèse-majesté. Several warrants for Brandeschi are extant. His current whereabouts are unknown.
Junipa Penthiliopesdotter gazed at the big screen, her interest piqued by a kaleidoscopic mixture of writhing bodies, soaring mountains and crashing waves, accompanied by swelling orchestral music and an insistent, velvety voiceover.
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She felt a slight frisson of desire, surprised at the potency of cheap advertising, and attempted to exorcize the feeling by concentrating on the task in hand – the never-ending work of encouraging, cajoling and simply keeping in touch with all those females who raged against the all-powerful Galactic patriarchy. That was her role as the second most powerful person in the Feminarchy.
Sometimes the endless flood of stories of female suffering almost overwhelmed her and drove her close to despair. But always she was buoyed up by stories of resistance, of willingness to fight against almost hopeless odds to throw off the yoke of male supremacy and the religions that enforced it. Were they winning? She liked to think so, but she could never shake off the doubts. Too many females – the vast majority – unthinkingly accepted their lot and bowed down before their masters and their gods. And what would winning look like? A time when male and female lived in absolute equality and mutual respect? She could never be sure whether such a state was an impossible dream or an all-too-possible nightmare. There was something both sugar-coated and faintly emetic about the prospect. Maybe the Feminultras were right. There could never be any real equality between the genders. There would always be a struggle. One side or the other would always assert ascendency.
Suddenly her train of thought was rudely interrupted by a blast from the communicator.
“Junipa! I can see what's on your screen. Is that all you ever think about?”
Startled, Junipa sat bolt upright.
“It's not what you think, Orestia. I was doing some research. It just came up on Minerva. Nothing to do with me.”
The snort from the communicator almost pinned Junipa to her chair.
“A likely story! Come in here. I need to talk to you.”
Junipa made the short walk to Orestia's office feeling distinctly nervous. She entered a large room, minimally furnished. The only technology was a small communicator screen on a plain, if massive, wooden desk. On the walls were two paintings. On
e, she was familiar with, the slaying of Penthiliope, the first Queen of the Feminauts, by the Samonian “hero”, Dactylles, during the Thragian Wars. The other was new. Two robed females, one holding a large sword, seemed to be engaged in cutting the head off a bearded male, who was draped across a blood-soaked bed.
Orestia Penthiliopesdotter looked Junipa sternly up and down for several seconds before motioning her to sit on the only other chair in the room. She was dressed as ever in the sombre, tailored grey uniform that accentuated her, admittedly rather severe, countenance. Junipa, by contrast, favoured rather more colourful attire, convincing herself that a little flamboyance was no bar to ideological purity.
Orestia saw Junipa looking at the painting.
“It's 'Egregia beheading the Thragian general, Drakoles’ by Gentiligia Artimesci. I think she’s our finest living painter.”
Junipa could only agree. Orestia glanced at her communicator.
“De la Beche has been in contact.”
“What does he want this time?”
Orestia's brows furrowed.
“I'm not quite sure. It was a short conversation. I told him that we wouldn't be interested, but he refused to take no for an answer. You know what he's like. He said it was very important and started going on about a religious object.”
Junipa gave a derisive laugh.
“Religion? He must be joking. The one thing that could be said in favour of that over-dressed blackguard is that he has no interest in religion. Don't tell me he has seen the 'light'?” She made quote marks with her fingers.
“I very much doubt it. Much more likely he has seen something in it for himself. We may know more shortly. He is due to call back. I thought it might be useful if you sat in on the conversation. I want to give him a piece of my mind.” A soft ping came from the communicator. “That sounds like him now.” She turned towards the screen. “What part of no don't you understand, Captain?”
De la Beche's face appeared on the screen. Junipa saw he was wearing a turban in imperial purple set off by a large jewelled brooch.
“Don't be like that, darling. I think you will find what I have to say very interesting.”
Orestia frowned and tapped a fist on the desk.
“Before we go any further, Captain, I am not your darling. I find the term insulting and demeaning, typical of the patriarchal attitudes found almost everywhere in the Galaxy.”
Junipa saw de la Beche give a slight start.
“I do apologise. No offence meant, of course. What would you like me to call you?”
“My title is Her Feminence Orestia, Grand Dominix of the Feminarchs. You may call me Your Feminence.”
“Delighted to, Your Feminence. Now what can I tell you?”
“You can start by repeating what you told me a short while ago. I must say I found it garbled to the point of incomprehensibility.”
De la Beche gave a wry laugh.
“I know what you mean. I had trouble understanding it when Splenditheran told me. The essence of the thing is that the inhabitants of planet Nullarbor, part of the Southern Cross Federation as I'm sure you know, had lost their Kwokkah and didn't know where to find it. And now they think they do. What is it? Well it's a goblet, or maybe a plate or something else that once belonged to their prophet and they are all in a complete tizzy because they think somebody has found it. The somebody is the Orsonians, who in their usual way are determined to make trouble and say that they will not give it back unless the Nullarboreans come over to them, thus discomfiting, to say the least, the Southern Cross lot. So we have been asked to retrieve it.”
Orestia shook her head.
“I must say it all sounds most improbable and why would they involve you? Why don't the Southern Cross go and get it themselves? I know that would involve all the usual male things – pointless wars, battles and bloodshed – but that's what they like, isn't it?”
De la Beche gave another wry smile.
“I suppose it is, but things are a bit trickier than that. Politics, politics, you know how it is. Splenditheran did explain things, although I'm not sure I followed it all. The upshot is that he has asked us to do the job.”
Orestia shrugged.
“All very interesting to you, no doubt, but why are you telling me this?”
De la Beche hesitated a moment before replying.
“Well, Your Feminence, we have what we think might be a lead, but we need someone to help us to firm it up. Who better than the Feminarchs, famed throughout the Galaxy for their brains, their beauty, their valour, their diligence, their perspicacity, their...”
Orestia interrupted the flow.
“Spare us the flattery, Captain. Sincerity is not your strong suit. Before you go any further, I have to tell you that I am loathe to become involved in anything to do with religion. Religion is everywhere and at all times simply a way of males exerting control over the female body and reproduction. Why should we Feminarchs be involved in anything that reinforces males in their absurd superstitions?”
De la Beche feigned sympathy.
“I do understand, of course. I rather take that view myself, but in our line of work we need to be a bit more, how can I put it, nuanced. Haven't you had clients with whom you haven't been entirely in sympathy?”
Orestia bristled.
“We do not have clients, Captain. We have causes.”
De la Beche nodded apologetically.
“Of course you do, Your Feminence, of course you do. Not quite the same thing as clients, I agree, but I hope you get my drift. Sometimes a little compromise is in order in even the finest cause.”
Orestia gave a look of scorn.
“How exactly do you propose we should compromise?”
“Well, this is not really about religion. It's simply a matter of returning a stolen object to its rightful owner. You could call that a cause.”
Orestia looked even more scornful.
“And what do you propose we do in pursuit of this 'cause'?”
“Well I was hoping that, with all the resources you have at your disposal, you might be able to assist us – for a fee, naturally.”
She gave a little, mirthless laugh.
“Assist you? Come now, Captain, surely you jest. You have a reputation throughout the Galaxy for skullduggery, brigandage and piracy, as well as being known to cheat and rob almost everyone who deals with you. Why would we ever want to assist you?”
“Oh, I do think that's a little harsh. We work strictly to contract and deal with some of the Galaxy's most distinguished organizations. Our client list is absolutely blue-chip.”
Her scorn was unabated.
“Those organizations that you describe as 'blue-chip' deal with you because of your reputation. They want you to do their dirty work while keeping their hands clean and pretending they know nothing of your methods. We know how you operate Captain, don't we? We have been here before.”
Junipa watched as she saw de la Beche's face take on a look that might have been contrition – or might not.
“Well, I know we had that little misunderstanding last time, but I hope that's all water under the bridge. Surely we can let bygones be bygones?”
Orestia shook her head in disbelief.
“Your 'little misunderstanding' is a rather large sum of money you made by selling objects that we had captured but you claimed were worthless. Under our agreement that money should have been shared. When we pointed this out you first denied any knowledge and then made some excuse about expenses.”
“I'm sorry you take it like that, Your Feminence. You must know what expenses and overheads can do. They ate up all the profits. We did offer to go to arbitration.”
That elicited derision.
“Arbitration would be a complete waste of time, as you well know. Even if we won, the legal fees of those gold-plated charlatans that call themselves lawyers would be more than any award.”
De la Beche nodded in sympathy.
“I do see your point. Legal fees
are absolutely outrageous these days. Something must be done about all those grasping lawyers, but as I said, I hope we can put all that behind us. I do have a little proposition that I think would be profitable for you. We will make it worth your while.”
Orestia seemed unimpressed.
“Will you, indeed? What exactly would we have to do and how much are you willing to pay?”
“It shouldn't be too difficult. We just need a little information. We have found out that the Orsonians seem to have constructed a large space station that orbits Planet Orson. It's all very hush-hush. Nobody on Orson is supposed to know about it and we rather suspect that this Kwokkah thing may be on board. We rather hope that you could find out more about it.”
“Really? And what makes you think we could?”
De la Beche smiled ingratiatingly.
“Nothing is ever a complete secret. You have members everywhere. I'm sure they could pick up any rumours or snippets of gossip going.”
Orestia gave a non-committal sound.
“You seem to have missed out the most important thing, Captain. How much are you willing to pay?”
De la Beche put on his most ingratiating smile.
“I think this time we can be generous and make up for any past misunderstandings. We could go to five thousand Galactos for the right information.”
Orestia gave dismissive wave.
“You must be joking, Captain. If you are offering five then it must be important, so we wouldn't look at anything less than fifty.”
De la Beche sat back in surprise. Junipa saw his face disappear momentarily from the communicator screen.
“Out of the question, Your Feminence. Where do you imagine I might find fifty thousand? If the information is really first class I might be prepared to go to ten.”
Oresteia shook her head.
“Two can play that ‘out of the question’ game, Captain. I could meet you at forty.”
This time the head shaking came from de la Beche.
“As I said, Your Feminence, I don't have that sort of money.”