by I K Dirac
Schickelgrosser realized as he watched them that he loved his men. This love was not like the soppy, sentimental, adolescent longing he once had felt for his ex-wife, nor even like his never articulated filial devotion to his departed Mom and Pop. It was a proper, soldierly, manly love. These men would kill for him. They would kill each and every thing that stood in the way of any objective he set them. No one, he pondered, who had not given the command to kill could ever understand the true meaning of love.
He was still in amatory mode when de la Beche approached.
“Now, Major, your men have been working so hard I expect they want to go and freshen up and powder their noses. We also must make sure they are well fed before they embark. An army marches on its stomach, so they say. We have prepared a delicious consommé de gibier followed by a simply exquisite cervelles d’agneau au beurre noir with pommes mousseline façon provençale, all washed down with a sublime Chateau d’Orion. Guaranteed to delight even the most jaded palate!“
Schickelgrosser looked at the Captain, a query coming over his features.
“Does that come with fries, Captain? And ketchup? The men gotta have ketchup for their fighting spirit.”
“Of course, darling. Can’t think why I forgot to mention the fries – and the ketchup.”
De la Beche moved away, and out of the corner of his eye, Schickelgrosser saw that Mister Betelgeuse was surveying the scene, although, as ever, his expression gave no hint of what he was thinking. Schickelgrosser regarded Mister Betelgeuse with wary fascination. He had never before considered himself a conversationalist. A single word roared in the ear of a soldier was his style – far more effective than any amount of explanation. But Mister Betelgeuse was one of the finest minds in the Galaxy. He must know something, but he said hardly anything. Schickelgrosser decided he would make one last attempt to draw him out.
“Mister Betelgeuse.”
“Major?”
The prospect of going off on a dangerous mission had made Schickelgrosser more expansive than usual.
“Mister Betelguese, can I ask you a personal question? Do you believe in the Holy Son?”
Mister Betelgeuse did not change his impassive expression.
“I’m not sure I do, Major. In fact, I’m not sure I quite understand your question. Are we perhaps talking about a person of your acquaintance?”
Schickelgrosser could not suppress a chuckle.
“You could say that, Mister Betelgeuse, you could say that. He’s my Lord and Saviour.”
“Really, Major? What did he save you from?”
Schickelgrosser felt a surge of born-again conviction. It was time Mister Betelgeuse was exposed to the truths of Revelation.
“He saved me from my sins, Mister Betelgeuse. Oh save me, Lord, for I am a sinner! He’s the Son of God. He came down to Astromica for the forgiveness of sins.”
“Ah, that could explain why I was in ignorance of his existence, Major. I’m not from Astromica, you see.”
Schickelgrosser brushed this trifle aside. He hadn't descended on any of the other planets of the Astromican system either, as far as anybody knew. Once was probably enough for the entire Galaxy, but then you couldn't be absolutely sure.
“Maybe He came to Betelgeuse too.”
“I very much doubt it, Major.”
“Are you sure, Mister Betelgeuse? Maybe there’s some big cover-up. Maybe some of your Betelgeusian bigshots are hiding the Truth so you can’t all be saved.”
“I don’t think so, Major. We have a collective consciousness, you see. I think I would know if that had happened.”
Schickelgrosser digested this information. His suspicions about the nature of Betelgeusian society were hardening.
“He came down on Earth to save us all, everyone in the Galaxy, from our sins, Mister Betelgeuse.”
“What prompted him to do that, Major?”
“His father, Almighty God, sent Him.”
“Sent Him from where, Major?”
One of the finest minds in the Galaxy he might be, but Schickelgrosser was beginning to think that he had found a chink in Mister Betelgeuse’s intellect.
“From Heaven: that’s where they both live.”
“Heaven? It is not a planet of which I have heard, Major.”
“It’s not anywhere in the Galaxy, Mister Betelgeuse. In fact it’s not in any galaxy. It’s out there, way beyond the galaxies.”
Mister Betelgeuse was silent for a few moments as he pondered this challenge to the dimensionality of the Universe.
“Do you know the means by which he travelled Major?”
Schickelgrosser shook his head impatiently.
“I don’t want to go into that. All I said was that He came down from Heaven to Astromica to save us all.”
“All of you, Major?”
“Every man, woman and child.”
“It was exceedingly good of Him to come all that way. You must all be very grateful.”
Schickelgrosser felt his blood pressure rising.
“Grateful? Ha! Do you know what they did to Him, Mister Betelgeuse?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea, Major?”
“They crucified Him! That’s what they did!”
“Crucified, Major?”
“Yeah, crucified, Mister Betelgeuse. They nailed Him to a wooden cross. How’s that for gratitude, Mister Betelgeuse?”
Mister Betelgeuse’s expression remained as impassive as ever. Schickelgrosser’s face, by contrast, was rapidly becoming redder.
“What do you think of that, Mister Betelgeuse? They say you’re one of the finest minds in the Galaxy. What do you think of that?”
Eventually, Mister Betelgeuse spoke.
“I thought in the circumstances, Major, that any comment would be superfluous.”
27
Junipa pored over the endless stream of text that came through her communicator, many accompanied by audio or video. They were from members and sympathizers, each in their own way a tale of the constant oppression of females across the Galaxy. Some were cries for help, others thanks for assistance and still others were outbursts of rage against the vast majority of their gender who were duped by the absurdities and banalities of religion into meekly accepting the demands of patriarchy. The pattern was always the same. The gods, it seemed, were remarkably uninventive in finding ways to subjugate the female sex. Then the intercom button buzzed.
“I think we need to talk.”
Junipa listened to what Orestia was saying. She could not hold back a smile.
“Astromicans! I can't believe it. Whatever possessed them?”
“It's even worse than you think. It's their Special Infantry Service. They only have one answer to any question. I believe their mantra is, 'If it moves, shoot it. If it doesn't move, shoot anyway, just in case.'”
Junipa digested this news.
“If they are let loose on Arkadia it could be carnage.”
Orestia nodded in agreement.
“I think that may be the idea. We know that shipments of this Chelodoney stuff are sent when a large number of the Orsonian elite are there. The message came from one of our members who is, shall we say, very friendly with someone in the Southern Cross leadership. They have a plan for all eventualities. If de la Beche does manage to get hands on the Kwokkah then all well and good. They want it. But if he fails, for whatever reason, they think that one possibility is that the Astromicans will run true to type and wipe out most of the Orsonian elite on Arkadia. They think that's a bonus. They expect that a much less experienced leadership will prove much easier to deal with?”
Junipa shook her head vigorously.
“I don't see it. The Orsonians aren't going to take their leadership being wiped out meekly. It would mean war. Surely the Southern Cross don't want that?”
“No they don't,” agreed Orestia, “so their plan appears to be to tip off the Orsonians just after the deed is done so that they can destroy de la Beche and his ship and any evidence of their invo
lvement. They will claim it was all a plan by the notorious pirate and renegade de la Beche to plunder the unarmed Arkadia and make his getaway before anyone realized what was happening. By pure chance, they had uncovered the plan at the very last minute and had attempted to inform the Orsonians but were too late. They would offer their deepest condolences for their loss and congratulate them on eliminating the culprit. They could then pose as best friends to the new Orsonian leadership.”
Junipa thought this all sounded very neat – maybe too neat.
“What about the Kwokkah thing? Suppose it really was there, even if the Astromicans hadn't found it? The Nullarboreans are going to be incensed that it was destroyed just when they thought they might get it back.”
“Exactly, and that's part of the plan too. It wouldn't matter whether it was there or not. The Southern Cross are planning to tell the Nullarboreans, in confidence of course, that the Kwokkah had been recovered by a secret and daring mission organized by the Federation and would have been returned to them but was destroyed. The Orsonians will be blamed and the Nullaboreans will give up any idea of joining them. More than that, their preachers have been active on some of the planets in the Orsonian Empire and we hear that they are gaining converts. The Southern Cross think that soon they may be able to wean them away from the Orsonians.”
Junipa shrugged
“Surely it's just another case of males being males again. It sounds like the Southern Cross are being too clever for their own good. Do we really care?”
Orestia looked back at her sternly.
“Yes, we do. That is a particularly volatile part of the Galaxy, as the Southern Cross know only too well, which is why they are so exercized. If they oust the Orsonians there, that would alter the balance of power and, as I've mentioned to you before, could threaten the neutral zone and us. We are not in a position to take either them or the Orsonians on head to head. We need to maintain the status quo.”
Junipa found herself puzzled.
“What do you suggest we do? Tip off de la Beche that he is walking into a trap?”
Orestia shook her head again.
“Not now. He would simply disappear. We've spent a lot of time and effort on this. We need to get our hands on the Kwokkah. It would give us a lot of leverage.”
Junipa was even more puzzled.
“So when?”
“At the last moment. We know that de la Beche has been instructed to send a signal to Splenditheran that they have succeeded – or not. If it was not recovered, then Splenditheran planned to alert the Orsonians. We need to contact him just before that and tell him to make his escape.”
“So we tell him that Splenditheran was going to double cross him?”
Orestia hesitated.
“No, not yet. If they don't manage to get the Kwokkah then we need to keep him in the hunt so to speak. I think we'll just tell him that the Orsonians have got wind of what has been happening. Assuming he gets away, then Splenditheran will have no option but to keep his side of the bargain.”
“How are we supposed to do that?”
The trace of a smile appeared again on Orestia's features.
“De la Beche has made several trips to Arkadia already. One our members –was invited on board on his last trip and managed to place a spy device on the Bridge. It links to their communication system. It inserts its messages into the communication between de la Beche's ship and Arkadia in a way that we can pick up but they will not notice. It had to be very small to avoid detection, so it will be able to transmit for only a short time. It will switch itself on when they next dock with Arkadia, so we will know everything that goes on there.”
Junipa was lost in admiration.
“How did she manage it?”
“Charm, guile and a capacity to imbibe more alcohol than any of the crew members.”
28
The containers were arranged in a line across the hold floor, open. The Orsonian seals had been broken and the Chelodoney removed. Quantities of weapons, stores and equipment lay neatly stacked at the back of each. The soldiers were lined up in ranks in front of the containers as Schickelgrosser prepared to address them. Beside him stood the Reverend Dreeble with, a little to one side, de la Beche and Mister Betelgeuse. From a balcony, Jim and several others of the Bountiful’s crew looked on.
“Soldiers of the Special Infantry Services. Now is the moment we have all been waiting for. We have done the training, finished the preparation. Now we go into action. But before we do we must ask the help of Him without whom victory is impossible and defeat certain. Reverend Dreeble, who will come with us into action, will you now lead the prayers?”
Schickelgrosser snapped his fingers and two men fetched a box, on to which the Reverend Dreeble stepped. He looked over the ranks of cropped heads. His voice, fine, deep, resonant, boomed out over the assembled company.
“Soldiers of Astromica, never forget that in war you are doing the Lord’s work. The Lord has said you should show no mercy to the enemies of righteousness. I give you the word of the Lord – and that word is smite. Let us listen to the word of the Lord. As it says in Enteronogy 7:2:
“And when the Lord thy God shall deliver them before thee; thou shalt smite them, and utterly destroy them; thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor show mercy unto them.”
He spread his arms wide and the company shouted in unison:
“A-men!”
“And when they have first felt your might, allow them no quarter, for as it is written in Feshua 10:19:
“And stay ye not, but pursue after your enemies, and smite the hindmost of them; suffer them not to enter into their cities: for the Lord your God hath delivered them into your hand.”
He spread his arms again and the response was even louder:
“A-men!!”
“We thank Thee Lord that You have given us the doing of Thy will. We trust that we will be worthy of Thy confidence and know that You will be with us in all our endeavours, for as it is written in Dendritica 35:18:
“For the Lord will not be slack, neither will the Mighty be patient toward them, till He have smitten in sunder the loins of the unmerciful, and repaid vengeance to the heathen; till He hath taken away the multitude of the proud, and broken the sceptre of the unrighteous.”
This time he raised his arms well above his head and gazed towards a distant heaven with a beatific smile. The responses shook the entire hold.
“A-men! A-men!! A-men!!!”
Schickelgrosser nodded his appreciation to the Reverend and then ordered his men to prepare to enter the containers. They divided themselves into small battalions and strode in to the sound of their marching song:
We are mighty! We are free!
We are Astromican infantry!
If you try to mess with us
We will grind you into dust!
All for one and one for all.
If you cross us, you will fall!
De la Beche's gaze lingered on the men before turning to Schickelgrossser.
“He's a bit of a bruiser, your Lord, isn't He? I'm not sure I would care to meet Him on a dark night.”
Schickelgrosser clicked his heels and saluted.
“All present and correct now, Sir Captain. It’s your job to get us there.”
De la Beche airily acknowledged the salute.
“Don’t worry, darling, you’re safe in our hands. By the way, which of these bijou little cabins is yours?”
The Major looked a little shifty and pointed.
“It’s that one. I’m going in with Reverend Dreeble. He has a little breathing difficulty. He needs very pure air and he has his ceremonies. If he went in with the men, well, you know how it is, things can get a little whiffy sometimes. We’ve fixed up an air purifier for him. He’s asked me to go in with him because he gets claustrophobia sometimes. Men of God, Captain, you know how it is...”
“I’m not sure I do, darling, but I do hope you’ll both be comfortable. Anyway, it shouldn’t be long now. We
’ll soon be there. You're confident it will all work?”
Schickelgrosser stood to attention and puffed out his chest.
“The Astromican Infantry never fail, Captain. It won't take more than twelve hours.” He turned towards his men. “Prepare for loading. Remember men, no communicators to be used until I give permission. We don't want to let the enemy know we are here.”
29
Jim had found himself utterly transfixed by the Reverend Dreeble's messianic fervour and the effect it seemed to have on Schickelgrosser and his soldiers. He found it difficult to concentrate on his duties in Culpepper's surgery and his thoughts kept going back to his time at the academy and the listless air of religious orthodoxy that prevailed there. Few if any there cared about religion, and only believed because nothing else seemed to be on offer. Was it possible that Dreeble was so certain of his beliefs because he had actually seen the deity he had invoked? Could anyone see gods? He wondered whether Mandragore had anything to say on the subject. He was alone in the surgery so he went over to the terminal and queried it.
Can gods become visible?
In Principles of Mathematical Theology,1 Charwin and Bussell assert that deities are tachyonic (superluminal) 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.
It is self evident that an entity with zero mass and infinite velocity would not be visible on any part of the electromagnetic or gravitational spectra. However, Charwin and Bussell have shown that, under specified conditions of prayer and ritual, a deity could gain mass by interaction with the theocratic field2 and, as a consequence, slow down, with a limiting minimum velocity of the speed of light (c). In the Charwin and Bussell formalism, in order for the theoenergy of the deity to remain real, this mass is imaginary (i.e. m = imv where mv is the mass at velocity v and i is the square root of minus one). Others, notably Hardstrop and Ob-Grannikon,3 have argued that deities can have imaginary theoenergy and therefore real mass. This question is still open.