by I K Dirac
Having gained mass, the deity would then begin to lose it through Cherenkov radiation.4 This is analogous to a subluminal particle entering a medium at a velocity greater than the speed of light in that medium. In this case, however, because a deity always moves faster than light, instead of radiation being projected in the direction of travel, it would not be possible to see it approaching. After it had passed, it would be visible as two images appearing and departing in opposite directions. Charwin and Bussell claim that there have been numerous reports of such phenomena, although none has yet been tested under rigorous experimental conditions.
Quantum Theodynamic tunnelling
Although the energy barrier between sub- and superluminal regimes is theoretically infinitely high, Hoosenberg and Kohr5 have claimed that some solutions to Quantum Theodynamic wave equations lead to the conclusion there is a small, but non-zero, probability of deities tunnelling through this barrier and becoming visible. However, their renormalization techniques are not generally accepted and no evidence for tunnelling has yet been found.
Princ. Ont. vol iii, ch 102, p 389
References
1. C. Charwin and A.W. Bussel, Principles of Mathematical Theology – From First Light to Last Trump, Denebian University Press, pp 321-5.
2. J. D. Quolkinghorne and F. Bugillery, Applied Quantum Theodynamics, Pluto Press, p 654. See also pp 660-780 for the correct rituals and prayer modes to utilize. Mathematically, there are similarities with the Higgs field for subluminal particles.
3. F. Hardstrop and G. v B. Ob-Grannikon, “Classical Tachyons and Possible Applications in Transcendental Modes”, Proc. Gal. Sci. Soc., 2490, pp 465-6.
4. This is true for deities of all possible electric and magnetic charge. Even an electrically neutral deity would be expected to lose energy via gravitational Cherenkov radiation because it has a gravitational mass, and therefore increases in speed as it travels.
5. W. Hoosenberg and B. Kohr, Theodynamic Effects in Unbound States, Altarean Monographs, vol xxi, pp 345-356.
Jim stared at the screen, unsure of what to make of what he was reading. Had he ever seen flashes? Certainly, most often when he had rather a lot to drink, but he thought they were unlikely to be gods. What about two flashes going in opposite directions? He couldn’t be sure. What most intrigued and puzzled him was how certain and exact the Princ. Ont. was about things that he thought by their very nature would be uncertain and inexact. Culpeppper was not around to ask, Then a thought struck him. Did Galactopedia have anything to say on the Princ. Ont.? He put in a query.
The Principia Ontologica, originally compiled and edited by S. Mandragore and collaborators, is an attempt to apply analytical and mathematical techniques, claimed to have been recovered from sources originally thought lost, to faith-based belief systems and in doing so render them capable of scientific scrutiny.
Many of the supposed findings and assertions are either banal or nonsensical, while their so-called scientific techniques are at best inappropriate or more often simply erroneous. In any event, elementary logic suggests that such ideas are self-contradictory. Faith and reason, which must underlie any coherent attempts at analysis, are inherently incompatible.
Evidently the authors of Galactopedia didn’t think much of the Princ. Ont. Were the sentiments reciprocated, he wondered, and put in a query to the Princ. Ont.
Galactopedia is a repository of information, a subset of the so-called Informatrix, said to contain all knowledge accumulated by Inference Engines, using techniques developed at the De'neev maximum. Much of the Informatrix is inaccessible. Only that part which is in Galactopedia is accessible even in principle.
There are severe limitations on the type and quality of such information, since it depends on statistical techniques to draw inferences from accumulated data. As Strengupan and others have shown, such algorithmic methods can deal only with those questions that are, at least in principle, computable. Inference Engines, however sophisticated, cannot deal with non-computable processes, such as conjunctive faith, where sentient beings realize the limits of logic and face the paradoxes or transcendence of life, nor can they deal with theological or super-rational questions.
Not much love lost there either. Which to chose? He couldn’t make up his mind on the spot. More thought was needed.
30
The airlock swished open and standing there was the Orsonian in charge of cargo reception, an individual of few words and, Jim suspected, even fewer thoughts. Conveyors nosed their way into the Bountiful’s hold and the containers sped swiftly along to disappear into the maw of the huge Orsonian satellite.
Once all the containers had been taken off, the airlock closed again, normally the signal for the Bountiful to disengage and wait in a parking orbit one degree behind Arkadia, while the containers were emptied, cleaned and resealed, ready for transport back to Desiderata. De la Beche asked to speak to the officer in charge of the loading bay.
“My apologies, darling, but we seem to have a bit of a problem. My engineers tell me our control system is on the blink. It's best if we don't try to move away just for the moment. Can we have permission to stay here just a little while we fix it?”
The Orsonian was not at all sympathetic.
“‘On the blink’ is not a technical term we recognize, Captain. These systems simply do not go wrong. It is standard security procedure that attendant vehicles orbit at least one degree distant. Besides, we need the dock vacant for another delivery. You will have to move off and get it unblinking as best you can.”
De la Beche persisted.
“I take your point about systems, but my engineers now tell me it’s all down to inputting some faulty instructions that we are having trouble reversing. I really don’t think it would be a good idea if we try to move far. It’s the controls system you see. There’s no knowing what we might damage if we try to rectify things too hastily.”
The Orsonian grunted and said he would have to consult his superiors. After a few minutes he made contact again.
“How long is this likely to take, Captain?”
“Not absolutely sure, darling. My engineers say maybe twelve hours, but it could take longer, depending on what they have to do.”
There was another grunt, followed by noises that indicated he was consulting again.
“Very well, but be quick about it.”
They moved away slowly. Jim looked at the navigation screen and saw nothing but the huge bulk of Arkadia. They waited. Conversation on the Bridge gradually ebbed until it stopped and there were only occasional exchanges of information. No music could be heard. Two hours went by. De la Beche looked at Mister Betelgeuse.
“Any indications of how things are going, Mister Betelgeuse?”
Mister Betelgeuse studied several screens in front of him.
“Data communications between Arkadia and Orson seem to be normal, Captain. That's what we should expect. The Major's first objective was to seize control of their communications and make sure no alarm signals could be sent.”
Orestia and Junipa crouched over the communicator screen, concern etched on Orestia's face while Junipa slapped the desk in frustration. All that could be heard were the indistinct sound of voices accompanied by buzzes and hissing noises.
“What's the matter with it? I can't make out what they are saying. Should we contact them now?”
“Something must be interfering with our spy device,” said Orestia, “but at least we can hear something. From what I can make out, they don't sound concerned. The banging and rattling sounds we heard must have been the containers going aboard Arkadia. That station is huge. It will take them hours to get control of it and search it. I think we need to wait.”
Commander Splenditheran drummed his fingers on the table. He was sitting in his Command Room with his Chief of Staff.
“How long should we give them?”
The Chief of Staff, whose bellicosity was legendary across the Federation, scowled.
“Schickelg
rosser said twelve hours. He's full of shit, but twenty-four hours should be more than enough.”
Splenditheran pursed his lips.
“Can we trust them?”
The Chief of Staff grunted contemptuously.
“We can trust them to shoot anything they see. That should do.”
“And can we trust de la Beche to send the signal?”
Another contemptuous grunt.
“If Schickelgrosser and his men are back on board, I don't think they will stand for any funny business from de la Beche. He will send the signal. And then...”
Splenditheran gave a brief chuckle.
“Remind me, again. Who do I contact on Orson?”
Twelve hours went by. Jim saw Mister Betelgeuse was studying a screen intently.
“Some change in the pattern of data transmission, Captain, but it's not clear what it means. It could be just routine.”
De la Beche showed no sign of concern.
“Fingers crossed, darling. We all know that the Major can be a tad optimistic.”
“This is too frustrating,” said Junipa. “Crackle, hiss and the occasional grunt is all we get. Something must have happened by now.” Orestia said nothing.
The Chief of Staff turned towards Splenditheran.
“I told you Schickelgrosser was full of shit.”
Twenty-four hours passed. No sign of anything happening, apart from occasional changes to the data transmission. De la Beche addressed his Bridge.
“I’m beginning to wonder if things might have gone a little awry. We may have to take our leave soon.”
Junipa gazed in dismay at the communicator screen as the noises died away.
“What's happened? It's gone dead.”
Orestia slumped back in her chair.
“It has run out of power. We knew it couldn't last very long.”
“What do we do now? Tip them off?”
Orestia shook her head.
“We can't. If we used any of the normal communication channels, the Orsonians would pick it up. The only secure way was through our spy.”
Junipa gave a wry smile.
“So that's it. Goodbye, de la Beche. Oh well, not such a big loss.”
Commander Splenditheran turned to the Chief of Staff.
“Twenty-four hours you said and still no signal.”
The Chief of Staff could only shrug in acknowledgement.
“Looks like Schickelgrosser screwed up. Can't say I'm surprised. As I said, full of shit. Are you going to contact Orson?”
“No, too risky. We need to know exactly what happened. See what you can find out.”
De la Beche ordered preparations for the getaway to be made as stealthily as possible so as not to alert the Orsonians. Jim watched fascinated as crew-members initiated weapons, screens and drives for the escape. Just as the order for departure was about to be given, an unexpected vision lit up the main screen.
31
The face of the Lord High Admiral covered almost the whole screen. His look indicated that he was gathering himself to utter his most monstrous bellow.
“What exactly is the meaning of this, Captain de la Beche?”
De la Beche sat back in his chair.
“Lord High Admiral, how nice to see you again, darling. I’m not sure I quite understand your question.”
The Admiral appeared unconvinced.
“Oh, do you not? Then perhaps you could tell me what was in that last delivery you made.”
“I assume it was the same as before, lots of that meat that you and yours have taken such a shine to.”
The Lord High Admiral snorted his most stentorian snort.
“I hope you are not trying to deceive me, Captain, because if you are it will be much the worse for you. Instead of Chelodoney those containers were filled with armed individuals, whose aim it seemed was to take over the entire vessel, for what purpose we are not yet sure.”
De la Beche’s face managed to convey both surprise and sympathy.
“Good gracious, darling. That must have given you quite a fright. What did you do?”
A slight smirk played around the Admiral’s lips.
“As it happened we had to do very little. Unknown to those who organized this dastardly operation, before Chelodoney is removed from the sealed containers, it is treated with a mixture of gases that helps to bring out all its flavours and adds piquancy. The exact composition of the mixture is of course secret, known only to our chefs, but suffice to say it is not breathable. Those individuals expired before they could embark on their mission, as we found when we opened the containers.”
De la Beche maintained his expression of sympathy.
“What a nasty surprise, darling. Still, I suppose it could have been worse. I assure you that I had absolutely no knowledge of this dreadful business. As you know, we simply pick up the cargo from Desiderata. It is all supposed to be sealed by your minions, so, if anyone is to blame, it must be them.”
The Admiral grimaced.
“That thought had occurred to me. I have ordered the most stringent investigation into our operatives in Desiderata. They have already discovered that loaded containers were left unguarded for several hours before being transported to your ship. Such failings will be punished with the utmost severity.”
“Absolutely. I think we members of the nobility understand one another. Give them what for, if they’ve let you down.”
The Lord High Admiral pondered on these words and realized that his elevation to the aristocracy had given him a vision and a sensibility not given to lesser individuals, something he shared with the rest of his class.
“Quite so, Captain, quite so. As a fellow member of the nobility, I accept your assurances that you had nothing to do with this traitorous plot.”
“Thank you, darling. Your wisdom becomes you. I do hope we can be of service in the future, after you have got to the bottom of what has been going on. Just as a matter of interest, what have you done with the, ah, remains?”
The Lord High Admiral, basking in this well deserved tribute to his wisdom, allowed himself a smile.
“Well, Captain, this particular delivery of Chelodoney was not of the finest quality. It was intended for the special dinner for our lower orders, to celebrate the feast of Degrati, which, as you may know, marks the ritual disembowelling of the devil Fegbu by the prophet Mistrali, after the devil had tried to tempt him by tying him to forty nubile females on heat. What was delivered was not Chelodoney, but meat of a sort, so we had to make do with that. Our lower orders would have been most disappointed if they could not have enjoyed their Degrati dinner.”
For a few seconds, de la Beche had difficulty taking in what the Admiral was saying.
“Am I hearing this correctly? Are you saying that they have been eaten?”
The Admiral seemed surprised.
“Yes, of course. I’m told that the flesh tasted quite similar to scrag end of Chelodoney, though without its finer qualities. Not that it would make any difference to our lower orders. They very rarely get Chelodoney to eat and then only inferior cuts, rejected by those of us with more refined tastes.”
De la Beche looked at his crew on the Bridge, all of whom remained mute. He shook his head.
“It isn’t done, darling. It simply isn’t done.”
The Admiral shrugged.
“On the contrary, Captain, it has been done. Actually not all of them were eaten. One of the containers appeared to have some sort of air filter and the two individuals inside were alive when we opened it. They are currently being interrogated. We know that they are Astromicans, but we believe that they were engaged by some other organization. We intend to find out who was behind this dastardly plot and then we will take all necessary steps in retaliation.”
Alarm bells went off. If either talked, then de la Beche realized he and his crew might well follow the unfortunate soldiers on to Orsonian plates.
“Very interesting. Have they said anything yet?”
T
he Admiral raised his eyes.
“One of them seems to have gone mad. He kept yelling incomprehensible phrases. One of our psychosurgeons finally realized they were religious incantations. He is not a follower of Zoabh, so of course they are merely superstitions, but one of our ecclesiastical elders is now counselling him in the hope that he might regain his sanity and tell us who sent him and why. The other is a most obdurate individual, who insists on telling us only what he calls his ‘name and number’ and keeps referring to long defunct conventions. We might have to take sterner measures with him.”
De la Beche realized he needed to act quickly.
“I think in your position, I would be careful with the rough stuff, darling. It would do your reputation no good, now that you’ve joined the nobility. As your Liege Lord, I have to tell you that magnanimity is our watchword.”
“It is?”
“Absolutely. ‘In victory, magnanimity.’ I think that should be on your coat of arms.”
“Do you? I shall have to give that some thought.”
The main reason for giving it some thought was that he was unsure what it meant. He consulted the definitive dictionary of the Orsonian language. It transpired that there was no equivalent word in original Orsonian, something that was true for many other concepts. Orson in its original state was a rough and ready place. Language tended to be almost exclusively transactional; concepts were something they could do without. As a result, the Orsonians in later days became avid importers of words from other Galactic languages. They were particularly keen on adopting words of a copulatory nature, even though many of them referred to activities that were anatomically impossible for an Orsonian to emulate. He finally found the nearest equivalent to magnanimity, which roughly translated as a cross between “too small to worry about” and “couldn’t give a damn”.