7. The Wizard’s Bastard
Starbase Gandalf, Starbase Gandalf
on moon Gollum, this is Lieutenant Redshirt of the SS Undertaker, lasering in
report of Murphy, planet 7, fly-by recon.
My trajectory took me to two
kilometers over the surface of the ice dwarf. The Parkinson Range
reaches 1.95 kilometers high. Fortunately I had retracted bolo.
Burn was 4.2 kiloseconds at high
gee. Keyhole encountered. I’m on track for home.
No life signs of any kind on or
around the planet. I noticed a few new craters on the ice dwarf; probably
caused by the recent battle. The debris field from the battle continues to
spread. There are munitions still orbiting out there, including antimatter
pellets. Ship hulks hit by debris and munitions are making more debris.
I predict that the cascade will end with
Murphy space unsafe in any orbit. What a chaos, what a waste. Beware of Murphy
the Trickster, Murphy the Bad-Luck Planet!
No enemy activity detected.
Redshirt out.
# # #
1 hektosecond = 1 Lost Earth minute, plus 40 seconds
1 kilosecond = 16 Lost Earth minutes, plus 40 seconds
1 Lost Earth day = 86.4 kiloseconds
1 Rosie day = 84 kiloseconds
1 megasecond = 11.574 Lost Earth days
1 megasecond = 11.905 Rosie
days
1 Lost Earth year = 31.558
megaseconds
1 Rosie year = 35.28
megaseconds
1 gigasecond = 31.688 Lost Earth years
1 gigasecond = 28.345 Rosie
years
#
It
was on planet Roseanne, in the slums of Kitchener, near the spaceport, in the
sleazy lowlife spacer’s tavern, “The Wizard’s Bastard” that the Thieves’ Guild
had gathered in force. Tricky Dick was
there, and so were Raygun, Poppy, Slick Willy, and Dubya. The Wizard’s Bastard
was also hosting Henches, wenches, Starfleet cadets, and crewmen off the ships Heart of Gold, Muddlin’ Through, Serenity, Red Dwarf, and Angels Ten.
Everyone drank and diced and gossiped. Topic One was the recent battle; and
then, who should walk in but its loser.
“Heyy,
look who’s risen from the dead!” a drunken Dubya roared. “It’s the Alley God!”
The
ditzy blonde wench squealed, “Randy?”
The
bossy redhead yelled, “Randy Underwood?!”
The
tomboy brunette said, “That’s him all
right.”
A
grizzled spacer yelled, “Welcome back to the land of the living!”
Slick
Willy drawled, “Hey Randy, what did ya see?”
Randy
shrugged and said, “Nothing this time.”
A
Hench yelled, “Hey Randy! Me and my replicas watched your latest lame attack!
It went off real well, didn’t it?”
Half
the crowd laughed, half frowned.
A
cadet said, “Down with the Empire! Up with the Republic!”
The
Hench said, “Up yours!”
Things
were about to turn ugly, but Randy let out a huge whoop and leaped onto a
chair. He brandished the sack he was carrying, and declaimed, “Whores, thieves
and Republicans, lend me your ears! I come here not to bury myself, but to
praise myself! Too often the best of a man is buried with his bones, but this time the bastards didn’t grind me
down! Yes, the reports of my demise are exaggerated! I fell, but I rose again!
I’m BACK, and I’m BAAAD!”
The
redhead said, “Take me, Randy!”
The
blonde said, “No, me, me, me!”
The
brunette put her hands on her hips and shot him a smoky look.
He
stepped down from the chair and said, “Ladies, lovely ladies… I got a
talking-to.”
The
brunette said, “From Andover? That never stopped you before.”
“No,
it was Francis Raven. She insisted. I mean, really
insisted. It’s over, dears!”
The
wenches all went, “Awww…”
“But
I’ll tell you what,” he said, reaching into the sack, “just to keep things
sweet between us, I give this to you… and to you… and to you.”
The
blonde examined her gift appraisingly. “A data crystal? What’s on it?”
Randy
Underwood said proudly, “Field Replicator… Mark two point seven.”
The
crowd went, “Oooo!”
The
brunette marveled, “The latest model!”
Randy
said, “Here, barmaid,” and he handed two data crystals to the barmaid. “One to
the management, for beer for me and my friend, sitting in the back; and one to
you, as a tip.”
Tricky
Dick, the Capo of the Thieves’ Guild, said, “What about us?”
The
crowd hollered, “YEAH!”
Randy
asked, “Well, what about you?”
Tricky
Dick asked, “Well, why don’t we turn you in?”
Randy
said, “You mean, what’s the price of your silence?”
Tricky
Dick said, “Yes!”
Randy
tossed him a data crystal. “How about that?”
Tricky
Dick pocketed the data crystal and said, “I am not a fink.”
Randy
tossed data crystals left and right; cadets, Henches, whores, thieves and
Republicans staggered and dove for them. He threw fistfuls of crystals at the
howling crowd. Soon he had bribed everyone present, but his sack was still
half-full. He dumped the remaining data crystals in a pile on a table. Randy
Underwood said, “For my friends,” and bowed to a cadet, “and my frenemies,” and
he bowed to a Hench. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Wizard’s Bastard! What
happens here stays here! May discipline be lax, may friend and foe share beers
and play cards!” He bowed to the applause of the crowd, and headed to a table
in the back.
A
Hench said to the cadet he was with, “Well whaddaya know, he ain’t so bad. Say,
how come my guys gotta fight him? Or you guys?”
The
cadet said, “Ahhh, what’s the point?”
“Yeah!
And how come the guys upstairs don’t see that?”
# # #
In
the back booth, Underwood met a man in a hood. As Randy sat, the man drew back
his hood. Randy Underwood said, as usual, “We’ve got to stop meeting like
this!”
“You’ve
made that joke before,” Tesla Nechaev said, as usual.
The
barmaid came by, bearing a pitcher and mugs. She left, and the two scientists
raised a toast. “To Goldie!” they said
in unison, and clanked beer mugs.
Randy
said, “Just think, if she hadn’t introduced us… then no field replicator!”
Tesla
said, “Goldie knows men from all over.”
Underwood
said, “Do you think she’ll ever find the guy?”
Nechaev
said, “I am not the man she’s looking for.”
“Who
is?”
“Maybe
Hamilton Meeper,” Nechaev scoffed. “After all, he is the Superman.”
Randy
said, “I thought inner crew were
supposed to be supermen. Like your boss. The… ‘galactic’… overlord.” Nechaev stiffened and looked around;
Underwood said, “Relax, they’re all ignoring us; and who cares? What is it
about Malvolio? One star system isn’t enough for him?”
“I
don’t want to talk about it. And besides,”
Tesla sneered, “what about ‘Star’fleet?”
“Well,
they did send that Blackegg
expedition… but didn’t find much.”
Tesla
smiled. “Nothing but Loser and Terminus.”
Randy
said, “So tell me, how’s the FTL research going?”
Tesla
said, “He’s still paying me.”
They
finished their beers. The barmaid glided by with a new pitcher.
After
they refilled, Tesla said, “While I was waiting for you, I overheard some
farmers in the next booth. They traded seeds, drugs, tools and books.”
Randy
said, “What, we’re already back to barter?”
“It
gets better. They asked the innkeeper for his timepiece, he replicated it, and
exchanged the copy for a single fresh apple from the south orchard, which he
then scanned.”
“And
now he has a limitless supply of apples just as fresh!”
Tesla
said, “Not a coin changed hands.”
Randy
said, “It’s just as well. Nobody has a cent. Did you hear about the stock
market? Eighteen percent off, in one day! And the banks…”
Tesla
said, “All a bubble, all meaningless. Money, as such, is a meaningless bubble.
This bar, here, has more wealth than all the banks in Barbie!”
“Well,
here we have beer…”
“Here
we have the basis of the new economy. Working replicators and data crystals!”
Randy
said, “You forget the third basic need; reliable friends. Did you know this bar
is covered by Thieves Guild Insurance?”
Tesla
said, “Then it’s the safest place in town.”
“Services
in general are irreproducible, so they remain scarce!”
Tesla
smiled. “So how much do you pay the maid?
Or the actor? Or the singer? Or the teacher? Or the plumber?”
Randy
said, “They’ll be richer than corporate executives!”
Tesla
said, “How about replicator engineers?”
Randy
said, “You and I, we’re set for life!”
“If,”
said Tesla, “you and I can figure out how
to be paid, and with what.”
“Oh,
I don’t know… in generalized barter?”
“Mutual
obligations? ‘Obs’?” Tesla said
mockingly. “I’ve already heard people use that word. ‘Obs’! In other words, credit! From credo, meaning faith!”
“What’s
wrong with that?”
“Credit’s
like religion, deterrence, placebos and fiction! They only work if people believe!”
Randy
said, “And you don’t trust mutual trust.”
“Ahh,
my credulous frenemy, a faith-based economy is only half secure! Faith alone is just a bubble! You are right in this;
underneath the financial crisis is indeed a spiritual crisis!”
Randy
nodded. “Whom do you trust, and what do you believe?”
“Yes! But underneath the spiritual crisis is a cybernetic crisis!”
“Explain.”
Tesla
Nechaev said, “Man does not live by faith alone! He also needs evidence! For faith in faith itself is
useless! It’s information-free! It
lacks meaning and value! So how are we to pay the maid? In valuta! But what is valuable?”
Randy
Underwood said, “OK, I’ll bite. What do
people want?”
“What
do they want? What do they need? Information!” Tesla pounded the
table with a fist. “Information!“ He
boomed, “EEN-FOR-MAY-SHUN!”
(Everyone
else in the tavern turned to look…)
Randy
muttered, “I don’t get it.”
Tesla
blared, “NEG-A-TIVE EN-TRO-PY!!”
(Everyone
else in the tavern shrugged, and turned away…)
Randy
said, “Oh now I get it! You’re
saying… money is fiduciary, and any faith that’s not mere vanity has to contain
hard data!”
“You
have caught up to me. Good! I call it the Negative Entropy Theory of Value.”
“So…
an information-based economy?”
“To
prop up the faith-based economy.”
Tesla dug into a pocket. “Speaking of information… here.” He handed Randy a
data crystal.
Randy
said, “Field replicator?”
Tesla
nodded. “Mark three point oh.”
Randy
asked, “Programmable?” Tesla nodded. Randy said, “Finally!”
Tesla
boasted, “With this one, even Terminus and Loser are legitimate real estate!”
Randy
said, “OK, I’ll review the styling and the interface.”
Tesla
admitted, “You do have a knack for that.”
“User-friendly
design is more an art than a science,” Randy explained. “And I’ll check out the
security features too, OK? Remember the Mark 1.0?”
“Three
keystrokes away from TC? You’ll never let me forget!”
They
refilled their beer mugs.
“I’ll
get my draft back to you next megasecond,” Randy said. He held the data crystal
up to the light and admired it awhile. “Talk about valuable information!”
While
he held the data crystal up to the light, a small machine in an upper corner of
the room quietly scanned it, then transmitted the data to Starfleet. A Hench
also ran a quiet scan, as did Poppy, a grizzled spacer, the barmaid and the
redhead.
Randy Underwood pocketed the data
crystal. He said, “And speaking of valuable information… I have a message for
you.”
“From
whom? About what?”
“From
Rosemarie Vassar, about terraforming.” He took out an audio wafer and touched a
button. It played the voice of Rosemarie Vassar, saying, “It was a replication
memory. I saw Roseanne. She warned me and the other terraformers to ‘back off’
about the Bitter Lichen.”
“Stop,”
Nechaev said flatly. Underwood stopped the recording. Nechaev said, “I am not
interested in discussing phantasms. Or screen memories. Or hallucinatory
self-portraits. Or ‘mystic insights’. Or the Transmigration of Souls.”
Underwood
retorted, “Or Biomechanism? The shock of replication forcing the newly-created
brain to find unusual correlations of unconscious data?”
Nechaev
chuckled. “You turn my own materialism against me! Very well then, O
Spiritualist, explain replication cries. Why are they always the same for any
given person?”
“Not
always. They change if a life-changing experience happens between, well –”
“
- between deaths? Yes. But my
question still stands. Absent life-change, why such mechanistic predictability?
And as for your precious replication hallucinations –”
“
- replication memories - ”
“
- have it your way. Memory is the plaything of desire. For why are these
so-called ‘memories’ only about our own culture’s gods? Why not the dead gods
of Lost Earth?”
“You
mean Yahweh? Jesus? Allah?” Randy shook his head. “Nobody ever sees them.”
“Exactly!
Instead people sight Elvis, Roseanne, Crowley
and a half-dozen others!”
They
stopped for a swig of beer, for they had both gone dry.
Tesla
asked, “By the way… did you see
anyone this time?”
Randy
winced. “No, nothing… One moment I was under fire, squeezing a scan crystal,
the next I was back at base, in the replication chamber, hollering ‘Oh shit!’
like I always do. Can we get back to Rosemarie’s message, please?”
“Sure!
Let’s hear her ‘unusual correlation of unconscious data’!”
Randy
Underwood clicked a button on his audio wafer. It played Rosemarie’s voice.
“…
Roseanne said to me, ‘Sure your goats and cows can’t eat it! Big deal! Scrape
it off the rocks, plow it into the soil, and grow your food like honest
farmers! Let me remind you humans that I put up with you only because you’re
fun to watch. Maybe someday you’ll be useful. I let you kill my favorite lichen
only because of that cyanide thing. You had to, I understand; but leave my
second favorite lichen alone, or I swear, I’ll bring back the old ecology!’ ”
Randy
stopped the recording. He said, “Afterwards Rosemarie checked this prediction
on the supercomputer at Peabody Polytech.”
“Our
dear old alma mater. The result?”
“By
golly, the vision was right. The Bitter Lichen’s an ecological nexus. Eliminate
it, and the cyanide ecology returns.”
Tesla
Nechaev said, “Oh!” He stroked his chin. “Hmmm… that is an ‘unusual correlation of unconscious data…’ ”
“Rosemarie
told me, and now I’m telling you.”
Tesla
Nechaev said, “Very well, I shall cancel certain projects.”
Randy
Underwood said, “Good! It’s best to keep on Rosie’s good side!”
Tesla
said, “By Rosie do you mean the planet or Ms. Vassar?”
Randy
said, “Yes!”
They
upended their beer mugs. Then Randy said, “Look at the time! Sorry, I gotta
go.”
“No
prob’,” said Tesla. “See you next megasecond.”
“Sure!”
Randy said, getting up to go. “And oh… by the way… thanks…”
“For
what?”
“You
know… his little list…”
“Oh,
that.” Tesla Nechaev shrugged. “It
was nothing.”
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