Can we
forget about the things I said when I was drunk? I didn't mean to call you
that... What? Oh- it's you! Duckbutt, why didn't you tell me we had company?
I'd have put on a clean hawaiian shirt. Six months on a survey mission and
my staff gets lacksadasical. That's "sloppy" for you USS types. Maybe it's
time to bring back flogging as a motivator. Morgan says it works wonders
for his crews. Then again, he's certifiable and I'm not. Least I don't think
I am...
Oh, by the way, Happy 201. Not that it's a lot different than the year 200, mind you. Was it my imagination or have the past seven weeks been slower than a feasibility study result? Except for Sargasso, I mean. If it wasn't for the fact that people are dying out there in droves, it'd almost be newsworthy.
Yes, yes, I'll stop rambling. Just tuck my shawl in and wheel me into the sunshine, nurse. Don't forget the two o'clock spongebath, okay?
I hafta warn you - this is a weird issue. Somebody suggested that the rag needed to develop an"edge", whatever that means. Like my senseless caffeine and alcohol-induced mania isn't sufficient. Maybe I gotta start wearing black and chain-smoking heavenherb, or something? I watched some ancient Dennis Miller tapes for inspiration, but he just annoyed the hell out of me. Guess he did that to folks back then, too. What a legacy.
Anyway, since most of the Bone's people are out here working for a living, I turned loose what staff was left at the Bone office to do some "personal improvement", meaning Igloo Montana and Drooling Lenny (they didn't have anything else to do). You know, educational-type stuff. All I asked was that they write about what they learned (so I can get a tax break). I got this from Drooling Lenny:
What if the SAM were like Termites?
The following is a transcript of a lecture given by Tobias Swift at the Werth Crew Training Facility. Swift is a former ISP PD and is now a professor in the Xenothropology Department at IMP Jax's Star Academy.
Good evening, students, instructors, and honored guests. Thank you for inviting me here to IND Werth.
Tonight we are going to engage in an exercise, one that will hopefully stimulate your minds. We're going to create a hypothetical race.
It's common knowledge that the Samillians (SAM) are an alien race in the Transhole region. The SAM have a caste system that includes workers, drones and warriors, and produce members of one caste in a parasitic manner. In many ways they are similar to, though not like, bees and spiders.
But let's play "what if". What if the SAM were more like termites?
To reduce confusion, let's essentially create a new, but similar race. We'll call this hypothetical race Neasamillians (as in "Neanderthals").
It's not a far-fetched idea. The race could be an offshoot of a common stock, just as the Kazerickii are to the Samillians. But more likely, the Neasamillians would have developed independently. Remember, there are similar races out there. For example, Lemites and neo-Lemites
Why play "what if"? We who are in this field like to conjecture. After all, there are races out there who are unknown and who eventually we will come into contact with. Developing theories such as this allow first-contact specialists to set out a whole array of potential approaches. In any case, let's begin.
Physical Attributes
The NeaSamillian race would be insectoid like the SAM, with differing individual physical features based on purpose and caste. The body would be made up of a head and thorax\abdomen. The total length of the body would vary between species and castes. The body would be a cream color due to the absence of pigment from being in an enclosed, dark colony.
Soldiers and workers would have different types of mandibles, or jaws. The workers and Drones (or "kings") would have small mandibles, mostly used for carrying, cutting food, or colony construction. The warriors would have larger, serrated jaws. I'll talk about this later.
Neasamillians, like termites, would have bodies made up of mostly water. Although it would have some protection, NeaSamillian bodies are subject to drying out. To prevent desiccation, NeaSamillian colonies would be enclosed to maintain humidity.
Like termites, Neasamillians would have complex sensory organs. The capacity to smell, feel and taste would be through a combination of antennae, hairs, and palps (similar to antennae, but located near the mouth). Neasamillians would be very capable in distinguishing odors and pheromones, hearing or detecting vibrations, detecting chemicals, and sensing magnetic fields and gravity.
NeaSamillian workers and soldiers, like termites, would be blind, but sensitive to bright light via light-sensitive cells on their heads. Only the reproductive caste and the king and queen have eyes that give them reasonable vision. However the NeaSamillian Queen living in the dark for many years probably would lose much of her eyesight.
NeaSamillian Society
The Samillian race is one of the oldest known species, perhaps even as old as the Snittians. Termite society is considered to be the oldest type of society on Terra, perhaps as much as 200 million years. We could consider the NeaSamillian similarly to be an "ancient race".
Neasamillians, like Samillians and termites, will not be created equal. The Neasamillians would have several castes that differ in both in build and function. Where the NeaSamillian society would resemble termites, and differ from Samillians, would be in having more castes:
First the Queen: Same as the Samillian Queen, she's the chief egg producer and the mother of all the individuals in the colony.
The Queen is the center of the development of the colony. NeaSamillian Queens would live for ages, and capable of producing over a hundred million offspring. In some termite species, she can swell to the size of a potato. Imagine a NeaSamillian Queen the size of a Cargo Carrier!
Obviously with that kind of size, it would be nearly impossible to move a NeaSamillian colony; colonies would have to be established by new Queens and their consorts.
Neoterics: If the Queen dies the rest of the colony dies soon after. To increase the survival of the colony, some termites have what are called "neoterics". These "lesser queens" are found in the larger, more established colonies.
Neoterics may be future replacements for the existing Queen in the existing colony, or could be set up in a separate sub-colony or outpost. These often achieve near-autonomy and can be looked as a kind of "branch-office". Neoterics are far below par in their egg-laying proficiency compared to a true, or first, Queen.
There isn't a limit to the number of neoterics; some species have had over 100 in their main nest. Neoterics are smaller and lighter in color than the Queen.
The "king"or "kings": These Neasamillians serve the purpose as Samillian Drones in running the colony. The kings also have the additional duty of being consorts and reproducing with the Queen or the Neoterics. In small colonies, the kings would also be responsible for taking care of the young. This duty is lessened as the number of Workers grow. The NeaSamillian king would also be one of the few of his race to have eyesight (the Queen and the Neoterics are the others). It would also follow that this class would also be the ambassadors and points of contact with the outside.
Workers: The majority of the termite population are the Workers . They build the nest, feed the rest of the colony, and take care of the young. The last duty is especially important.
In termite society, workers constantly lick the baby termites to keep them clean. Baby termites are simultaneously protected from mold and pick up micro-organisms they need to digest food from the older workers who clean them. The workers in return get food in the form of substances exuded by the baby termites. Some scientists have long suggested that it was this symbiosis that led primitive termites to organize into societies.
NeaSamillian Workers would run the factories, farms, take care of the young, and handle most other colony operations. The majority of the NeaSamillian population would be workers.
Workers tend to be short-lived. Many workers would be lost to accidents, predators, and general wear and tear. Any that fall by the wayside are consumed by the living. As the Queen is continually laying eggs, re- placements are always at hand.
Combat Troops are the second largest caste in a colony. With large, armored heads and strong, serrated jaws, these troops are of either sex, and their job is to defend the nest against invaders. Samillians have both warriors and super-warriors. Neasamillians would also have a Warrior/ Super-Warrior combination. But there would be marked differences.
Super-Warriors would be born with built-in armor and close-combat and medium range weapons. Like the termite nasute soldier (who has a snoutlike projection called a nauseate, used to eject a poisonous or sticky secretions), NeaSamillian Super-Warriors would have a serrated jaw and a beak-like appendage used like a gun barrel and bayonet.
Although they would defend a colony, these would be the expeditionary troops, fighting away from the colony. Unlike Samillians though, breeding NeaSamillian Super-Warriors would not require a host. Most termite caste selection is done by chemical secretion during feeding of the young.
The NeaSamillian Warrior, however, would differ from the Samillian type. Think of them as mini-RDBs. Like RDB's their entire function is to protect the colony. Like the termite nasutoid soldier (a soldier with able to secrete defensive fluids on its body), the Soldier would be born with defensive armament, such as chemical weapons, a large serrated jaw for the warrior, and and defensive armor. NeaSamillian Warriors would also have an additional, though unusual weapon. I'll cover this feature later.
Though it's not part of this lecture, warriors and super-warriors might not be restricted to using just their natural weaponry or armor. However, that they have such weaponry and armor would make them formidable opponents in close-quarters combat.
Lastly, due to their specialized heads, both NeaSamillian Warriors and Super-Warriors would be unable to feed themselves. This would be done by Workers. Thus, any ground parties or combat forces would always have some workers in them as "cooks and servers".
Engineers:
Termite nests have a caste of nest-custodians who keep the nest clean.
NeaSamillian colonies would have a similar caste, called Engineers. The presence,
or lack of a certain amount of, these unique caste members would affect a
NeaSamillian colony's death rate and overall performance.
Psuedergate: In the lower termites (Isoptera), this caste is comprised of individuals having derived from larvae. In the higher termites, these have regressed from nymphal stage. The NeaSamillian Pseudergate, like the termite one, would be "raw material", serving as the principal supply of workers, but capable of being developed into other castes. In some species of primitive termites, these psuedergates take the role of the worker, yet still are able to be transformed in the other castes
There are an additional castes in termite society: Presoldiers, an intermediate developmental stage between larva and the mature soldier, incapable of defense, and Nanitic workers, dwarf workers produced from either the first brood or later broods that have were subjected to starvation. I have chosen to disregard these castes in the NeaSamillian for simplicity's sake. Seven or eight castes are enough!
The NeaSamillian Colony
Termites, like Samillians, build colonies. Termites live in colonies, or nests, ranging from as few as fifty to millions of members. Although enclosed, colonies are not necessarily located underground.
Termites are excellent engineers, controlling temperature, humidity and air quality in their nests. They even have "environmental engineers" whose job is to keep the nest clean and sanitary.
Colony location is be extremely important. For example, in northern Australia on Terra, termite mounds all line up on a North-South axis. The reason for this orientation, done by detecting the magnetic axis, is to achieve a stable internal temperature. Termites also fine-tune the local site to wind and shade factors.
Likewise, Neasamillians would be quite choosy where they locate their colonies. Airless planets and would ones with extreme climate changes would not be their first choice to locate a colony.
NeaSamillian colonies would range in population from as little as fifty, to hundreds of millions. The majority of the population would be workers, with smaller amounts of soldiers and super-warriors, a queen, and at least one king. As with termite colonies, NeaSamillian colonies would be enclosed, though not necessarily underground, to prevent its residents from moisture loss and maintain a correct environment.
The colony's population would be sustained by farming complexes, not foraging. Relatively advanced societies do little foraging, and some termites do grow mushrooms to eat. For example, some species on the Terran continents of Africa and Asia farm fungi in their nests to form part of their diet. The same could apply to Neasamillians.
Finally, as with termites, response time in a NeaSamillian colony in defending against invaders would be near-instantaneous. If an attack is detected in by Workers, troops would be quickly "dispatched" to the scene. If the defense is not going well, a section farther into the NeaSamillian colony would be sealed off in order to block the incoming threat, and the troops trapped therein would fight to the death.
The Hivemind
But what about the Hivemind, you ask - that all encompassing aspect that bonds Samillians, and to a lesser extent, their cousins, the Kazerickii?
Termites do have something similar, but it requires some explanation.
Since reproduction in the termite nest is limited to a single pair or a small group, competition for mating among members of the colony is reduced. Thus, termite colonies are free of in-fighting or social conflict.
Non-conformists are unheard of in a termite colony. Individual termites can't survive alone. More important, the individual, regardless of its specialty, is subordinated to the nest. A colony depends on its workers; without them, the others would die. Yet they all function together with no intra-colony competition or conflict, like a single super-organism.
There's more. Termites groom one another. While grooming's main function is external cleaning and removing parasites, (especially fungi spores) grooming also passes on the pheromones, which contain chemical and genetic messages.
Peaceful colonies, cooperative and interdependent castes, and a built-in system for passing along information and memories. Sound like the basis for a Hive-mind?
Neasamillians, by also having a select breeding group, should also have relatively peaceful colonies, though there would be the potential competition among the Drones. Likewise, the castes would be cooperative and there would be a similar pherome-chemical based system. While perhaps not as well-advanced as the Samillian Hive-mind, the NeaSamillian one would be quite dominant.
The Odd Stuff
Based on termites, there would be several oddities, or special abilities (for lack of a better term) for Neasamillians.
Neasamillians would have social feeding, either by oral transfer/ regurgitation, or by consuming workers' liquid excrement (containing fragments of food and microbes to aid in digestion). Banquets at a NeaSamillian colony would be interesting.
If we base the Neasamillians on termites, the race would be known for their flatulence. Because of their diet and digestive processes (with more than the usual assistance from aerobic bacteria), termites produced as much methane as did 21st century human industry. Termite flatulence production was estimated at 5O million tons a year, and was believed by scientists to have been a major contributor towards global warming during that time.
Similarly, NeaSamillian Warrior would actually be able to turn themselves into bombs, detonating themselves via the explosive release of gas, a process in termites called "autothysis." This would be quite effective in close quarters, such as boarding or repelling boarders on a ship. Or, if the NeaSamillians had space travel, it's quite conceivable that this could be extended to their warships; self-destructing with the intent of taking as many enemies with them as they can.
Neasamillians could also have improved movement factors over terrain. Some termites have four wings the same size, good for fluttering but not for high performance.
One point in the life cycle of both termites and Neasamillians is the release of "flying reproductives". This could either take place at a particular time each year, or suddenly during a certain climate change.
New colonies would be formed in this manner. However, new colony development would be limited by environmental and planetary conditions.
Conclusion
As I mentioned at the beginning of this lecture, this is an exercise in "what if". It's quite possible that such a race exists. But the idea here is to stimulate your thought processes. There are many different possibilities and combinations of life. The true explorer allows themselves an open mind, to consider all the possibilities.
Thank you, and good night.
We just keep getting oh-so-highbrow here. What's next:
* A William Cody lecture on the positive aspects of the French Revolution - "The Guillotine as a Motivator"?
* The Haldane's treatise on Manifest Destiny- "It'll be all Mine - Eventually"?
* A USS pamphlet on the proper way to shag a sheep - "Getting a Leg O' Lamb"?
* Rlo's book on tasteful entertaining - (I'll let you dream up that title).
I thought about one called The Ghods' Guide for a New BSE, but I figgered it'd be about as slow-moving as the Dune series. Probably not as pretentious, tho. I got it- BSE Meets Dune! Children of BSE? BSE Prophet? This is getting too bizarre for me. Here's some more culture while I go hunt down a margarita:
Haiku for the Haldane
by Robbie Dylan, Poet-Laureate, Clan o'the Rock
Five Hundred Thousand
Dead on a Faraway Star.
O, Why Did They Die?
'Twas Greed and Envy,
Petty Squabbles o'er Land,
Power, Tyranny.
Revenge, Best Served Cold!
May the Good Lord Preserve Us
From All Such Madmen!!
(You Guys are Freaking Crazy!)
Yeah, yeah,
I know- it was published before. But Mister Dylan not only gave his permission
to use it, but he even sent us another copy (it'll hang on the wall in the
Bone offices). It dood give us dat culturedy look, do it not? And anyways,
it's more or less permanent now. The Bone has been around and will last a
lot longer than that Yahoo-branded electronic fish-wrap known as the BSE
List (Oooooh, what he said....).
Letters to the Editor
Dear Hedd, Clan Oberon don't need no stinking test-tubes!!! We do it the modern way!!! BTW - Got a daughter of the Clan just about ready to assume command.....just for you.
Drak Konner Kyl Oberon or The Kyl Drak Konner Oberon
(just Drak Oberon ain't polite.....and I know where ya live.....)
My dearest Drak Konner Kyl Oberon - can I just call you DKKO for short? No? How about 'The Kyl"? Well, we'll work something out...
Um...what is the "modern way"? Counter-top artificial wombs? And a new daughter? Does this mean I hafta up the limits on my medical insurance? In any case, welcome back (I guess...)
Hedd-
Sure, give the Large Pundit my address. Sh-t, like the fat b--tard is going to do anything about it.
Name withheld out of Courtesy
Dear Courtesy (or lack thereof). Your language is atrocious. What if someone's twelve-year old daughter finds this rag and reads it? Assuming she can read, that is. Then I gotta hear about it from said game-playing parent that I am corrupting the youth. Not like a) she hasn't heard worse and b) why a twelve year old is reading the Bone is beyond me. In any case, I'll give the Pundit your location. In the meantime, consider yerself chastised. That's "consider yer ass chewed", for you USS-types.
Sigh, the
fabric of society is fraying more and more every day. Culture, decorum and
etiquette are going down the tubes. Good breeding is becoming passe. Why
I mentioned that very thought to the girls at the Black Cat Ranch brothel
a few months ago, just after I 'd complained to the madam that there was
too much salt on my margarita glass and that the trapeze was set too high.
Oh, I should've mentioned the temperature of the milk bath too....
We were supposed to have a submission from a guy from IND Albuquerque, but rumor has it that the colony got snowed in during a blizzard. Thing is- the damn planet they're on is a freaking iceball. You figger he'd be used to it by now, or at least planned ahead. Anyway, here's another one in its stead:
The Ghods' Eye
There are dames, and there are dames. Some dames are big-hearted and warm and would jump through a black hole just to make you happy. Some dames are cool and distant - you'd do better cozying up to a hunk of jacium. And some dames would simply prefer to cut your heart out, as well as a couple other things lower down. Those are the ones I tend to marry.
But there aren't too many dames who'll walk into your office at midnight and drop a severed head on your desk.
I don't know what woke me first- the squeak of the door, the tic-tic of high-heeled feet walking across the dirty tile floor, or the sloppy wet-hamburger sound of something hitting the desktop in front of me.
"Frank Lee Bohring, I presume?" she said in a throaty contralto. I lifted my aching head from my arms and stared at the face in front of me. Not hers- the decapitated Morlock staining my blotter.
"Bit late for gift-giving, lady." I sounded wittier than I felt, "Christmas was couple of months back." My eyes finally focused themselves and decided they were in for a treat. It was a Myrrian female. She had golden blonde fur, and plenty of it was showing . She had on a blue pseudosilk mid-calf dress that looked like it'd been glued to her. I knew better- it had been sprayed on.
"Are you Frank Lee Bohring?" she insisted, her fluffy tail twitching as she spoke. The dame looked half angry, half- scared, clutching her handbag like she was ready to pull out a laser pistol and start blasting away at my cheap but paid-for furniture. Just like my second-to-last ex-wife.
"No," I said looking into those big baby-brown eyes. More like nut-brown, to be exact. That's me, Mister Observant.
"But that's the name on the door-"
"Frank was my partner. He bought the farm. I'm Ron DuLay."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
"That's the name I was born with, lady."
"No- no. I meant about Frank buying the farm."
"Nothing terrible about it. Werth put the farming complexes out for bid and Frank bought one with his gambling winnings. He always wanted to raise hydroponic poultry."
"That's weird," The Myrrian babe said.
"Why? Everything at Werth is for sale."
"I was talking about the poultry."
"It's no big deal," I yawned, "They have water wings, and they're genetically engineered so that their eggs have fifty-percent Styrofoam in the shells. They pop to the surface when they get laid. But you didn't come here to discuss things like getting laid, did you? (damn) Have a seat on the couch and tell me what's bothering you. You can leave ol' Roscoe on the desk."
"How did you know his name?" she gasped.
"Kinda hard to miss that tattoo between his eyestalks," I replied as I sat next to her, "so what's bothering you?" She looked at me doubtfully. Then again, after an evening of wrestling with Jose Cuervo, even I wasn't sure who I was.
"I don't know if I should tell you," she said, biting that plump lower lip, "Are you really a detective?"
"I noticed the tattoo, right?" I yawned, "I'm a detective. So what's the problem, Miz-"
"It's 'Mrs.', and it's about my husband," she said as she leaned back and crossed her long, shapely legs.
"Is he running around on you?" I asked as I massaged my hand. Damn again, I thought. Now I'd have to come up with yet another story for the emergency room why my fingers were dislocated again. At least it wasn't my sunglasses, like with the last client.
"Not likely," she replied with an unladylike snort, "That's him on the desk. Or what's left of him."
"I was going to say that I don't do divorce cases," I mused as I looked over at the gray, slimy, head, "but I see you beat me to it."
"I didn't kill him, Rod!" she pouted prettily, her glossed lower lip quivering as she leaned toward me, "I found him that way in his office this evening. May I call you 'Rod'?" I wasn't moved by her antics. All Myrrians females can do that lip-thing when they want to.
"It's 'Ron', but you can call me Hagbard Celine for all I care, Angel." I smirked, "Just don't call me a sucker. Well, maybe for swell-looking dames who are no good. So who did your late husband piss off?"
The newly-minted widow frowned prettily and tapped a manicured claw against her pouting lip. I waited patiently, smelling her perfume and watching what was left of Roscoe ooze over my desk and onto the floor. The cleaning bill was going to be a bitch this month.
"I'm not trying to stall," she said, "It's just that there's so many people he knew that it's hard to figure out."
"What did Roscoe do for a living?" I asked, trying to keep her from overtaxing her brain.
"Oh, that's easy. He was an attorney." A Morlock lawyer. Why I wasn't I surprised?
"Criminal?"
'Oh, no!" Her eyes got even bigger, if that was possible, "He was very ethical."
"I mean," I said gently, "did he handle criminal cases?"
"No…" she frowned again, "He dealt with estates and wills. Stuff like that."
"Ah. Probate."
"No!" she slapped me across the face,"Roscoe wasn't on probation! I told you he was clean! But I don't want to talk about him."
"Okay, Angel," I sighed as I took out my handkerchief. Great - a fat lip to go with the hangover, This broad was an MU short of a full load. "So we aren't talking about your late husband. What do you want to talk about?"
The widow stood up and went over to my desk. She picked the head, jammed a delicate paw in, and rummaged around inside it. What little food was in my stomach began frantically trying to find an exit. Finally she gave a little cry of triumph and pulled her now-dripping paw out.
"This," she said as she held up what looked like a piece of glass.
"What's it doing inside his head?" I asked. She gave me a look like I was an idiot.
"Well, I had to put it someplace, Rod." She tried to hand it to me. I shook my head.
"I told you, the name is Ron. And the sink is over there in the corner, sister." She curled a pretty upper lip at me, then tip-tapped over to the basin and washed the object.
"Here, Mister Squeamish," she said as she tossed it to me. I caught it and rolled it between my fingers. It was an egg-shaped crystal, pale blue in color. I held it up to the dirty pane of my office window,
"Pretty," I observed as it twinkled in the light from the next-door diner, "Did Roscoe die because of this?"
"Yeah," the Myrrian broad replied flatly as she perched on the corner of the desk and crossed those marvelous legs, "Him, and others, from what I was told. I forget the exact total. It was in the hundreds."
"Don't strain yourself, Angel. What is it? Something like the Hope diamond?"
"Something like that," she gave me a tight, knowing smile. "But it's far better than that chunk of carbon. This one is special. Put it against your forehead."
"Uh, uh, Angel," I said, " I may not be a genius, but I do have a well-developed sense of preservation. Comes from being shot at a lot."
"Come on, you big baby," she frowned at me, "It doesn't bite or suck out your brains or anything. Try it. I did, and I'm okay." I opened my mouth, but then I decided I didn't want another fat lip. So I gingerly placed the crystal against my still-throbbing forehead, and gasped.
A vision unfolded in front of me. It was BSE as I had never seen it. Thousands upon thousands of ships were running between the stars. Colony starports bustled with people and trade-goods were flowing everywhere.
In my mind's eye, I saw breath-taking technology. Beings, bot human and alien, including a few types I'd never seen before, made their noble way across the stars, performing great feats in battle, in trade, in exploring. Huge powerful alliances rose and fell. Races climbed out of their crude dwellings and raced toward the stars. Everything seemed to be done with great enthusiasm, and great joy.
It was too much.
Somehow I managed to pull the crystal away from my head. I sat there, breathing hard and sweat pouring off me. I watched as she took the crystal from my unresisting hand and placed it against her forehead. Her face took on a an intense expression. Then she dropped it on the floor and joined me on the couch.
* * * * *
I woke up with the sunlight streaming through the blinds and giving me a an insistent wake-up call against my eyelids. She was over at the sink, once again dressed and giving herself a final preening in the mirror.
"You're going to need some fresh towels," she said.
"Yeah, I'll call the maid as soon as I get up," I replied as I rolled myself into a sitting position. The crystal was lying there on the floor where she had dropped it. I picked it up and rested it in the palm of my hand.
"It's really something, isn't it?" she said softly.
"Yeah," I mumbled as I handed the crystal to her, "What the hell is it?"
"Some sort of alien device. The guy who gave it to my husband for safekeeping called it 'The Ghods' Eye'. Good thing he gave it to Roscoe - he got squashed by a flitter just after he left my husband's office."
"Talk about bad luck. But what is it?" I insisted.
"I dunno," the Myrrian babe replied, "It's old though. Roscoe said it either showed the past, or what could be. He leaned more toward the 'could be' part. Then again, Roscoe was always a dreamer."
I rubbed my eyes and wondered if I had the strength to get up off the couch. Somehow I willed my legs to stand up, and dressed myself as best I could.
"So what should I do with it, Mister DuLay?" her sweet voice penetrated the fog surrounding me as I lurched toward my desk.
"Bury it along with your husband," I growled as I scrabbled for the top right-hand drawer for the office bottle, "or what's left of him." I unscrewed the cap. Roscoe's head stared balefully at me. He didn't look any better in the morning light.
"Why?" she asked, lower lip quivering again as she stood at the corner of my desk. "It's valuable, isn't it?"
"Oh yeah, it's valuable," I wiped my mouth, "It's pretty and shiny and magical and all that. Obviously it's one hell of an aphrodisiac. But I'd rather french-kiss a Samillian grub than use it again." I raised the bottle in a toast to Roscoe and took a healthy pull. Slug-boy didn't seem impressed by the gesture.
"I don't understand," the widow said.
"Look," I said as I raised the bottle again, "How many have died over that. Hundreds? For what- a vision? If it shows the past, what good is that? There's plenty of old-timers around blathering about the 'good old days'. Jump on the List if you think I'm kidding. Those days are dead and gone, Angel, and they aren't coming back." I raised the bottle to my lips then wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
"Or," I continued, "say it's the future. It's a nice future, I'll give you that. But it isn't real. You just can't rub that thing and wish for all that glory. The only way it's gonna happen is if people do it themselves. They gotta put aside their egos, their short-sightedness, their appetite for the quick victory. And they when they find out they have to do it the hard way, they give up. They quit." I took a final pull on the bottle, then offered it to her. She refused; her loss.
"If people get hold of that… thing," I told her, "they'll fall all over it. It'll be like a new religion. Success for no effort. But it's all a fantasy. And it'll be a catastrophe when it doesn't come to pass. I don't think BSE could last through another exodus."
She just stood there on those fabulous legs, the stone clutched in her paw, her eyes wet. She was a nice-looking package, a golden-furred dream. Any other time I'd have tried again to comfort the widow. But she was dangerous and that stone she had was even more deadly. Eve with the apple, I thought, Pandora with a crystal box.
"Angel," I said quietly, "If you want to be kind to Known Space, you'll find out if that rock will withstand the blast of a thrust engine, or rent a ship and throw it into a sun. Better that folks deal with the reality they have, and realize they have work at making BSE a better place, than to get hung up on someone's or something's promise."
She didn't say anything as she stuck the crystal in her bag. I took the desk blotter and wrapped it around what was left of Roscoe, stuck it in a trash bag from my wastepaper basket, and handed it to her.
"No charge for the visit," I told her gently, "Good luck, Mrs. Roscoe."
"No, you had it right the first time," she said with a sad sweet smile, "It's Angel. Good luck to you, Mister DuLay." And with that, she tip-tapped out the door.
I sat there listening to the click of her heels as they faded down the hall. I could hear the starport coming to life as another workday began at Werth. Time for me to do likewise.
I tossed the empty bottle into the wastebasket and picked up the comm-set. I was calling a friend who worked for a larger and more profitable detective agency. Maybe he had a job I could sub-contract for. Something good and exhilarating to replace the vision that wouldn't leave my mind. Something to wash away the cruddy feeling I had for sending her off like that to deal with a problem she had no business being in.
Hell, I'd even settle for a divorce case.
It's two a.m., the fear has gone... I'm sitting here waitin', the gun is still warm... Amazing what happens when you leave the office unattended for six months. Somebody mentioned that the reason it's soooo slooooow is that "they're all waiting". Waiting for what? I got more work than I can shake a blender at. Speaking of shaking - I mentioned the brothel, right? Man, I've got to take a real vacation. Staring at GPI readings is wearing me out!
Rumor and Innuendo
by Kinki DeWins
* Look for several governments to change rulers in the next few months.
* TAMaLe, the neo-Trotsky group, is reportedly " only months away" from beginning a "spirited campaign of liberation" in WCE space.
* Guess who's found the back door to USA space? Somebody has, but they aren't talking...
* Technology springs eternal: several dozen Feasibility Studies were found under a "months-old" pizza box.
* Overheard: note to a certain affiliation: it's not nice to not hold up your end of a bargain...
* Two more races are going to pop their heads - for lack of a better word - in the next six months.
That about covers it. Time for me to look at some more GPIs and then work on the CPT. Not like that's not an exercise in futility - I still haven't seen the last friggin' one in print yet. See ya in a couple of months and hopefully it'll be busier then. Adios!
Ads & Stuff
Additions and updates, e-mail [email protected]. Put it to Father Larry's attention (we're really trying to keep him busy).
Looking for the RIP/IND ship Graf Zepplin (1907). A cargo ship, no weapons. Very interested in its intact capture/delivery to me.Sizable reward offered. I really, really do not want this ship destroyed - Lady Yves Latone Thunder, KZK Thunder Hive
SMS New Comte(1620) is on Dogleg, the center of it all. If there is something you want that is not on the market let me know, maybe I can get it for you, maybe not. LBCMs will be added soon. Low on stellars? Barter is available. Do NOT land without permission. Use Highport for market transactions. - Lord Tiberius Croft
Merchant E is now available at AFT Benden Weyr (3686) on moon Pikoil , space square 1548 in Adamon (42) system in the Capellan Periphery. Contact this office [shazzola at juno.com] for fees, PA's and other arrangements. Desired items for exchange are: Fissionables (reg & cond), Fossil Fuels (reg & cond), Korondite, Stellars and morale boosting materials in no particular order of importance.In the event the prophecies bear reality, best to get your upgrade today to get the max benefit from the upgrade. - Trader Jess Wong
New Location, Same Great Service! Please be sure to visit IND Alippon (1399) in the Gateway Nebula. Used ship market being updated, but ask us anyway. Entry and exit keys available - Lord Justin Jacine, IND Alippon
IND Werth is the best Free and Open port in BSE. Shop 'till you drop. Party 'till you drop! Sleep it off in any of our thousands of hotel rooms. Werth is the playground of the filthy rich and infamous. And never, ever a cover charge.
The MYR Want Your Business!! Myrrians are still building and selling Myrships (10-10-10) and Myrchant ships (1-30-2). Both these designs have the 100 mu/hull shift and are Nexus and Draconian Cluster friendly. Licenses available, as well as other items for sale and barter. - Der Laul, for the MYR.
The Kastorian Sovereignty is looking for starcaptains interested in hauling cargo between Capellan and/or Trian, and Boomer system. Please contact Lord Zalesa privately with your rates.
BSE on the Internet
The following are affiliation and special-interest sites for BSE. Additions and updates, e-mail [email protected]. Put it to Father Larry's attention (it gives him something to do).
The Foelians (FOE) The GTT Page
[OOC: A site for players who think aliens shouldn't be humans in funny costumes: How To Design An Alien ]
The Ringbone Gazette would like to thank:
Mystic Pizza II, North Stonington CT
Royal Diner, New London CT
Clan O' the Rock
Two boxes of cheap wine and the E! channel for maintaining my sense of humor...
