by Steve M
“My Battle. No. My Rise. No. The Rise and Fall of the Cult of Allor. Definitely not.” Finally the answer arrived.
“My Struggle.”
Koven did not include this in his first report that he submitted later that night. He should have.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“His wife is missing,” said Professor Longley, seated at the head of the table again. Today his white robe had ugly orange piping around it. The cloth rope around his robe was cinched tight, and his progress towards an ever-expanding waist was evident.
Q: Why do elders all love robes?
A: Because they are all fat pigs. (Overheard in an elevator full of historians who enjoyed it immensely—well, most of them, anyway…but there’s always the one, someone that takes offense and ruins it for everyone.)
“More confirmation that he is on the run,” replied Professor Misers Plunk in support of his boss, because that is what was expected of him.
Your boss says something, you agree. Sometimes you agree then restate the same thing in your own words, thereby convincing yourself that you have some ownership. But you don’t.
“No parrot ever owned a pirate ship.” —The Final McGee.
Many heads around the long table nodded in agreement. All except for Professor Puri. Piedmont Puri nodded because he was falling asleep. And at his age it was understandable. He would be awoken by others if they needed his opinion. Or needed his vote. And Professor Puri would usually vote in favor of the ideas presented by the Department Head with only rare exceptions, and never would he vote against the wishes of Professor Longley when stirred from a very nice nap that he wished to continue. Because then Longley would talk to him until he was fully awake, and this would make Professor Puri very pissed off.
“What about the lab inventory?” asked Professor Wingut.
“That does not look good,” replied Professor Plunk. He looked for the right slide in his presentation for almost an entire tox before giving up after a prompt from Longley of “just tell us Misers.”
“Items are missing. Items that are hard to recreate outside of the university but vital to replication of his experiment. He chose carefully.”
“What about his psych profile?” asked Professor Fitzcaraldo. Fitz had been seen talking to Professor Lister from the Sociology Department yesterday. Seems Fitz tried to kiss Professor Lister’s daughter and Lister was damned mad about it.
“The wounded intellectual was the consensus of the profilers,” Longley said. “Personally, I’ve met the man and found him to be arrogant and insufferable. But I was only around him for a few tox, and he was the speaker at the event.”
“So how did he get wounded?” asked Fitzcaraldo.
“His first significant discovery was ignored by his peers and branded as outrageous fakery, a stunt to gain attention. It wasn’t until Pumly and Ortega accidentally confirmed his findings while testing something entirely different that he was finally removed from academic review and all talk of revoking his Ph.D. was finally silenced. But you need to know he spent over two kilorevs being shunned and an outcast from his peers. His first major award and his performance at the ceremony should have been a clue. But everyone just brushed it off and said that he was ‘slow to forgive.’ Indeed, the consensus was correct.”
“But there is some hope,” interjected Professor Plunk. “Tell them.” Plunk began to move the slides in the presentation forward. The pretty Holocaster image flipped through the charts with her finger.
“OK. I was going to wait so we could end the meeting on a positive note, but you all know how Misers can be sometimes. Can’t hold a secret for any reason.”
“What is it?” asked Wingut, slightly impatiently.
“One of the items taken from Klept’s lab contains a manufactured rare metal. Something only made in the lab. And it is programmable.”
“Mining scans?” asked Fitz.
“Precisely,” said Longley.
“How long will it take them to set up the scanner for the new metal?” asked Wingut.
“Already done,” said Longley.
“So how long before they can start scanning planets?” asked Wingut.
“Within the next one hundred tox,” said Longley. He smiled as he looked at the Elders.
“This is good news,” said Professor Plunk in an attempt to reinforce his boss.
“They know this,” said Longley politely to Plunk seated beside him. He spoke like a parent to a child, or perhaps like a person to a pet would be more accurate.
“That should finally shut up the Sociology Department,” said Fitzcaraldo to the howling laughter from everyone. Most laughed because it was true. Some laughed because it was true and was said by someone they suspected of being a collaborator. Even historians can appreciate irony. As the group laughter trailed off, Plunk raised his hand to speak.
“Don’t forget we need your nominations for your two agents. We need them within the next ten revs,” he said with a whiny tone that made the letter N sound more of a criminal event than a letter. Plunk also had a problem with the letters S and L also. He sounded practically deviant when pronouncing slowly, like someone best avoided after dark. He could have run the remedium and fixed his slight speech impediment, but he didn’t. Plunk was a subscriber to the philosophy of uniqueness through defect. Everyone else knew it for the compromise it was. But not Plunk and a large slice of humanity of a certain age.
The age of pseudo-individuals. Disciples of Constantine Serpentus, the former football player that used a club foot to lead Paraguay to an appearance in the final of the World Cup. (Soccer—yes, soccer assholes…and don’t think I don’t know who you are and where you live (approximately down to the large blob on an atlas.))
Constantine Serpentus led his heroic Paraguayan team to the worst loss in World Cup history. The Italian team that had reached the final only in the last tox of their match against England (and Wales…but not Scotland, not ever Scotland, ya hear me!) scored seventeen points against the Paraguayans. Constantine Serpentus and his heroic team scored twice—well, three times if you consider the own goal in the seventeenth minute that the Italian team scored. But that’s not the point, and now I’ve forgotten what was. Oh right.
Constantine scored the first goal after only twenty-six tix of match play. Due to his club foot he was not very mobile. Well, in truth, he was quite stationary. But if he got the ball and he got a few tix to eye the goal, there was no place on the field that Constantine could not score from. He had bested Mexico with a goal kicked from just in front of his own goal.
So when the opening pass went to Constantine, only a few maatars from center field, it only took him twenty-four tix before he was ready. Now, football is a nice, polite game. Its been called a gentlemen’s sport, but I don’t think of it that way. More like a bunch of kids with a ball having an awfully good time and trying not to get hurt so their parents won’t be cross with them.
But after that first score, one of the Italian players, Marcos Cicerono, knocked down Constantine when he got the ball the next time. Marcos would have been there to knock him down again the next time Constantine got the ball, except that Cicerono had left the field to have a cigarette and have his picture taken with some very pretty girls. So Constantine scored a second time. After that, though, it was a shutout as Marcos came back on the field and managed to knock down Constantine every time he got the ball for the rest of the match.
But there is a point to this, I swear, or more accurately hope. Constantine became the darling of the media. He talked about his club foot and how it made him the man he was. It served as his “pathway to greatness” (copyright 2081, all rights reserved, Constantine Ltd.). And with his story came a philosophy of “greatness by uniqueness.” And it was a philosophy that sold people on the idea that being different was the most important thing.
Some say it came from the ancient Earth phrase “special snowflake.” “Shout Your Uniqueness” was the name of the first billion-selling seminar that Constan
tine taught all over the solar system. Fabulously wealthy from it is what he got. “More Money Than God” was his follow-up billion-selling seminar (obviously in a time before we put an end to all of that god stuff).
Consequently, people spent less at the geneticists and several geneticist chains went into bankruptcy. Human defects skyrocketed as they all strived to give their children that one defect that would get them noticed more at work, give them an advantage in conversation, get them more sympathetic exam results.
So Misers Plunk thought of his defects as “individuanators” (his term not mine, FFS) and cherished them.
So embrace your uniqueness through defect because it’s a hell of a lot easier than thinking up something new.
“You are not allowed to repeat your nominations. I repeat this especially for you, Professors Wingut, Hempel, Abhul,” Plunk added.
Every one hundred revs each of the Elders are required to nominate two agents from missions they have sponsored to be put forward for agent of the latest 500 Rev Cycle, a very prestigious award for exactly 499 revs. In addition to this, Elders personally administer the relicensing examination. You remember this, the questions that start with “Have you lied since your last licensing examination?” Yep, that’s the one.
It’s all the result of a bit of work commissioned by Professor Longley a long time ago, after attending a seminar hosted by the Management Department of the Business School. In the seminar he was exposed to the latest management thinking on how to motivate a highly trained and highly professional work force and inspire them to even higher performance. He came back with a head full of new ideas and a penchant to spend some of the History department’s budget on management consulting from the Department of Management.
Three hundred and four revs later and they got their final report. An Agent of the Latest 500 Rev Cycle Award was a revolutionary idea. These sorts of things had never been done at such a low level of an organization in a very, very long time. It would almost be like having a Custodial Staff Member of The Latest XXX Rev Cycle Award. Most people recognized that awards are best suited for levels of an organization that have the capacity for adequate funding for a really good party and choices in catering.
“I apologize for the revly meetings. But until Klept is found, dead or alive, we need the best minds informed and thinking,” Longley said.
“Informed and thinking,” repeated Plunk. “One last thing,” added Plunk. “Please make plans for the 500 Rev Retreat. This time we are going to the polar ice cap and we’ll be staying in ancient buildings made from ice and snow. This will require you to pack correctly. So start thinking about it now.”
“I think we are done here,” said Professor Longley.
“We’re done here,” repeated Plunk.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Koven stood in his quarters on the cruiser and started the message.
It was a priority one message from Professor Wingut. This was another first for Koven. He’d never gotten a priority one message before.
But then most of his missions were crap missions. Go find this person and tell them this. That mostly. And it was mostly to kids. Koven wondered if anyone ever measured the amount of trauma he caused some of those kids. How would you like it if some grown-up appeared out of nowhere and told you that if you ever study human pathogens you will kill billions of human by mistake. Imagine telling that to an eight-year-old.
Koven was once required to tell a six-year-old child that if he worked on personal transport device technology that his parents would die. Along with him, in a gruesome accident. Yes, most of his missions were crap.
He did get to give someone a secret once. It was a math formula. Some sort of faster optimization method. But mostly just giving warnings, that sort of crap.
Koven stood stiffly in his quarters for a moment before he realized it and sat down on a chair. He started the message from Professor Wingut and his image began to move.
“Greetings, Koven Modi. Good to speak to you again. I got your report. Good thorough work. Thank you.”
Professor Wingut moved closer to the camera.
“Koven, we’re stretched as thin as a molecule right now. Almost everybody is out looking for Klept. We’re all trying to stop him from collapsing us early. And that means we’re got no teams to support you. I’ve got nobody. They won’t even let me send out people from the bench. I would send Larn, but Longley won’t let me.
“So let me get to the point. I need you to get all of our tech back from Earth 7. Bring it back or destroy it, those are your options. And we need you to do it before the next regular department meeting. We’re doing revly meetings right now, but that’s only because of the crisis. We’ll still have our regular meetings, and that’s what you must not exceed. Remember Earth 4.”
Let me tell you quickly about Earth 4. A not-so-good biologist with allergies on Earth 4 had created a virus to destroy the biggest trigger for his allergies, cats. His virus would destroy all cats on Earth 4 within six weeks. But unknown to him, the virus he had created was highly adaptable and had already begun to mutate into a form that could be transferable to humans, fortunately not a trigger for the biologist’s allergies. Despite this, humans began to perish also, just on a slightly longer timeline.
The History Department became aware of the circumstances. It was discussed at length among the council in attendance, and while there was no vote, it appeared there was consensus to intervene, and quickly. That is how everyone thought it would resolve when they went on their end-of-semester holidays.
When their holiday term was over, many professors were surprised to find that no intervention had happened. Officially, there was no request for a quorum vote, so there was no authorized action. Longley refuses to answer any questions.
But here is some background information: Earth 4 was a bit of prime real estate. An existing planet, inhabitable, and with limited human abuse to date. These command a premium price from property developers. We’re talking billions. Long story short, Longley let the virus destroy all the humans and the cats and then sold the planet to a property-development firm and put the billions into the departmental budget. Enough to power the department for a very long time. He made the History Department at the University on Centrum Kath one of the wealthiest organizations in the galaxy, as well as the largest repository of knowledge in the known universe.
Wingut wanted Koven to know that planetary repopulation as done on Earth 4 was a possibility, even if remote.
“They might just choose to wipe everyone again,” said Wingut.
By wiping he meant every human memory on Earth 7. They would all wake up like their ancestors, no memory of anything, not even language. Re-stone aged. The famine begins the next day.
“If you can get it all back before the meeting, I can argue to let it go. No consequences. But you’ve got to be successful, without exception.
“Good luck, Koven, even though we know it’s not about luck. Strong skills, young man.”
Koven felt himself breathing faster. He knew the fear that was coming next. He would soon be a prisoner of it again. The edge of the water, the leeches, his drowning brother. He tried to steady his breathing but failed. The attack lasted for nearly ten toxs. He was beside the lake again, frozen while his brother died. But even the panic can die just like a brother. And eventually the grip loosened and he could slowly feel himself starting to relax.
When he had recovered, he called the Ops Commander, Prontu Beyes.
“What do you want, shit stain?” asked Koven’s favorite Non. Prontu had been in the engineering department when he won a scholarship to study Operations Management in the History Department. It was called a scholarship, but it was really just a way of getting thousands of people to play an aptitude game and then recruiting the winner.
“I got a message from Wingut that I am to retrieve all of the technology,” Koven replied.
“Or destroy. You forgot that part,” replied Prontu.
“You’ve alre
ady seen the message?”
“Yes. Before you even saw it,” Prontu said.
“But I think he’s made a mistake. I’m not the man for the job.”
“Thank Klept for that, because now you are,” replied Prontu.
“But Pron…” said Koven in a whiny voice.
“Don’t start your ‘but Pron’ crap with me again. I can’t help you skate through this one, Ko. I told you this would happen. It happens to every agent. You all think you can find the safe seam in the work. And I’ve told every damned one of you that there is NO SAFE SEAM. In the end you meet your enemy in the mirror and you must overcome him.”
“But we don’t even have the recommended number to proceed,” Koven pleaded.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ko. Be thankful for the Agreement of Historians.”
The Agreement of Historians is an important agreement reached several thousand revs ago. The basis is this: that if someone is going to have the most dangerous job in the galaxy, then there is the distinct possibility they might die while doing their job. And if they have been doing nothing but missions and projects, then when they die they won’t have lived much of a life. If it is true that a person’s life flashes before them when they are about to die, then these poor slobs will only be seeing scenes from work mostly. This occurred to some agents who decided that this was not fair to them. And they figured it out just as the graduate students were complaining that they were tired of spending their weekend grading papers for the fat, lazy professors, whose ranks they one day wished to join. An alliance was formed.
As a result of the Agreement of Historians, they get weekends off when they are not on a mission and one rev every ten revs even if they are on a mission. Nothing is that important that it can’t wait for a historian to have a bit of their life back. The strike went on for twenty-six revs before the department finally caved in to the demands.
So while Koven would be risking his life trying to get back (or destroy) the technology from Earth 7, at least every ten days he would get a day off, so he wouldn’t have to die with insufficient social memories.
