The VMR Theory (v1.1)

by Robert Frezza

  So saying, he leaped forward, and even my untutored eye saw Catarina’s mistake; she was holding her shield too low, wide open for a downward stroke.

  “Catarina, no!” I shouted just as Xhia’s light-saber came over his head and began descending, only to intersect with a fire sprinkler that Catarina had thoughtfully stationed herself a meter or so behind.

  When the retardant chemicals connected with Xhia’s saber, it was like they always say on TV—children, do not attempt this at home. Xhia’s blade shorted itself out in a moderately spectacular fashion as Xhia himself became the center of a mounting pile of white foam.

  Catarina grinned and flicked off her light-saber.

  “We’re on TV. No puns about ice cream,” I told her severely.

  She nodded. “Xhia, can we agree that you lost?”

  Xhia wiped some of the foam out of his eyes before it hardened and stared at the two of us. “You have one hour, after which my ships will hunt you down t’roughout tee whole of time and space.” Then he told his honor guard to work him free before he adhered to the floor.

  I shut my eyes, knowing what was about to come next.

  In a clear voice Catarina explained to the viewing public on Alt Bauernhof that moving Xhia under the fire sprinkler was her plan from the beginning. “That’s my story,” she told them, “and I’m sticking to it.”

  There really ought to be a law about this sort of thing.

  Six members of Xhia’s honor guard placed him on a stretcher and carried him back to the airlock. After the camera crews did a final wrap, I grabbed the medical kit from Bunkie and went over to check Catarina’s leg. Then I remembered about Gwen. “Oh, Gwen, I hope you brought your things.”

  Gwen smiled and stole a quick glance at her sapphire-studded watch. “Oh, I really wish I could stay, but I’ve got work to do, and rime is money, you know. See you! It’s been real!”

  I looked at her in disbelief. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  “Back to the ship there. I’m under contract, you know.” She winked. “You always did have trouble remembering things.”

  Catarina and I exchanged looks. “Wait!” I shook my head violently. “You can’t go back there! Xhia promised to execute you if I didn’t surrender.”

  “Oh, Ken.” She came over and pecked at my cheek, with one eye on Catarina, which was a very good move because Catarina was still holding her light-saber. “Xhia and I had a good laugh over that. You’re so cute when you’re trusting. Why, if they executed me, the association would blacklist them.” She shook her head. “You talk about a major image problem with no cure in sight.”

  “But Xhia said—”

  “Nice man, but no actor. I just hate having to work with nonprofessionals.” Gwen shook her head ruefully. “I practically had to hold the cue cards under his nose, and his delivery was so flat. I can’t believe you fell for it. When Lord Fowl explained the problem and offered me a three-year exclusive deal, I said I’d give it my best shot, but knowing how stubborn you are, I told him that I didn’t hold out much hope.”

  Bunkie gently took the burn ointment from my nerveless hand and finished dressing Catarina’s cut as I sat back on my haunches, completely dumbfounded.

  Gwen stroked my chin. “You know how these things go. Well, got to get back! I have a campaign to run, and they tell me that if you succeed in whatever it is you’re doing, there’ll be some major bad press to counteract. I wish we had some time to be together, but you know how that goes.” The rest of Xhia’s honor guard followed her to the airlock.

  “It’s little intimate moments like these that remind me what life was like when I was married.” I looked away. “Right now, it would be nice if the ground swallowed me up. Of course, that’s pretty hard to arrange aboard a spaceship. I always hate to try to defend Gwen, but I think that underneath her shallow, amoral exterior is a very different human being.”

  “Probably Snow White’s stepmother.” Catarina rubbed her leg and smiled sweetly. “Ken, aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Oh! Yes!” I tapped the intercom. “Rosalee, get us out of here!”

  Rosalee said, “We’re on our way,” and another voice said, “Roger, wilco that, captain, sir!”

  I looked at Catarina in utter horror. “The main computer was pretty well fried, so we had to improvise,” she said calmly. “Swervin’ Irvin was the closest thing we could find to a backup.” I was now captain of a pilfered battle cruiser being navigated by Swervin’ Irvin. Some days, I just don’t live right.

  The Thrilling Spaceship Chase Scene, or HMS Punafore

  We passed through our black hole and headed for Confederation space, with Xhia’s warfleet hot on our vapor trail, although we gained a slight lead during the transition.

  Even apart from the absence of armament, the Snark had a number of major deficiencies. By the second day I decided that hell is going to have millions of women and only one working bathroom. To make matters worse, the dockyard crews hadn’t gotten around to installing dryers. By the time we ran out of quarters for the washers, we had frilly things hanging from improvised clotheslines all over the ship. I decreed an end to the practice. Catarina, of course, explained that we’d reached the end of our rope.

  Minnie, Mickey, Bunkie, and Clyde helped Blok with system repairs, leaving Catarina, Wyma Jean, Rosalee, and me to split the watch schedule, although Catarina made me rest up for a few days before she allowed me to certify myself as fit for duty. Trixie came up to keep me company during my first watch.

  “Hello, Trixie.” I paused to double check the unfamiliar displays. “Would you like to pull up a seat and join me?”

  She sat in the copilot’s chair. “Do you promise not to utter speeches about women’s reproductive rights?”

  “Right. What are Muffy and her friends doing these days?”

  “Miss Spooner is telling t’em about men.”

  My hand twitched, so that I nearly spilled my cocoa. “Will we reach Confederation space?” she asked quietly. “Our chances are pretty good if nothing else breaks. We emerged from our jump point with a four-hour lead, and Xhia’s ships don’t appear to be closing the gap.” I pointed to the display. “We’re approaching Brasilia Nuevo. Most of our sensors are down, but you can see Confederation warships scrambling into formation except for one fast patrol craft coming out to meet us. As soon as we get close, we’ll tell them who we are, and Xhia will have to break off or start the war here and now.”

  “Is MisS Lindquist still mad at you for risking tee safety of tee Confederation to rescue your ex-wife, who you don’t even like?”

  “No.”

  “Is a lie anyt’ing like bearing false witness?”

  I thought for a moment. “Trixie, normal social interaction around here is becoming difficult. Is there some way to arrange things so that you can’t read my mind?”

  She patted my good arm. “Alt’ough it is an arduous task, it is possible for a nontelepathic person to develop a mind block.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “First, you must empty your mind and focus your awareness on tee oneness of all in tee universe, turning away from t’inking to nont’inking to achieve a blankness of purpose.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Pretend you’re watching TV.”

  We worked on it for two or three hours. Swervin’ Irvin had a complete tape library of shows he enjoyed watching, which was a big help. Daytime soaps were okay, and so were old sitcoms. After a little practice, whistling a theme song was enough to make me one with the universe and mentally opaque, although I walked into several bulkheads practicing my technique. With Harry and Wyma Jean publicly feuding, Muffy’s feminists practicing close order drill in the corridors, and me bumping into objects singing “a skipper brave and sure,” Clyde very sensibly spent his free time locked in his cabin writing verse.

  Of course, with the peace of the galaxy threatened and the Macdonalds out for our blood, the next thing on my ‘ agenda was st
raightening out Harry’s love life before he drove the rest of us crazy.

  “Harry?” I knocked on his door. “It’s me, Ken. Can I come in?” He was in his bunk watching a movie. The Macdonalds hadn’t gotten around to installing chairs in the cabins, so I sat on the deck. “Is this one any good?”

  “It’s about this plot to assassinate the president of the United States. See, he’s running for reelection, but he’s been slipping in the polls, so his wife, Courtney, pays the Arabs to bump him off so she can get elected on a sympathy vote.”

  The woman in a negligee on the screen didn’t look like any president’s wife I’d ever seen. “Is that her?”

  Harry waved a hand in a gesture of scorn. “That’s his mistress, who is a Secret Service agent.” He held his finger to his lips. “Quiet! We’re coming to the best part.”

  “Jeff,” the actress was saying, “we found out who’s behind this. It’s Courtney, Jeff!”

  “ ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ “ Harry and the actor playing the president said in unison, “ ‘the bitch set me up.’ “ Harry nudged me. “Is this movie great, or what?” A few seconds later he asked, “What’s that song you’re whistling?”

  We sat through the climactic chase scene where Courtney disembowels herself with a nuclear hand grenade beside the Reflecting Pool, and I shook my head. “I don’t know, Harry, this one’s pretty far-fetched.” Harry nodded. “Yeah, I know. Imagine a real president owning a cat.” He waggled a finger at me. “You know, Ken, I’ve been thinking. We ought to start planning for the future.”

  “We have a future?”

  “Cruise ships!” He smacked his fist against the palm of his hand. “That’s where the money is. All those rich, young widows! You know, when I was living on Schuyler’s World, I used to plan a lot.”

  I felt my stomach turn over a new leaf. The problem with trying to be the village idiot on Schuyler’s World is the tremendous competition for the position. “What brought this on?”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “I think I’m suffering from low self-esteem. Either that, or maybe hepatitis.”

  I thought of several words that begin with the fourth and sixth letters of the alphabet. The person who invented medical self-diagnostic programs for home computers should be shot. “Oh?”

  “Well, you know, I broke up with Wyma Jean. You never should have given her that little wriggler to babysit. She says she wants to have a baby. My baby. So I had to break up with her. I guess that means that it’s your fault.”

  “Harry, there are ways for you to avoid getting her pregnant.”

  Harry thrust his hands into the traditional lotus position. “No way.”

  “Some of them don’t involve invasive surgery.”

  “Nope!”

  “I see. Well, did you want to break up with her?”

  “Well, no. I mean, she’s like everything I want in a woman. She’s got blonde hair, and we have all these things in common, like Chinese food and Mexican food. Are you listening?”

  “Oh, sure. Ah, where does Muffy fit into this?”

  Harry appeared mortified. “Did you know that she speaks English?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I can’t get her to stop. Ken, you’ve got to do something to help me patch things up with Wyma Jean.”

  “Are you sure that you want to be back with her?”

  “Ken, you know that a space sailor is supposed to have a woman in every port, right?”

  “Yes, some people think that’s true.”

  “Well, gosh darn it, Ken! You know what kind of ports we visit!”

  “Well, yes.”

  “With the kind of women you find in those ports, it takes a pretty strong stomach, let me tell you. It’s different for you. You being a vamp and all, nobody thinks twice when you don’t go chasing after skirts, but for the rest of us it’s heil.” He hung his head. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for it. You got to do something to get Wyma Jean to forgive me, Ken.”

  I gave up. “All right. Come on. I’ll see what I can do.” Harry pumped my hand enthusiastically. “Thanks, Ken.” Harry in tow, I made my weary way to Wyma Jean’s cabin and knocked on the door. “Wyma Jean?”

  “Stick it in your ear, you two-timing lump of lard!”

  “It’s me, Ken. Your captain.”

  “What?” She opened the door. “Oh. Hello, Ken.”

  I pushed Harry inside and sat him down. “I just spoke to Harry. He’s pretty broken up about breaking up with you.”

  Wyma Jean ignored Harry’s presence. “What Harry needs to learn is that love is an eternal and unconditional commitment to life’s higher purpose. People are mirrors for each other. When a person recognizes that light in another human being, it awakens love. When the mirror of your soul reflects the love in me, then I see the love in you. And that’s what love is—the glimpses of the love inside each of us. With Harry, it came down to fear of intimacy. I can support a person who is awakening and going for his or her aliveness. But if one person is ready to grow and the other isn’t, then a person has to follow her own path. There is a time to let go, and sometimes that jolt is what it takes to awaken a person who refuses to grow to his higher power. I lost my sense of trust. For me, the fabric woven in light has come unraveled, and now it’s a matter of weaving a new fabric. The blessing is that this has made me grow tremendously, and Harry, too, I think. We have both discovered a deeper relationship with the beloved aspect within. The energy is there, within me. It’s awakened and growing. It’s important to keep that energy alive.”

  “What’s that mean in English?”

  “Tell that bastard to rot in hell forever.”

  “He’s really sorry.” I looked at Harry. “Aren’t you, Harry?”

  “Mmm, yes.”

  “He’ll never do it again. Right, Harry?”

  “Uh, right.”

  “Wyma Jean, he loves you. Don’t you, Harry?”

  This time there was a slight pause. “Uh, yeah.”

  Wyma Jean looked at him for the first time. “Do you really love me?”

  “Of course I love you, honey-bunny. You sweat less than any other fat girl I know,” Harry said gallantly.

  Wyma Jean squealed and jumped into his arms. On the Scupper that would have necessitated a minor course correction, but a battle cruiser has more mass. I discreetly left, closing the door behind me. I’d done a good deed, and besides, if anyone on the Nobel search committee knew Wyma Jean, I had an outside shot at the Peace Prize.

  I went to Catarina’s cabin and knocked on the door. “Catarina, it’s me.”

  “Come on in.” She was curled up, looking peaceful. “What movies haven’t we seen?”

  “Let’s see what Irvin has on file.” She sat up, turned on the entertainment system, and rummaged through the directory. “Ninja Truckdriver III?“

  “Pass.”

  “Here’s something called Dances with Dogs.”

  “What’s it about? It sounds like a geek at a sorority dance.”

  She skimmed the abstract. “Never mind. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. How about Casablanca?“

  I nodded. “Casablanca it is.” I heard the intercom buzz. “What is it?”

  It was Rosalee from the bridge. “Captain, we’re picking up communications from a Confederation ship. You’d better get up here.”

  By the time we reached the bridge, the news had spread, and Catarina and I had to elbow aside some of Muffy’s feminists to reach our seats. Bunkie pointed to the panel. “I’m picking up a very strong signal.”

  “Put it on.”

  A syrupy voice said, “ ‘And tonight’s daily winning lottery number is…’ “

  Bunkie colored. “Sir, why don’t we begin transmitting to the other ship instead.”

  “Good idea.” I thumbed the send button. “Confederation ship, this is Lieutenant Kenneth MacKay, Confederation Naval Reserve, captain of expropriated vessel Hunting Snark. We have a swarm of Macdonald ships after us and information vital to
the survival of the Confederation to pass along to Admiral Crenshaw. Request shelter behind the guns of the fleet.” I rubbed my hands together. “That should do it.”

  “We are saved!” Trixie exclaimed.

  We received an immediate reply. “Attention, unregistered vessel. This is Confederation Entomological Authority Ship Millard B. Tydings, Civil Servant Grade 12 Burgess Peters commanding.”

  Trixie tried again. “We are saved!”

  “You have not been cleared to enter Confederation space. Heave to for inspection of your ship for harmful invertebrate pests.”

  “We are not saved,” Trixie observed sadly.

  The Entomological Authority people were a tough bunch. Among other things, they were the ones who busted Santa Claus for operating a sleigh without proper safety equipment and employing nonunion labor. “How long is this going to take?” I asked.

  There was a slight pause. “Given the size of your ship, no more than twelve to fourteen hours.”

  “Excuse me—if we heave to, the Macdonald ships chasing us are going to catch up and blow us to atoms.” There was another slight pause. “Discharge of weaponry within 3.9 astronomical units of an inhabited planet is a class two felony. Rest assured that if they do, they will be prosecuted with the full rigor of the law.”

  “Very comforting,” Catarina observed.

  “Look, Mr. Peters,” I pleaded, “this is a navy matter. We work for Admiral Crenshaw. Call her.”