Goddess goosed me. Due to the lack of gravity at the Geodes center, I flew 10 meters before smacking my head on the wall of my private shack. I woke up. I got the message, and She filled in the gory details. Crap.
21 Dec 816:
I finally located Reggie and Moira, aka Pops and Rhiannon, posing as bloody Junkers.. Junkers! Transmitted my message from Eris that a great evil threatened Sirius. Typically, Reggie answered Harrumph.. What else is new? So youre coming out of retirement to stir the dookey, and you need a crew to serve it out?!?
23 Dec 816:
Tasked Reggie with rebuilding the Veranda. Church membership has grown, even in my absence. Holliday and the rest have done a marvelous job. PB cant keep up with demand on our Sacrament due to the weak sunlight. Reggie estimates six months before the plantation is up and producing again.
Moira has a capable crew aboard the Veranda.Vixen. Her FO/Chief Pilot is named Bridget, an old friend and employee from Hopes Haven. Tess is an engineer from Livadia, and knows the ZBT-100T inside and out. Gail and Storrm are sisters from Canaria. The Flax is rolling again for our black op.
14 Jan 817:
Finding enough full bull goose crazy crews for this op was more difficult than anticipated; but, the promise of fifty hectares and a mule on Canaria tipped the scales in most cases. Surprisingly, most of the Legionaires have also accepted Eris. Fancy that.
Roster:
Waverly, Reginald, Conference Gunboat Warbucks. (Moira insisted that Reggie get out from under foot while she attended to making sure the Veranda was not just a dope plantation but also a proper home.) Caveat Lecher.
Dorn, George, Beggars.Feast, Conference Gunboat, crew compliment 5 (of course). Geoerge and crew were raiding Bretonian shipping as Freelancers out of Belfast for the halibut when recruited;
(George and crew were actually recruited by another old friend who came in from the cold. Former KNF Taichou Chijin met him on Belfast while on deep cover assignment for the Kempetai/Tokeitai in Newcastle. The Fool adamantly refuses to upgrade his Sampan GB, the Hexagram.23, to something more suitable for the climate here in Gallia);
Flint, Derek, the Domino, Council Perilous Gunboat, crew of three, supplemented with trainees from Verdun. Derek is an ex-LSF agent.. Speaks fluent gobbledygook;
Dobbs, Robert, Pomme.d.Or, Orca GB, former Bounty Hunter recruited by Moira at Freeport 11. Seems to prefer basing out of Epernay due to those foxy Brigand chicks cest la vie;
Jackson, Ernest Shiv, Armored Transport Amour.Fou, currently posing as an OSC support vessel for his wife, Professor Yvette Delacroix Jackson. Ernie is a young ex-Hacker who came to Gallia in a bloody Falchion LF!! Two things kept him from slinking back to Sirius.. The fifty hectares, and meeting his bride on Nimes Station;
Mme. Jackson has the Royal Navy firmly convinced that our yacht, the Vienne.Explorer is an Orbital Spa R&D vessel researching the feasibility of terraforming Planet Vienne into the next big tourist attraction of the Sector. (Oh, well terraform it alright, but not for OSC or the Royals..)
Yvette is also directing six scientists in our investigations into that bloody enigma, the Privas Formation. (I have become obsessed with it ever since hearing the theory that it may be an artifact of the Dom KVash. I will crack that nut, or die in the trying!)
The roster is rounded out by my own war bird, the Asco GB French.Kiss, and a new flagship being commissioned at Corfu with Moira and Tesss supervision, to be dubbed the Eris.Ascendant.
23 February 817:
It has required some fancy footwork to convince the Council Administration on Nimes that we are not just a bunch of crazy religious kooks and opportunistic Zoners. (Well, we are, but thats beside the point)
All of our ships are now sporting either Council or Maquis ID/IFF, except for our OSC vessels, the Vienne.Explorer and the Amour.Fou. Our exchange program with the various partisan Factions in Gallia continues.
When will the rest of Sirius wake up to the danger? I do not know. One need only face a Royal Navy squadron of four bombers to feel the resolve and intention of these bloody Hodgeists.!
04 Avril 817:
Shiv delivered the third load of Scrubbies to Planet Vienne today. We are offsetting the cost of the little buggers by sneaking up to Grenoble and hauling tobacco back to Shasta. I hope the market holds. We are tagging one in ten of the little buggers with an ingenious device Ernie and Yvette came up with. Surveys seem to indicate that the original groups are expanding, and that the population may even be increasing.
The scientists aboard the V.E are not optimistic. Oxygen and nitrogen levels have barely budged, a miniscule .0003 percent. Our Planet form bighead, Dr. Dundee claims it will take over a million Scrubbies, and 20 years to create a breathable atmosphere on Vienne.
Im betting on five.
23 June 817:
I accompanied Ernie and Reggie on the Amour.Fou to Roppongi, where we had a quiet meeting with a certain J. Simon Esq.. We took along a number of items procured from Gallian shipping interests. Jay went so far as to raise one eyebrow, which we took to be a good sign. The upshot of the meeting was that Interspace Commerce will continue to insure you crazy tossers at outrageous rates, and for the option on an eventual long-term lease on an Interspace headquarters for Gallia on Planet Vienne.
Its all about the Flax. was his parting comment as he had 30 of his analysts begin crunching numbers on potential markets and profit margins. Eris Bless you, Jay.
14 August 817:
Today, I shed tears. Copious tears. A transmission was received on Nimes over a long-unused FnordNet sub channel: *Heya, Malsey-poo! Nice to see you finally got off your fat primate butt and got back in the game, hon. I thought Id come up and see what the Thud is going on. Be there in 20 minutes. Smoochies!*
It has been over two years since Mama Dis got tired of watching me brood in my little Geode hideaway. One day she, Sophie and Shamus decided theyd had enough spinning in place, and left. They dropped completely off the TAZ radar. There were rumors that Dis had gone back to Gammu to interface with the Harveys big brain, in an attempt to breath some life back into FTGW. There were rumors that the three of them had located Kitty, and had gone off to reform the Cylons.
Well, it turns out the first rumor had sombunall truth to it. Dis did hook up to old First Thought for awhile, but nearly went crazy herself in the process. After that, she did stay with the Harvesters, and actually became sort of a High Priestess. As she later related, the Harvesters now spend literally seconds a day contemplating deep philosophical questions like: Why five tons of flax.. why not six?, and What is the sound of one diode cascading?, and Who is the programmer who makes the organic growth vibrate at a certain visible wavelength? Apparently, they have yet to discern the shape of a Precious Mao Button, or the exact location of the Region of Thud
Dis has put on some weight. About 8,000 metric tonnes to be exact, but she wears it well. When she appeared outside Nimes Station, every viewport and holoviewer was filled with the sight of a sleek and deadly AI Cruiser. When Council Administrators asked Dis to be allowed inside for a tour, she simply answered *What inside? Its all me, and nobody crawls around in my guts, bozo.*
Two years away hasnt improved her manners any, but to paraphrase an old Sufi saying: A man without a Fnordette is like a fish without a bicycle. Welcome home, Dis. Goddess, Ive missed you!
23 October 817:
We held a brief but moving ceremony at Nimes Station today. Everyone was assembled except the Jacksons, who will remain in mufti as Orbital Spa vessels for the time being. They did however join us over a secure FnordNet linkup.
Mama Dis attended via holotank, where she appeared wearing her stunning rendition of Riley Mackenzies drawing of the Goddess Eris. Hubba hubba. After a brief prayer to the Goddess, Reggie stepped forward and activated a large ornate switch. Ernie Jacksons command program was immediately transmitted to the Sirius Registry of ships, and the vessels of all present were within minutes tagged with a new transponder tag.
Some of those present would recognize the tags acronym as the Erisian Liberation Front. Nearly a decade had passed in Sirius since it was last used by the Erisians.
However, in Gallia, the tag would have a new meaning, derived from a very old and well-known group of misfits, mercenaries, and neer-do-wells, the French Foreign Legion.
Today, the King of Gallia would know a new group of adversaries, dedicated to halting the Royalist advance into Sirius; to claiming Dauphine, and especially Planet Vienne, for Eris; and for proving that Dauphine, through the ancient Dom KVash, and the Privas Formation, is the cradle of all humanity, to which it must rightfully return.
Today, the Etoile Legion Francais is born. Today, the [ELF] rides again.
Friday, 13 November, 817: (Jacques DeMolay, thou are truly avenged!)
Chatted with Dis today about the Privas formation. The fragments of Dom KVash history still retained by the Harvesters have somewhat verified my speculations.
Apparently this incredible act of planet-juggling, as Dis called it, was the last act of the Dom KVash before they split the scene, leaving the Nomads and the Harvesters as caretakers of the Sector until they (or, I believe, their progeny the human race) should return.
Another theory of mine has been validated to my satisfaction by astrographical observations of the Formations alignment by Madame Jackson and her scientists. I was very curious about the direction in which the formations vertices were directed: those points of the outer planets directly opposite the central eye of Privas V.
At first, the calculations were a bust, until Mama Dis chided us for not taking into account the effects of Galactic rotation, however glacial that rotation might be. Sure enough, when the astrophysicists backtracked their readings, my suspicions were vindicated. Looking into the past approximately (you guessed it) 23,000 years, Privas II, the topmost planet was aligned precisely with Galactic center.
Privas I, the planet furthest from Briancon, was precisely aligned with the double-star system of Sirius proper, and I believe we can eventually end the dispute of which solar system in the Sector actually is Sirius.
Privas III, the planet oriented towards the Burgundy system, was precisely aligned with a stellar group which I am sure the Colonial Remnant will verify is known by them as Kobol. 23 millenia ago, Privas III was aligned precisely with the area where the Twelve Colonies originated.
Cagliostro, wherever you are hiding, we can now be assured that every myth, fable, and instance in our shared histories of glowing red eyes within triangles or pyramids, does indeed have a basis in fact, sir. The final vertex, that of Privas IV, was once aligned precisely with a small system of nine planets, (not counting Mickey and Goofy), surrounding a star we still fondly refer to as Sol.
E-Prime slowly returned to Reality-prime. He was floating zazen in his meditation chamber at the center of the Geode.
Thud! This seasons crop of Kallisti Gold is potent!, he mused as he thought about the alternate reality which he had entered for a time, by whatever means.
The Skeptic would say Mal had hallucinated the events (//see previous post..//). The quantum physicist would explain it as one of the countless alternative Eigenstates that are being created every second by the observers measurements of events. His Erisian brethren would attribute it to yet another Pineal meltdown. Its just Mal collecting navel lint again!
However it was created, and however amusing Malaclypse found the concept of a Zoner presence, indeed, a Zoner - terraformed and occupied world in Gallia, Mal was certain that it would not occur any time soon in his reality-tunnel. Even the recent eldritch flapdoodle revelation that Aurelia Sylvan was actually a Princess of the Gallic Royal House would only increase the probability by a miniscule amount. So it goes.
Mal, whose experiments with Kallisti Gold had always been guided by the sixth-circuit metaprogramming theories of the non-prophet Hagbard Celine, had brainwashed himself on numerous occasions, to become one with different mindsets. In the past, he had re-programmed himself to believe in the realities of various other tunnel realities, such as the Coalition, The Committee to Nuke the Whales, the Flat Galaxy Society, the radical feminist Stone Sisters of Ainu, and anybody and everybody who lived in a tunnel reality different from his own environment.
Thus, where most people look at the world through the grid of a single reality-map, Mal perceived the cosmos through dozens of such grids, changing focus at will. This was not quite the no-ego experience of Zen, he would cheerfully admit, but rather a multi-ego experience and therefore an alternative way to escape from the stupidity of a single self.
Mal had learned how to move the walls of his neurological reality-tunnel, and even how to wander between those tunnels without being infected by schizophrenia, mysticism, or the other pathological forms of this sixth-circuit Relativistic consciousness.
This time, he had set out to program a belief in an aggressive and militant Zoner/Erisian presence in Gallia. But, he had decided that while a nice place to visit, such a nihilistic and paranoid place as Gallia was not the ideal place to live. At least, not at this particular space-time. An Erisian/Gallic Star Legion such as the [ELF] of Mals other reality-tunnel would just have to wait, or proceed apace in the universe next door.
It would be better, at least for the present, for the [TAZ] to remain in the Zoner fold, however boring and dead-end that might prove to be. Ontological Anarchy would have to serve them. The tactics of Poetic Terrorism and Amour Fou would be better than supporting the terrorist Maquis, and a Council that was ready to cut and run at any moment. Gallia was a souffl? that was in danger of falling before it even left the oven.
There was one aspect of that other reality-tunnel which Mal still firmly believed was accurate in this reality-tunnel: The Privas Formation would prove to be connected with many ancient Terran myths, legends, and mystical traditions.
The obvious artificial nature of those pyramidal planets aside, he knew deep in his Pineal that they were the origin of the Eye in the Pyramid tradition of the Freemasons, the Illuminati, and even his own Discordian heritage.
There was a mystery in Gallia. There was a connection to Terras ancient past. There might even be reason to believe that somehow the builders of the Privas Formation had engineered, guided, and taught the primates of Terra. When our ancestors were finally forced to leave the gravity well of Earth, their destination had been subconsciously programmed: Sirius.
Decoding the mystery of Privas might not only answer the Dom Kavash riddle, but might also reveal the true origin, meaning, and purpose of humanity itself.
Mal had reached the Skyhook car without being observed. As the car descended into the Geode he relaxed a bit. He had approached Shasta from the Sedona side, avoiding contact with any of his old "Flock". Perhaps this wouldn't be so hard, after all.
The interior of the Geode was as breathtaking as the day he discovered it those long years ago. He gazed again in awe at the massive, multi-colored spires of quartz and semi-precious stone that pointed inwards towards the very center of the moonlet-sized geode.
The car came to a halt on the circular observation deck, and Mal emerged slowly, making sure that the area was deserted before opening a small door concealed in the floor. He stepped into the opening, and disappeared from sight.
At .2 "g's", he accelerated towards the Geode's very center. The observation deck's height had been precisely calculated to give the needed velocity to complete the five-minute, two-klick journey.
Mal soon spied the tiny flickering scintillations in the air which gave away the force field ahead, if you knew where to look.. very closely. Otherwise, you saw what was intended.. nothing. The familiar tingle as he passed through the field felt like a massage. He sighed with content.
The Dodecahedron within the spherical field had been constructed entirely of wood so as not to interfere with the fields collected and focused by the massive crystals. It served, or had served, as his "retreat" for many years; where he met and chatted with the One he had forsaken. It had served to recharge his energies, his spirit, his body and his Faith.
And now, it would become his Chapel Perilous.
He assumed za-zen, creaking a bit from lack of practice, and began to empty his mind of everything.
When he had calmed and emptied, he reached out to the vortex and began "raising the serpent"; willing the energies towards the image of a glowing golden orb at his crown. He held the image for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, exhausted, he admitted defeat. He had lost the connection.. could no longer "juggle the Apple". His tears were copious. Without gravity, he could have drowned in them, had not a few of his pet "Scrubbies" become curious and lapped up the moisture. He dozed...
Mal awoke. He started to stretch.. and panicked! He was weightless. He couldn't open his eyes, and he felt smothered!
Then the current version of reality kicked in. He started fluttering his limbs gently, and a school of Scrubbies dislodged themselves from him and each other. They seemed to "swim" somewhat erratically, probably still "digesting" the high-octane poisons they had sucked from his system while he slept.
He groped about the dodecahedral "Chapel" for his flowered shirt and baggy shorts, thinking that he would surreptitiously hit Shasta's bar for a gallon or so of Shaking Mountain dark roast. Perhaps Doc would be in his office...
*So! Feeling better, your Poopness?*
He took a quick inventory. Surprisingly, he had no hangover whatsoever. Minor miracle, that. Bloody Scrubbies were nature's own "dialysis machine".
"Umm, yes, your Chaoness. Say, I've been meaning to apologize..."
*Save it for the mehums, Bucko. You and I are beyond such mea culpas. The big question is, are you still the primate who can shine Pineals? Are you still up to the "job"? Do you even WANT the "job"?*
Once again, he took inventory. She had asked the right questions.. the very questions he had refused to ask himself for countless months. He wracked his brain for answers, and came up dry. Then, he looked into his heart. The answer had been there all along.
"I am your servant, my Goddess."
*Good! Then pack your things, Mal, and get ready to hit the dusty trail. Sirius has a new crop of grayfaced cabbages who need a little noodge. Now...*
"Wait! What about Baffin? What about the TAZ? My Flock needs.."
*Baffin?!? Baffin has become the "borscht belt" of Discordianism, Mal. Lip service, that's what I get. They haven't thrown Me a decent "Agape Ludens" in years! Your "Flock" has the tools. It's now up to them whether they get used or not.
As to the TAZ, they don't need you any more, sparky. You'd just end up barging in and upsetting the Apple cart. The TAZ is in excellent hands. Leave it that way!*
Mal shook the congealing water from his eyes, and a few concerned Scrubbies rushed in to lap up the salty residue. "As thou Wilt, Blessed Eris".
*Oh, save the trappings for "services", bud. Remember long ago when you used to call me just "Dis"? I kinda missed that.
Now, first order of business is to get us a decent new "Chapel", Mal. Head over to Honshu. I sort of like that winged griffin on the Geisha's mid-deck.. the whole "Serpent/Eagle" motif, eh? Then, I thought you might make a visit to...*
How does one make headway in a weightless environment? With a little "help from his friends", Mal was soon being propelled towards the Observation Deck "above" by what would become his "below-decks" Scrubbie crew on the new "Chapel.Perilous".
Oh, he would return. He would always "live" here, because this is where She "lived".
Clean and refreshed from his meditation, Cid dressed in the finest robes and went forth to find something to eat. There was supposed to be a buffet somewhere in this place. He knew that, but it must be early.
As he walked the halls nothing moved, noone else was about. So, as he was taught, and promptly forgot, he followed his nose.
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Mal would find a hand written note on his desk.
Hey, Old Friend!
When you get the chance, there's a few things I wanted to talk to you about in private. No, nothing that spells the end of time but since one of them involved Scrubbies, I thought you may like to know.
I can meet you at Tombstone, Med Force One or wherever you choose.
Doc smiles for a moment.
Now that I think of it, Midori has made you a Mahi fish dinner in some time.
Breakfast in the aft Atrium soon went from leisurely to interminable. Mal couldn't believe it was taking the Freeport 14 shipwrights so long to prep and hand over two Eagles. At least Cid and Charlie were being patient about the delay. They both acted like they hadn't visited cholesterol heaven in ages, working on 3rd portions of omelettes, fresh fruit, and Shaking Mountain dark roast from Reggie's fields.
The eight new "Neophytes" had finished breakfast half an hour ago, and had returned to the Chapel for another 2 hours of meditation; after which Athena and her "Pooters Posse" would instruct the Neophytes on their new duties at Services.
Mal reviewed the list of Neophytes again. Perhaps there was a correlation between "neophile" tendencies and IQ or learning; because four of the eight also had excellent references which qualified them for the Chapel's crew complement:
Burroughs, Jacob: PHD, Physics, Quantum Topology, N-Dimensional theory, First Officer;
Burroughs, Hilda: Sociologist, Specialist in Conflict resolution and body language, Comms Officer.
Somehow, the names seemed familiar, but Mal couldn't put the puzzle together. He would still need an Engineer. He hoped Hilda would double as Chef, as she was responsible for helping with their excellent morning meal.
Mal suddenly remembered the note from Doc he had found on his desk this morning. He patted his rumpled cargo shorts for the note, reread it, and subvocally activated the Chapel's FnordNet Sub Node.
"John Henry, I got your message. Will take a raincheck on Midori's Mahi Mahi, as we've encountered some delays here in Yukon. We hope to burn for Canaria and MF1 shortly, ETA late tomorrow. Once we've finished, I'd like to give the Neophytes a tour of the Church's operations on Canaria.. Perfect time for a meet 'n greet at Tombstone. I'll give you a call when we reach MF1."
He immediately placed a second call to the Freeport's ship dealer, merely grunting at the reply he got.
"Well, Charlie, Cid. Looks like your escort ships will be ready in an hour. If not, we'll go raise five kinds of Thud!"
Mal looked more closely at the two "veteran" Discordians, briefly reminiscing on some of their adventures from years past. They seemed rather uncomfortable and subdued as they sipped their coffee.
"Okey guys.. what's up? Are you having second thoughts about joining 'Eris' Travelling Mutation Show'?
"She brought you here to me for some reason, old friends. When it comes the the Goddess, you can 'eff the ineffable' until you're blue in the face; but you both know that you're as apt to get more questions than answers. Talk to me."
Charlie put down his mug and scratched at his beard, not sure how to word his thoughts properly. He'd considered Mal to be a reliable friend for several years now, and knew him as an understanding and generally accepting old fella'. But good Goddess was he moody! Charlie had seen the E-prime get pretty pissy in the past over some of the most mundane issues, and he wasn't too keen on setting Mal off again.
Of course, Charlie realized that he was over-thinking the entire problem, anyway. His reservations were pretty minor, and he didn't think Mal would get too upset over them. After all, Mal knew that Charlie had left TAZ ages ago, so it shouldn't have been all that hard to figure out that Charlie'd had some sort of stink with the flock in the first place.
"Mal," Charlie said, "you've built up quite a few cabals with us chimps during your time here in Sirius. It's hard to count, really, what with the shifted reality tunnels, the false starts, and even what may have been just plain-old 'dreams'. But every time you start something, it brings something new to the table. None of these gatherings have been quite like the ones before 'em. I know that whatever comes of our little Gaggle o' Goons here in the Chapel isn't gonna be the same as what's come before, but for some reason, I'm still worrying.
"The Temporary Autonomous Zoners may have been one of your greatest accomplishments, depending on how you measure 'success', I suppose. TAZ is it's own superpower now, with a substantial foothold in the Zoner 'government', or whatever we had that passed for one. TAZ has trade and diplomatic vessels flyin' all around the place, wheelin' and dealin' with some of the most important men and women in Sirius. Hell, they own and operate out of an entire damn star system filled to the brim with cosmic wonders! Frankly, I'm surprised you left all that to Doc and the crew and just set off for Goddess-knows-where with a bunch of strangers. But that's beside the point.
"The thing is, I don't want to become another TAZ. TAZ started to take itself too seriously, and got tied up in all that political and diplomatic bull-jargon. I didn't want any part of it. Life was just gettin' too complicated as a 'Temporary Autonomous' Zoner, so I figured I could settle for being a Reg'lur Zoner instead. And hey, that happened for a while. Wasn't overly amazing, really, living out of a renovated broom closet, but it was sure as hell less complicated. And now... this. We hardly know where we're going or what we're doin', and I've got absolutely no problem with that. Sailing without a compass is only natural to me. I just hope we don't do a one-eighty and head back for more 'serious business', if you know what I mean."
Charlie took another swig of coffee and reached across Cid to grab another scone from the tray. "Anyway," he said, after taking a rather large bite, "Any other information on what this medical-checkup thing is gonna be about?"
Mal's eyes widened for a brief moment at Charlie's question. That had to have been the longest speech he had ever heard from the Discordian. He grabbed for the last blueberry scone as he composed his thoughts.
"Charlie, Doc Holliday and his Baffin Flock have done an admirable job of keeping the "Zoner" in Temporary Autonomous Zoner; and as you say, they are excellent merchants and diplomats. I can't fault Doc for his leadership of the TAZ. They even remained halfway decent Discordians in my absence.
"However, I doubt what the TAZ has become is anything like what Hakim Bey envisioned when he coined the term "Temporary Autonomous Zone". I rather think your broom closet is closer to what Hakim had in mind.
"And Bey's Ontological Anarchy has no place in Baffin any more, Charlie. That's why I'm not now, nor in future, returning to the TAZ. In order to "assist" the next stage of primate evolution, Charlie, Ontological Anarchy must become our primary tool. We must leave no meme un-memed, no dogma un-dogged, no model un-muddled.
"'Homo Neophile' is out there. We just have to jar his/her reality tunnels in order to identify him/her. As I said to the TAZ Brethren, that's what my 'Revival Meeting' is designed to do. While the 'message' and the 'miracles' are Eristic in nature, they are just the window dressing.. a means to an end. Find 'em, tag 'em, bag 'em."
"Now, the purpose for visiting Med Force One is to have a complete physical and neurological workup done on our new Neophytes, on you and Cid, and on myself as well. Once done, we'll be spending a lot of time in the Geode, exposed to the vortex of energies focused there.
"I know for a fact that exposure has physical effects. My time in the Geode has cured my arthritis, improved my eyesight, even re-grown some hair. What I don't advertise is that the bloody place seems to have given me two new DNA strands as well! Whether it's a freak mutation, or an evolutionary milestone remains to be studied and proven.
"So yep, in a way, you lads and the others are 'guinea pigs'. We'll be tested often during our 'retreats', to detect any possible harmful effects. We'll also be on the 'tent circuit', identifying and inviting more potential Neophytes to join us.
"And, it will still be about Eris, and 'juggling the Apple', and achieving Spiritual Illumination. I firmly believe the time has come for 'Religion' and 'Science' to end their spat and work towards the same goal, which is nothing less than the spiritual and physical evolution of 'Homo Neophile'."
Malaclypse looked at his "watch" and stood, draining the dregs of his coffee, and brushing the scone crumbs off his garish shirt.
"Those escort snubbies should be ready, gents. Pick a color. I'm thinkin' your transponders should squawk "Chapel.Deacon.yourcolorhere". I'm having Zeb get us underway for Curacao immediately, as I promised Athena and the girls they'd be back at Pooters for the night shift. Shake 'em down and catch up with us there. Shiney?"
Cid sat and listened and ate. Then he drank some, and ate some more. He had no reservations, no worries, no major questions. The most pressing question he had was probably only important to him. As Mal stood ready to take his leave, Cid finally stopped putting stuff into his face long enough to ask his simple question.
"Mal, you know me well. I am your friend, brother, and wing man. Nothing will change that. Charlie, we haven't flown together in many years, but we have had many hours together, and you might remember, you might not. I have only one really important question. The Geode stocked with booze and smoke? I guess I can probably take the smoke for granted, but I gotta know. You gonna make me quit drinkin' fur all this testin'? I will, if ya wish it. I'd do anything for the Lady, and to help you, but do I HAFta?" Cid almost squeaked as he said the last part.
He promptly filled his face as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and nodded and waved as Mal explained getting the Escorts expedited.
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