My wife came in this morning -- at 9:00 a.m. this morning to be exact (I had been up since 5:00) -- and she was angry, as usual. This time it's because I put the empty milk thing back in the refrigerator. I gave her that smile of mine, that clownish smile. She half forgave me, as usual -- although I can tell she never forgets. These things add up, and I have to pay for them later.
Her look said, "how you can be one in charge of a hundred million worlds is beyond me." And my look said... well what did it say? It didn't make a statement so much as take a stance. That off balance, clownish stance, distant and bemused. Or so I assume. That's what I'm trying to convey, anyway, maybe I just look like a little kid getting yelled at.
This photograph was produced by European Southern Observatory. This usage permissible under this picture's creative commons license.
Now, obviously, I'm just a figurehead, just a relic of a bunch of ancient, decisively meaningless traditions, but even if I wasn't and actually did have to rule this "empire" of ours (sorry Galactos -- another one of these posts), thinking on the scale of inter-galactic space is incomparable to the level of putting an empty milk carton back in the refrigerator. Why?
Well, if you're my wife, you're already bored. But, if you're not my wife, read on. Space is, of course, immeasurably, unimaginably huge. This, you know. Our galaxy itself contains about 300 billion stars -- nobody has any real idea how many planets. And there are billions and billions of galaxies. Nobody knows how many. Ever since the invention of that damned faster than light drive that runs on water -- yes, ordinary water, a drive that is cheap and safe to produce and use -- the empire has gone from a regulated, manageable, semi-feudal collection of world-nations to a Wild Environment, tribal, nomadic: an infinite desert.
And weird things happen out in space. Things that don't lend themselves to bureaucratic structures.
As I write this there are somewhere between 300 million-1 billion crafts currently navigating the universe. They were built on as many as 100 million more or less habitable worlds spread over distances so insanely unimaginable numbers are completely meaningless. Every one of these ships is essentially subject to no law at all. And due to the nature of faster than light travel it would be, in fact it is, practically impossible to ever make them subject to any sort of law, even pirate law. Unless they want to go home, unless they want to meet up with fellow human beings -- they don't. And many of them never do.
There are communities out there, maybe as many as 30% of all human communities it is estimated, which are completely unknown to the rest of this "empire." What goes on there, the things that are found, and found by ordinary schmoes like you and me -- it's dazzling, utterly mind-bending.
Planets, yes entire planets, that are sentient (not just sentient in fact but intensely philosophical and very good conversationalists. Snooze-fest, I know, but some people go in for that sort of thing). Wars of such brutality and violence and rage and incredible length it stupefies even a flexible mind to try and understand why anyone would participate when their ship's FTL drive would help any participant untraceably disappear forever in seconds (the Brunian war: 1,000 years. Yes. A thousand; the Cyclopeon war: 480 some years, depending on if you count that 30 years of unofficial assassinations and military "peace actions"; the War of the Rocks: more time than is known, although technically Rocks are probably not sentient any more than fire is sentient, but they do seem to have memories, of a sort).
Most of these wars and races and planets we steer clear of if we don't like what's going on. So wars, even wars as long and deadly and brutal as these, practically don't even matter to Average Joe Spaceman (or woman -- it's always seemed a dumb term to me). AJSes can go where they pleases and do what they please. This place, the Universe, is so huge, and tracking, sensing, and communication devices are so utterly useless due to the speed of light limitations imposed on everything but the manned and crewed faster than light ship, that we, truthfully, do not even a basic idea of what the hell is going on. We have to rely on the word of mouth of those willing to stand and report.
You can hardly call it an empire. It's more like a rain forest and me a bonobo monkey who happens to think himself king. (Actually, I guess that would be more Galactos. Sorry again, Glactos. I definitely owe you a space beer). But look, I know this stuff is boring. I know you've heard it all before, and I'm sorry to pull a Carl Sagan on you when all you really want is to read about my kids. (Klygone took his first Outerworld Cruise yesterday. His girlfriend, Jendar, who, as you know I adore and think is a wonderful influence on him -- doesn't let him get away with anything -- said the experience made him "more peevish than usual." I'll blog about it when I have time.)
It's almost 11:00 now and I finished reviewing the days notes hours ago, and this blog is stalling before I have to do chores -- out of courtesy I'm Cced on the unclassified bits of all the briefings the Chief Executor receives (but don't bug me for any secret information -- what I get is so incredibly non-vital you might as well just read a newspaper -- really, I don't know why I bother to read them, I should just pick up a copy of the Daily Sun instead -- better written).
(Digression -- sorry for all the M dashes -- I know it's a problem.)
Anyway, it's back to husbandhood and fatherhood again. I've wasted too long on this entry. My wife is in the kitchen, and I can tell by the tone of the pots and pans being put away she's mad at me for not cleaning up my breakfast bowls. I probably left my bag of tea on the counter, draining that concentrated black water (which I guess is just tea, when I think about it) to wander down the counter top and drip into the kitchen rug. Sigh.
Sometimes I wish my job was more important.
No comments:
Post a Comment