Conversation on a Starship in Warpdrive

John Brosnan

Nick Nova, intergalactic adventurer and product of shoddy twenty-eighth-century artificial insemination techniques, entered the passenger lounge of the S.S. Firebrand. It was full of steam. He groped his way through it until he located an empty seat; as he slumped into it the steam cleared momentarily, enabling him to see the person in the seat next to him. It was a tall, thin naked man.

‘Hot in here, isn’t it?’ said Nick. The man nodded, then said: ‘But I prefer it here than in my cabin. It was snowing when I left.’

‘Really?’ said Nick. ‘It snowed in mine yesterday. Bit of a nuisance.’

‘Breaks the monotony though, which is the reason for it all, of course. Space travel was so dull before they came up with VICE - Variable Internal Climatic Environment.’

‘Suppose so. Still, I can’t help thinking there must be a better way of doing it.’

‘Oh, they’ve tried everything, believe me. I’ve been wandering the star lanes all my life and I’ve seen it all. Once I travelled on a ship that was built to resemble an ancient galleon. The crew wore pirate costumes and had robot parrots stuck on their shoulders that squawked nautical obscenities non-stop. They even had the ship rock back and forth so you could get seasick.’

‘Sounds similar to the one I was on. It was designed like the inside of a medieval castle. Everyone wore suits of armour and there was a torture chamber where the passengers could mangle android virgins.’

Silence followed and Nick took the opportunity to introduce himself. The thin man shook his hand: ‘My name’s Fabius. Torno Fabius.’

‘What’s your line of business?’ asked Nick.

‘At the moment I’m a publisher, but I’ve been many things before that. Started out as a salesman for the “Orgasm of the Month Club” selling erotitape machines. Then I became a missionary.’ He held up his hands, which had large holes through the palms. ‘Crucified,’ he explained. ‘Occupational hazard. Never know how these primitive types will react to your preaching.’

‘Must have been an interesting life, though?’

‘Oh it was, at times. But it was never easy. You try and convert a whole planet within a set time-limit. The money wasn’t that good, either, which was one of the reasons I gave the game up. That and the faulty equipment.’

‘Faulty equipment?’

‘Yeah. The stuff was always letting me down at crucial moments. I’d be walking across a lake, say, and whammo . . . a buoyancy shoe would give out and the next thing I knew I’d be treading water. But the worst example took place on the planet Renolt. I was due to perform the Ascension from the top of a hill. Should have been purely routine. A gravity sled, disguised as a cloud, drops down from the sky and I step onto it. Of course I’m controlling it from a radio device hidden in my robes. It rises, taking me with it. It’s then supposed to carry me up to my ship which is hovering, invisible, several thousand feet overhead.

‘But on this occasion, when I’m only about a hundred feet above the gaping crowd, one of the sled’s gravity nullifiers cuts out. The sled immediately sags to one side and I fall off. Luckily I manage to grab hold of the edge of the sled but the scene is not a good one - the Messiah hanging helpless from the side of a tilted cloud. So I activate an android on board my ship which I keep for emergencies. It’s disguised to look like the Virgin Mary and is jet-propelled. But as I am trying to fiddle with my remote-control device one-handed, I drop it. Next thing down comes the Virgin Mary with all jets blazing. She hurtles past me and ends up burying herself into fifty feet of bedrock. Scares hell out of the natives. I hear there’s still a team of sociologists on Renolt observing the cultural after-effects.

‘Then there was the time I was trying to convert a planet of asexual creatures. Finally got them to understand the concept of bi-sexuality but like a fool I told them about the Virgin Birth. Had to shoot my way out of one of their insane asylums.’

By now the steam had almost gone but it had begun to rain. Stewards started handing out umbrellas to the passengers.

‘At least the service is good on this ship,’ said Nova, unfurling his umbrella.

‘It should be; the crew have nothing else to do.’

‘I would have thought that running a ship this size would take a considerable amount of their time.’

Fabius laughed. ‘The ship runs itself. It’s completely automatic.’

‘Are you sure? I went on one of those tours of the bridge and control room yesterday and everyone looked extremely busy.’

‘It’s a sham. All play-acting for the passengers’ benefit. The control panels are all mock-ups, nothing but flashing lights and dummy buttons.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Nova.

‘Not many people do. Even a lot of the crew members themselves don’t know. Adds to the authenticity of the whole thing. Like the engineer, the one they call Scotty. Notice how he’s always covered with oil stains?’

Nova nodded.

‘He puts them on himself from a can he keeps in his cabin. Liquid lubricants haven’t been used on star-ships for centuries.’

‘Why is he called “Scotty”?’

‘God knows. It’s one of those traditions dating back for centuries. Like the First Officer on a ship always having to wear pointed plastic ears.’

‘Yes, I’ve often wondered about that,’ said Nova.

Fabius suddenly bent down and opened a bag on the floor by his feet. ‘I’ve got a bottle of home-made wine in here. Fancy a drop?’

‘No thanks. Not just now.’

‘How about something to read, then?’ He handed Nova what appeared to be a number of different geometric shapes all fused together in one lump.

‘What is it?’ asked Nova.

‘A book, of course,’ said Fabius. ‘My new line of business. Selling books.’

‘It doesn’t look much like a book.’

‘It’s a new development in the art of the novel, though the actual techniques have been known for centuries. In fact it started way back in the mid-twentieth. A famous writer began experimenting with the correlation of the psychic landscapes and the landscapes of the external world. As he himself put it: “At what point does the plane of intersection between two wooden cones become as sexually stimulating as the cleavage of a well-endowed woman?” ‘

Nova thought it over carefully. Finally he said: ‘I can’t remember ever being sexually stimulated by two wooden cones, no matter what their point of intersection.’

‘Ah, perhaps not consciously, but subconsciously you were. Your subconscious reeks lust every time it sees two intersecting cones.’

‘No wonder I feel tired all the time.’

‘You see,’ said Fabius, ‘words are inefficient symbols for the purpose of communication. Where once it took a writer many thousands of words to express himself satisfactorily, he can now achieve the same result with a single geometric shape. This object will evoke all the responses in your mind that an old-fashioned book once, did.’

Nova was impressed. He stared hard at the ‘book’.

‘Had you read War and Peace before?’

‘No,’ said Nova.

‘Well you have now.’

‘I don’t feel as if I have.’

‘Naturally it takes time for it all to sink in. Your subconscious has to mull it over.’

‘Have you got one with pictures?’

‘Afraid not. But this one might be more to your liking. It’s a science-fiction thriller about a beautiful girl who turns out to be an android full of tiny, warlike creatures who want to destroy humanity. The android goes around killing men by shooting laser beams out of her nipples. The hero of the book escapes a similar fate because he hears whispering coming from her stomach while they are making love, and he becomes suspicious.’

‘I knew a girl with green nipples once,’ said Nova. ‘They glowed in the dark.’

‘How about this one?’ said Fabius, producing another object. ‘This one has been banned on fifteen planets. One of the most obscene books ever written.’

Nova looked at it with interest, but remained disappointed. ‘It doesn’t do a thing for me.’

‘Nothing at all? Don’t you feel a little depraved? Somewhat corrupted?’

Nova shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I prefer the old style of books better.’

‘To be honest, so do I. But these are the things that are selling. What’s worse, I hear that writers have evolved their profession even further. They’re communicating directly with their readers now. You just call up your favourite author, settle on a fee, and he comes and lives with you for a couple of days. During that time he pours out his ideas to you. Cuts out the middle man completely.’

‘Sounds terrible.’

‘I agree,’ said Fabius. ‘The thought of having the authors I’ve met as house guests for any length of time is quite repulsive. Oh blast, it’s beginning to snow again. I’ll have to go and get dressed. See you later.’

‘Been nice talking to you,’ Nova said as Fabius got up hurriedly and left the room. A white card lay where he had been sitting, and Nova picked it up. It said: ‘You have just been talking to the “Interesting Character Android” model 42B, with the compliments of the Captain. A product of “androids unlimited”, the 42B model guarantees a fascinating conversation covering a wide range of topics. It is sure to be one of the most memorable encounters of your journey.’