By the way, Walleye, what were you doing all the way out by the post office? That’s not on the route back from you were supposed to be coming back from Dr. Franksenketchup’s fishery.
I, uh, I got lost in my thoughts and missed the turn.
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Uh huh.
Get some rest and heal, Wally. We aim to leave Weatherby soon, we’ve found no sentience at three fisheries, an no indications of trafficking from our trading and smelting operations, and without the echolinguistic traps we’ve scant chance of finding a scale in a kalestack. We need to get back to the Elverprise before we get any more caught up in this gathering storm.
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[Jean-Rhys raises her glass of liquor in salute, and declaims.]
“The King!”
[This time, the liquor still burning its way through her bio-filters, Jean-Rhys fairly shouts before quaffing her champagne and then dashing the flute against the floorboards in an abundance of enthusiasm.]
“Long Live the Queen!!”
[Respects paid, she returns to her reading (and her drink), and unsuccessfully suppresses a wracking cough. Muttering…]
“All of Weatherby rejoices as the plague abates, and yet I feel worse than ever. I must be working too hard. The stress…”
[Later, Jean-Rhys can’t help but notice as Duchess Gummibuns @gwwar makes her entrance:]
[Jean-Rhys nods and gestures with her drink (a whipweed martini, dry, with a garbonzo bean garnish). ]
“Not only bluffing, good Duchess, but it seems some few of us have eschewed the Public Ledger altogether.”
“That dratted Cube @manwich haunts us still. I fear the example of its initial deception will prove to be more damaging than the results, in the long run. Information is power, and that asymmetry will be too difficult to resist, for some, in these uncertain times.”
[Jean-Rhys, teetering on the edge of clearly public intoxication, playfully thumps Gummibuns on her lumps.]
“Speaking of which, may I congratulate you on your commission? @Rumpthwait, my good sir, a drink for this newly minted Space Dragoon! In fact, stand a round for all the brave Tea Seas who’ve pledged their lives to the defense of Weatherby!”
“Hussars! Dragoons! Huzzah!”
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[ Duchess Gummibuns begins to raise her glass and bellows: ]
Like, Huzzzzzah!
[ The upward swing of the cheers is much too enthusiastic. She loses her grip on the glass and sends it flying toward the bar. Tumbling, end over end, hurtling toward poor @Rumpthwaite, it promises to be a big mess. Duchess Gummibus is entranced by it. The glass has so much momentum Duchess Gummibuns gasps as @Rumpthwaite artfully ducks at the last moment, sighs, and begins to pick up the tinkling mess. ]
Oh My Glob, sorry! uh, like, that glass was totally defective… or some junk
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[In the endless task of keeping the glassware spotless Rumpthwaite ducks below the bar at the last moment, both avoiding the errant missile and also extracting a new tumbler that requires his attention. With the sound of shattering glass that has become all too familiar over the years within the club, the old moose looks with momentary surprise at the source of the sound.]
“That flute was far too slippery for any proper entity to handle Ensign Ms. Gummibuns and I apologize for its unfortunate frictionless properties. Please allow me to rectify the situation.”
[The unflappable moose proffers a fresh refreshment in one smooth motion as he swiftly sweeps up the debris in the next.]
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Hieron walks in on what is obviously a round of exultation.
The “Duchess” (@gwwar) has obviously flung her flute and @Rumpthwaite is making excuses for her.
Jean-Rhys (@MrMonkey) and dearest cousin (@Hadley) have obviously had words. But that is for them to work out.
Hieron continues into the inner room. He sees St-Patrick-Hartbrooke (@nimelennar) and somehow decides it was he who had given the toast that he had walked in on.
Cmdr Piker’s (@fintastic) ward pushes by him on the way out. He excuses the rudeness of it by giving the commander a hard stare before noticing the poor lad look wounded. He’d have to ask @Rockford_Julius about that later.
@Rumpthwaite has finished what ever he was doing and placed a W&T in front of him as he stood at the far end of the bar.
He thought about whom he needed to converse with and realized the W&T was probably the best companion as he pondered over the events of the day.
He took a seat at the bar. Two seats removed from the nearest patron and contemplated his drink as the world revolved around him.
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Rocco entered the foyer of Leviathan, the door-bot bristled, but relaxed as he recognized the ward of a member.
“Oi! Hat bot! I’m just looking for my master, I’m not looking to walk out with the silverware.”
Rocco, hat in hand, ever the visage of the dutiful ward entered into the main hall of Levithan. @Rumpthwaite gave him the cold stare he did every time he broke the plane of the foyer doors.
He spotted Hieronymoose near the end of the bar.
“Not the usual table”, he thought as he made his way to him.
“Oi! Cousin Elizabeth!” (@Hadley) “So good to see you, love to chat, but I’m just here to see my Lord and Master.” He winked, hoping she wasn’t so tied up in her current conversation to notice.
“Excuse, Sir”, Rocco said, “I’ve been down at the warehouse earlier in the day and I think you may need to ‘Present the Colors’ so to speak. The foreman barely cared for who I was and on whose authority I was dropping in”
Hieron looked up from his drink. Something was bothering him. Belatedly, Rocco realized he may have been better served by dealing with this later, but in for a penny, in for a pound.
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@Rockford_Julius so kind of you to drop by.
“The warehouse, hmmm. Okay. Thank you.”
Hieron finished his drink and placed the empty glass down with a little more force than needed to indicate a refill was needed.
“Cmdr Piker’s boy just ran out of here. I think you should go check on him. Make sure everything is okay”
Rocco stood silent, unsure what to make of his Master’s behavior.
@Rumpthwaite replaced the empty glass and Hieron began to meditate upon it.
“So. You say I should drop by the warehouse then?”
“Iffin’ you feel it is needed, Sir.”
“Obviously it is. Thank you for your loyalty, dear, dear Rocco. Please go go check on your friend, the ensign (@Chewseen) I believe he may be feeling poorly.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
And with that Rocco scurried out of the Levithan as only a Astral Scuridae could.
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Lady Elizabeth gives a slight nod and wink to Rocky @Rockford_Julius as he is on his way out.
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*quietly, away from prying ears *
"@Rumpthwaite, I don’t suppose you have any security footage of when young Crusher stumbled in here, do you? Mind if I have a look at that? Something fishy is going on here, and I don’t just mean that .NET program he and Piker (@fintastic) were running.
“No way that boy died of dysentery. That has been curable for centuries. And I swear I heard someone say he’d been wounded.”
So… Either the authorities are lazy (as is so often the case), or they’re hiding the truth. Because the Post-Ledger got the same bullshit tale as the Times did, but the account in the Ledger isn’t quite parroting the story as closely as the Times seems to be. Despite reports that the young man had been in serious altercation a mere day before, police are denying…yadda yadda yadda.
He spots Carcinogennifer Honeyvenom (@Donald_Petersen) at her usual table in the back corner. That is another thing to follow up.
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Why my dear Mr. Farnsworth , whatever do you mean?
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“Oh, and @Rumpthwaite, if you see Commander Piker (@fintastic), please give him my condolences.” He’ll do it in person if he sees the sentient first, but he doesn’t have all the time that some people do to hang around the club, and Piker may not be interested in unsolicited company at the moment. It’s hard to lose someone you’re close to, especially under brutal circumstances, and not everyone grieves the same way.
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[ Rounder enters the club, seemingly floating across the floor ]
ENSIGN CRUSHER’S DEATH WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT!
I ALSO SEE SOMEONE ELSE PAYING FOR MY DRINKS THIS EVENING
NO, REALLY, I DO
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why @Rumpthwaite, please send my regards — and fresh drink – to our latest Seer.
Predicting the future can be so profitable, I do want to learn more.
-Jules Rothschild Karekin
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LOOK! I SPEAK THE TRUTH! ALL THAT I HAVE SEEN AND FORETOLD HAS COME TO PASS!
and thank you very kindly for following your destiny, Mr Karekin! Your generosity is much appreciated.
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"Oh, Jean-Rhys, I’m so terribly embarrassed you caught me observing your conversation with my dear cousin.
Hieron has pulled out his snuff box for a quick pinch.
“I needed to have words with her and was trying to judge if she was in a conversation I could safely interrupt. It looked otherwise.”
< sniff >
“Are you ready for next week’s committee meeting? I know a clerk dropped off some memorandum and other papers we will be discussing.”
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Jules Karekin is at his place in the club, all business as usual. So many at Leviathan’s nurture friendships; Karekin is a Shaper to his core. He only has negotiated relationships.
Eighth walks in purposefully, seemingly oblivious to the DoorBot. When DoorBot politely suggests the blue Sea-Pea respect the threshold, Eighth deploys three forward perelopods to interface with the Bot. Is the blue space lobster really trying to hack a Class VI doorbot in real time?
Karekin looks nervously at @Rumpthwaite, who surveys the scene with his usual calm command.
“Eighth. We’ve discussed these protocols before. Need I remind you that that affable looking Moose at the bar has split open lobsters with many more molts than you and dropped their still writhing flesh into boiling water?”
Eighth pauses, directs several sensor towards Rumpthwaite, makes something like a bow, and backs towards the foyer.
Looking relieved, Karekins asks Rumpthwaite “could you please send a glass of my preferred Sherry and your best plate of Sandfish tapas to the foyer? Thank you”
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the scene shifts to the foyer
"Eighth! what the Eddington was that about?
“We need to talk…”
“We sure as Crick do need to talk -”
“We need to talk about our respective roles here. You constantly play up your “Rothschild” connection even though you Karekins only spliced in recently. You’re not even a proper Landau.”
"So what? Most of us came to Weatherby to try to live up to our names. St. Patrick did a Turing of a job with that duel of his – no longer a mere tinkerer’s grandson, he has put himself on the fast track to being in the next edition of Burke’s.
It’s why we’re all here.
It’s why you’re here, Crispr Landau Mk IV. You may have Landau encoding, but there is more to successful sentience than informatic encapsulation. For starters, I actually know my parents. "
Eighth reflexively retracts into the corner at that last remark. - a space lobster wince.
After a pause, Eighth slowly crawls out of the corner and re-engages the conversation.
“I am frustrated with the Sandfish work, Jules. The Professor and I were on threshold of demonstrating Sandfish Sentience based on a completely novel mechanism. Why are you slowing us down?”
"Did I mention there is more to sentience then encoding? First, the social whirl I have insisted you join has impacted more than just your work. Between increased duties at the University and the demands of Society, the Professor simply has had less time for you and the work.
But the real issue is the Wesley murder. You were one of the last to see him before he died. Did that look like dysentery to you?"
“Not even close, the biomarker signatures suggested --”
“Exactly. Yet the Weatherby Space Times is clearly trying to hush up what should be a blockbuster of story for them. Why would they forgo the circulation boost?”
“Simple Game Theory suggests some other entity can offer more, and they are optimizing.”
“Good, Eighth, who would that be?”
“The Space Times coverage of King Grigori’s demise was atrocious. The WST clearly places a higher value on good relations with the Palace than block buster stories. Here, the WST is presumably toadying for someone who has favor.”
“Yes. and who has been most favored bynm current Palace policy?”
“Land barons in the New Territories and other social climbers… Like you, Jules. So anyone looking for a motive for the Weatherby Space Times coverup will look to who has gained the most status from the current regime”
“Good, Eighth, I see your political science tutor has been doing her job. Add to the mix that relations between Commander Piker and myself have at times been publicly strained and…”
“the simpletons that overpopulate this planet will wonder if you’re somehow mixed up in this.”
“Or you, Eighth. That was a remarkably lobster-like gash the young Ensign was sporting.”
Karekin takes a sip of his Sherry. Eighth delicately lifts three Sandfish tapas and moves each in turn to his maxillipeds. Both gaze about the room, as if they are noticing the darkened oil portraits and crushed velvet for the first time…
"This is remarkable sandfish, Karekin. Ours? "
“Of course. Only the best sandfish for my Club. I’ll send your compliments to the chef.”
“Whatever. About my role and the research…”
"Yes, I’m getting to that. Our careful dance with Piker goes beyond the murder of his charge. Who does he work for?
“UFOS, of course. any idiot knows that”
“What is the second letter for?”
“Federation, duh.”
“Does that sound like like an organization with internally cohesive politics to you?”
“Well, it’s not top-down, so polynomical scaling is off the table, but it’s segmented by system and economic faction, so it’s not full combinatorial complexity either. I recently saw a lemma in --”
"Eighth – I do not need the full computation of UFOS informational complexity. Suffice to say, ‘It’s complicated.’ "
"Sure, for a mathematically stunted squish-brain like you, ‘It’s complicated.’ "
“It’s no secret that elements of UFOS are actively engaged with the New Prussian war machine.”
"Are you saying that Piker is a… "
"NO. I have no reason to believe the Commander is anything other than what he claims to be: a UFOS science officer fully committed to supporting the rights of aquatic-based sentients.
What I am saying is that we really need to avoid any action that impinges on Commander Piker or his mission. He has to explain to his superiors why Crusher is dead. We don’t know what cross-currents Piker is swimming through, but I do know that if it appears we are trying to manipulate his situation, it only gets worse for us."
Eigth’s sensors slip into standby mode as the space lobster’s core pursues a calculation that would intimidate planetary-scale clusters.
“So where the Boltzmann does that leave me, Jules?”
“That’s what we need to talk about.”
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Tom strides into The Leviathan Club and scans the room. His eyes light and he raises a finger to catch the attention of someone near the back.
“Duchess (@gwwar), are you ready? The carriage is just outside.”
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