Right hand rule, thought Brian, right hand ule. Solves any maze.
He had been wandering around corridors, into empty rooms, and almost
out into space, had it not been for some disembodied voice that said:
"Like, if you wanna space yourself, let me know so I can close
the safety doors, ok?"
The voice muttered something mostly inaudible, and Brian tried
another path. Eventually, the door opened and , lo and behold!
There were a group of people seated at a table, conducting themselves
in a most heinous manner.
"Greetings," said Brian in (he hoped) a suitably impressive
voice. "There are matters of Great Importance that must be attended.
I have come to teach you of the glory and the power of Cheom, who is
possibly the way and the light, although there may also be darkness,
if It so wishes, and who may have created the Heavens and the Earth,
and also a few other assorted planets."
The others looked up, slightly annoyed, from their card game.
"But first, the matter of Great Importance: where can a guy get
something to eat around here?"
"Down the hall to the left a bit," someone suggested, "make a
right a couple doors down."
"Ask Neil if you get lost," someone else said. Then they went
back to the game.
Brian did no know who Neil was, but was loathe to express his
ignorance on this matter, so he tried the directions, which, thank
Cheom in Its finite mercy, led him to a room smelling deliciously of
chicken cordon bleu. The door didn't open. He looked for a doorknob,
or handle or latch of some sort, to no avail. He pushed, pulled,
coaxed the door. Finally he kicked it furiously.
"Curse this door!" he shouted.
"You could, like, just ask," came the mysterious voice. "Nicely."
"Who are you, that follows me around and acts snidely?"
"Like, I don't need to follow anyone, you know," came the voice.
"I'm just your friendly neighborhood shipboard computer, and I just
run this place, which would just fall apart without me, if I
just stop paying attention for 126 microseconds, and if people
would just start, like, showing me the proper respect life
would be much nicer, don't you think?"
"You are an insignificant worm," declared Brian, "or less, in the
eyes of Cheom, and should take some time to meditate on your proper
position in the Universe which exists only for Cheom's pleasure."
Brian looked at the door, sniffed the food odors, contemplated his
belly. "However, I, who am also but an insignificant worm in the
eyes of Cheom, who is all-powerful, or at least more powerful than us,
certainly see your point of view and can agree wholeheartedly that
this is indeed a deplorable situation. Furthermore, I should like to
take this opportunity to commend you for your excellent performance
(what little of it I have seen in my brief commission upon this
magnificent vessel which would be a tribute to Cheom's glory should
it ever see fit to devote itself to Cheom or even do things that
Cheom would like it to do, and purge from its bowels all those enemies
of Cheom, um. Where was I? Oh yes. And I would be most grateful
should you see fit to open the door upon which I expended much
energy."
"Huh?" There was a pause. "Oh, like, I get it. Sure." The
door slid open and the odors wafted out. "My name's Neil, by the
way."
"And I am Brian, First Prophet of Cheom."
Brian wandered into the room. Anakata was sitting with another
woman of rather nondescript features. They were both feasting on
chicken cordon bleu.
"That smells wonderful," he said.
"Deja vu." Anakata looked up from her food. "So, you're dressed."
"Yes."
"Bob, this is Brian. He's also new here."
Bob munched intently on her food, immersed wholly in the act.
"Brian, this is Bob. She's also a bit weird."
"So, you are the Bob of the Church of the Sub-genius?" Brian asked.
"Where is your pipe?"
"I hate when people keep using the same jokes." Bob did not look
up from her food.
"Um, yes." A bit psychotic, thought Brian. Perhaps schizophrenia.
"Is there, perhaps, any more where that came from? The food, that
is."
Anakata pointed at an empty food dispenser. "Over there. Just
tell it what you want."
"I do not understand."
"Look, I:ll show you." Anakata went to the machine. "Suppose
you want what we're having. You tell it. It gives you food." Brian
looked at her dubiously. Like this," she said. "Chicken cordon bleu."
The steaming plate of dead flesh appeared in the device.
Brian hastily stepped back, gesticulating with his left hand.
"KAOT!" he exclaimed. "What manner of foul devilry is this?"
"It's a matter synthesizer which utilizes super-compressed
hydrogen to compile complex organic molecules in preprogrammed
formations," Bob mumbled with her mouth full.
"Oh." Brian looked obviously relieved. "And it will give me
anything I ask for?"
"Pretty much," said Anakata.
"Raw Spam on stale rye sandwich with extra hot sauce and pineapple
and pickle slices," he told the machine.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"I brought my own TANG."