reminded them, asserted the supremacy of the collective over the individual. What mattered
was the Church, not any single member. Not even a Founder, not even an ecclesiarch.
“And what is the Second Great Meme? It concerns the role of the individual within the collective. What is important for the
lifesoul of any one of us here is not bodily comfort. We can be cold, or hot, or wet, or dry . . . happy or sad, consensual
or consumed. None of those matters! All that matters is spiritual completeness. We must be fulfilled; we must follow the precepts
of the Originals. We must follow the path of tolerance and love for all sentient beings, everywhere in the universe. For that
is the path that leads, if all play their part, to the ecstasy of Heaven! Remember, Heaven is no abstraction. Already, for
a ninesquare and seven worlds, Heaven is a reality. And the Church’s ultimate task, toward which every one of you strives
with every fiber of your being, is to make
every
world a Heaven!”
The Illensan’s oratory had risen to a strident climax. Suddenly drained of energy, no longer able to sustain such heights
of emotion, it switched mood, never missing a beat. Previously, the words had tumbled out in a rush; now, they came one at
a time, like the steady drip of liquid. “But Heaven is not quickly attained. The path to bliss is strewn with obstacles. Before
you can aspire to Heaven, you must come to grips with”—pause for effect—“
perversion
. What is fittest will thrive; what is least fit will decay: That is a basic evolutionary principle. . . .”
It was gripping stuff, solid doctrine. Wise words, indeed. It needed to be said again and again, and listened to as if it
were ever fresh. Yet, as the Illensan droned on, Sam felt his mind slipping away . . . and awoke with a jolt as the Fyx on
his left alerted him to the unwanted attentions of a sharp-eyed acolyte. Sam surfaced from his daydream to find that the same
speaker still held the stage. The Illensan, who had been rehearsing the eight varieties of perversion, resettled itself on
its powerball, winding up to a conclusion: “Cosmic Unity tells us to tolerate all differences
except
perversion. Perversion is a great evil and must be rooted out at any cost. So we need feel no shame in performing the lesser
evil of eradicating perversion at the root, before it becomes established.”
Of course,
Sam thought.
The lesser evil is always preferable, for in that manner do we minimize the total evil
.
Which is itself an evolutionary principle
, he suddenly realized. He fought to quell the flush of false pride that the discovery engendered. The Lifesoul-Giver must
have provided him with the insight.
Its truth was too compelling for it to be otherwise.
3
NO-MOON
Plans? Rubbish. The trouble with plans is that something unexpected always happens. So then you have to be able to throw away
the plan and improvise. Ready, fire, aim—that’s my motto. Look where it got me.
The Little Book of Prudence
S econd-Best Sailor awoke and wished he hadn’t. He felt as though he had been chased by a gulpmouth, ingested, digested, and
excreted. He tasted as if he had been, too. And his body, currently mottled in irregular patches, ached all over.
It was a familiar feeling. He had overcelebrated as usual, swapping sailors’ tales in the bar at Wild Weed Wasted and eating
too many algae sticks. But he was entitled to a bit of fun, wasn’t he? The trading had been profitable beyond his wildest
dreams.
As the world came into focus, he began to notice more than just his aching cartilage. The boat was rocking slightly in its
moorings—there must be a squall outside. Or maybe a big cruiseliner was about to leave port. Whatever it was, right now he
didn’t give a squirt. He rummaged through the cupboards for some medication but found none. He must have used it all up in
Coldcoast Docks. Make a mental note to get some more before setting sail . .
was the Church, not any single member. Not even a Founder, not even an ecclesiarch.
“And what is the Second Great Meme? It concerns the role of the individual within the collective. What is important for the
lifesoul of any one of us here is not bodily comfort. We can be cold, or hot, or wet, or dry . . . happy or sad, consensual
or consumed. None of those matters! All that matters is spiritual completeness. We must be fulfilled; we must follow the precepts
of the Originals. We must follow the path of tolerance and love for all sentient beings, everywhere in the universe. For that
is the path that leads, if all play their part, to the ecstasy of Heaven! Remember, Heaven is no abstraction. Already, for
a ninesquare and seven worlds, Heaven is a reality. And the Church’s ultimate task, toward which every one of you strives
with every fiber of your being, is to make
every
world a Heaven!”
The Illensan’s oratory had risen to a strident climax. Suddenly drained of energy, no longer able to sustain such heights
of emotion, it switched mood, never missing a beat. Previously, the words had tumbled out in a rush; now, they came one at
a time, like the steady drip of liquid. “But Heaven is not quickly attained. The path to bliss is strewn with obstacles. Before
you can aspire to Heaven, you must come to grips with”—pause for effect—“
perversion
. What is fittest will thrive; what is least fit will decay: That is a basic evolutionary principle. . . .”
It was gripping stuff, solid doctrine. Wise words, indeed. It needed to be said again and again, and listened to as if it
were ever fresh. Yet, as the Illensan droned on, Sam felt his mind slipping away . . . and awoke with a jolt as the Fyx on
his left alerted him to the unwanted attentions of a sharp-eyed acolyte. Sam surfaced from his daydream to find that the same
speaker still held the stage. The Illensan, who had been rehearsing the eight varieties of perversion, resettled itself on
its powerball, winding up to a conclusion: “Cosmic Unity tells us to tolerate all differences
except
perversion. Perversion is a great evil and must be rooted out at any cost. So we need feel no shame in performing the lesser
evil of eradicating perversion at the root, before it becomes established.”
Of course,
Sam thought.
The lesser evil is always preferable, for in that manner do we minimize the total evil
.
Which is itself an evolutionary principle
, he suddenly realized. He fought to quell the flush of false pride that the discovery engendered. The Lifesoul-Giver must
have provided him with the insight.
Its truth was too compelling for it to be otherwise.
3
NO-MOON
Plans? Rubbish. The trouble with plans is that something unexpected always happens. So then you have to be able to throw away
the plan and improvise. Ready, fire, aim—that’s my motto. Look where it got me.
The Little Book of Prudence
S econd-Best Sailor awoke and wished he hadn’t. He felt as though he had been chased by a gulpmouth, ingested, digested, and
excreted. He tasted as if he had been, too. And his body, currently mottled in irregular patches, ached all over.
It was a familiar feeling. He had overcelebrated as usual, swapping sailors’ tales in the bar at Wild Weed Wasted and eating
too many algae sticks. But he was entitled to a bit of fun, wasn’t he? The trading had been profitable beyond his wildest
dreams.
As the world came into focus, he began to notice more than just his aching cartilage. The boat was rocking slightly in its
moorings—there must be a squall outside. Or maybe a big cruiseliner was about to leave port. Whatever it was, right now he
didn’t give a squirt. He rummaged through the cupboards for some medication but found none. He must have used it all up in
Coldcoast Docks. Make a mental note to get some more before setting sail . .
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