113 The Die Is Cas (1/2)
By half past one, Carlton Brock had drunk at least a pint of bourbon. He stopped only when he'd finished the bottle.
After due consideration, he got out a flat, silver flask, filled it from a fresh bottle of bourbon, and put in it in the breast pocket of his jacket. It made him fully prepared for all the hours of listening to bullshit that he would have to endure.
He arrived in the general assembly chamber a few minutes early, and watched the members of the world parliament come in. They came in two basic varieties.
Some were clearly in excellent moods and optimistic - it was hard to tell whether this was because of the occasion, because of drugs, or because of both. Weinberger's magic transformation - from a grey zombie to fire-breathing achiever in just a few minutes! - had resulted in many discreet enquiries, which in turn resulted in very busy mornings for John Knox.
The good doctor now had over a dozen patients coming in for treatment every day. He could have easily had many, many more, but he took on only those that were healthy. Heart conditions were a definite no-no, as was serious obesity.
This last hurdle felled quite a few national leaders. One Marshal Admiral President For Life of an unnamed country took great offence.
”You are saying I too fat?!” he had bellowed at Knox in broken English. ”I too fat for your treatment?”
”You're definitely overweight,” John Knox had said. ”I mean, a hundred and twenty eight kilos of weight at a hundred and sixty eight centimeters of height is definitely excessive.”
He had the impression the Marshal Admiral President For Life was about to reach for his holstered pistol, so he hastily added:
”You're a very big man. And in my opinion, you don't need any treatments to improve.”
It had been the right thing to say. The Marshal Admiral President For Life still bristled, but his hand moved away from the holster and stroked his mustache instead.
From what Brock could see, the optimists were a distinct minority. Most of the people that entered the general assembly chamber seemed depressed. Luckily, only a very few looked both angry and determined. Brock's experience told him those would be the guys that would make things difficult.
Of course, he was beyond their line of fire. He was just a governor and member of parliament like everyone else. He saw that Odongo was ushering in a small group of experts; he recognized Olaf Troll instantly, even though almost completely hidden from sight by the others. There was also that delectable Patel woman, that Worst idiot, Katz, Molito, and a couple of faces that were new to Brock.
The members were being shoehorned into a question and answer session! Brilliant, just brilliant. None of the angry members could hope to outwit and out-talk an expert, maybe with the exception of Brock himself, and he wasn't about to propose changing anything. Things were fine as they were.
Odongo performed a check on everyone present: there was a total of eighty one members in the general assembly chamber. Ten more than the absolute majority required to win the vote. Odongo introduced the experts to everyone, and Brock learned that the two new faces belonged to scientists: an astrophysician and a statistician.
Following the introductions, Odongo said:
”If anyone wants to introduce a motion, or ask a question, please raise your hand. We'll go row by row, from back to front. We'll move to vote on everything, point by point, right after that.”
Instantly a forest of hands shot up, and Brock groaned inwardly. He was trapped in there forever! He had taken care to seat himself at the back: it carried a double benefit. It made him appear modest, and allowed discreet use of the silver flask.
There were three other parliament members seated in the last row with Brock. He was angry to see one of them - a desiccated woman who properly belonged in a museum featuring mummies - had raised her hand.
”The honorable member for Azerbaijan,” Odongo said equably. The woman bent to the microphone on the desktop in front of her.
”I like to know what we really dealing with,” she said. ”I like to know what this New World really is and where it come from. I don't believe this glowing scroll. To me it is a practical joke.”
”Professor Berli,” Odongo said smoothly, and smiled at the astrophysicist. He was as old and wrinkled as the woman, and thus started on an equal footing.
”I agree with the member for Azerbaijan,” he wheezed into his microphone. ”It may appear to be a joke. But in absence of relevant facts, we must take it seriously. Especially since the arrival of those cubes has caused such upheaval. In my opinion, those cubes were mini-portals to another world, the world inhabited by our great-great-great grandchildren. Specially designed to admit only one-way traffic in selected artifacts: the implant kits, the scrolls, the mats referred to as hiber beds. They're definitely for real, wouldn't you agree?”
”But this New World,” persisted the Azerbaijani horror, ”What is it exactly? How did it take shape?”
Berli cackled wickedly and said:
”You must realize something first. Eighty five percent of our known universe is composed of something we call dark matter. We know next to nothing about dark matter and dark energy. We know it's there, but that's it. Our whole scientific knowledge of the universe is based on the fifteen percent that we do know - more or less.
”So the best I can give you is an informed guess, at best a fifteen-percent-informed guess. The New World is a copy of Earth in a universe that is a copy of our own, and exists in another dimension. Or rather another set of dimensions. There are anomalies of space and time present, there is a really big time anomaly - time flows ten times faster than on Earth, yet time flow feels the same. There are also questions regarding scale. It seems everything but the land masses is on a much smaller scale, again estimated at ten times smaller than what we have here. These are the initial findings, very initial findings.”