"For an infinite being, Time produces boredom. Limits exist to how much Time I can tolerate."
"How much Time are You giving us to decide the way we'll WorShip?"
"At the proper moment you will be told. And one more thing -"
"Yes?"
"Do not be dismayed if I refer to you occasionally as My Devil."
He was a moment recovering his voice, then: "What can I do about it? You can call me whatever You like."
"I merely asked that you not be dismayed."
"Sure! And I'm King Canute telling the tides to stop!"
There was no response from Ship and Flattery wondered if he was to be left on his own to find his way down to this planet called Pandora. But presently, Ship spoke once more: "Now we will dress you in appropriate costume, Raj. There is a new Chaplain/Psychiatrist who rules the Shipmen. They call him Ceepee and, when he offends them, they call him The Boss. You can expect that The Boss will order you to attend him soon."
Perhaps the immobility of the things that surround us is forced upon them by our conviction that they are themselves and not anything else, and by the immobility of our conceptions of them.
OAKES STUDIED his own image reflected in the com-console at his elbow. The curved screen, he knew, was what made the reflection diminutive.
Reduced.
He felt jumpy. No telling what the ship might do to him next.
Oakes swallowed in a dry throat.
He did not know how long he had sat there hypnotized by that reflection. It was still nightside. An unfinished glass of Pandoran wine sat on a low brown table in front of him. He glanced up and around. His opulent cubby remained a place of shadows and low illumination, but something had changed. He could feel the change. Somethin.... someone watchin....
The ship might refuse to talk to him, deny him elixir, but he was getting messages - many messages.
Change.
That unspoken question which hovered in his mind had changed something in the air. His skin tingled and there was a throbbing at his temples.
What if the ship's program is running down?
His reflection in the blank screen gave no answer. It showed only his own features and he began to feel pride in what he saw there. Not just fat, no. Here was a mature man in his middle years. The Boss. The silver at his temples spoke of dignity and importance. And although he wa.... plump, his skin remained soft and clear, testimony to the care he took preserving the appearance of youth.
Women liked that.
What if the ship is Shi.... is truly God?
The air felt dirty in his lungs and he realized he was breathing much too rapidly.
Doubts.
The damned ship was not going to respond to his doubts. Never had. Wouldn't talk to him; wouldn't feed him. He had to feed himself from the ship's limited hydroponics gardens. How long could he continue to trust them? Not enough food for everyone. The very thought increased his appetite.
He stared at the unfinished glass of wine - dark amber, oily on the inner surface of the glass. There was a wet puddle under the glass, a stain on the brown surface.
I'm the Ceepee.
The Ceepee was supposed to believe in Ship. In his own cynical way, old Kingston had insisted on this.
I don't believe.
Was that why a new Ceepee was being sent groundside?
Oakes ground his teeth together.
I'll kill the bastard!
He spoke it aloud, intensely aware of how the words echoed in his cubby.
"Hear that, Ship? I'll kill the bastard!"
Oakes half expected a response to this blasphemy. He knew this because he caught himself holding his breath, listening hard to the shadows at the edges of his cubby.
How did you test for godhood?
How do you separate a powerful mechanical phenomenology, a trick of technological mirrors, fro.... . from a miracle?
If God did not play dice, as the Ceepees were always told, what might God play? Perhaps dice was not challenge enough for a god. What was risk enough to tempt a god out of silence or reveri.... out of a god's lair?
It was a stupefying question - to challenge God at God's own game?
Oakes nodded to himself.
In the game, perhaps, is the miracle. Miracle of Consciousness? It was no trick to make a machine self-programming, self-perpetuating. Complex, true, and unimaginably costl....
Not unimaginably, he cautioned himself.
He shook his head to drive out the half-dream.
If people did it, then it's imaginable, tangible, somehow explainable. Gods move in other circles.
The question was: which circles? And if you could define those circles, their limits, you could know the limits of the god within them. What limits, then? He thought about energy. Energy remained a function of mass and speed. Even a god might have to be somewhere within the denominator of - what kind of mass, how much, how fast?
Maybe godhood is simply another expansion of limits. Because our vision dims is no reason to conclude that infinity lies beyond.
His training as a Chaplain had always been subservient to his training as a scientist and medical man. He knew that to test data truly he could not close the doors on experiment or assume that what he wished would necessarily be so.
It was what you did with data, not the data, that was important. Every king, every emperor had to know that one. Even his theology master had agreed.
"Sell 'em on God. It's for their own good. Pin the little everyday miracles on God and you've got 'em; you don't need to move mountains. If you're good enough, people will move the mountains for you in the name of God."