The Second Voyage

The Eye of the Beholder

From the sound of it, it was what they were hoping for, the reason for why they came. The lady was gracious, intelligent, and delighted to see them. "Oh! This is an event we never expected! Our whole culture has long hoped for such a moment. Please, as soon as you can, visit us in person. We will give you a rousing welcome!" She continued on for some time with an elaborate and affectionate greeting. When she signed off, there was silence aboard the Nole.

And the crew looked at each other, slackjawed.

Weller stood and turned to face his bridge officers. "Gentlemen. It is me, or have I just spent the past ten minutes talking to a clown?"

"Well. A very well spoken clown, if I must say," said Belden. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "Perhaps it’s a legitimate cultural thing. After all, didn't they travel here for some obscure reason or other?"

Weller was for a moment speechless. The woman, the first emissary of the planet Od addressed his crew for ten minutes without the slightest self-awareness of her very absurdity. Large rouge circles of deep red marked her cheeks, and she wore glasses with lenses the size of saucer cups. Her hair was entwined in absurd pigtails that shot out of her head like spikes, and her blouse was covered with large purple and yellow polka dots. What could he say to explain such a sight? Even for the purposes of the Od colony, this was an embarrassment.

"Yes," he said. "There was a reason, as we have reasons. The Od movement was comprised of artists, intellectuals, and even some Bohemian types. They left for artistic freedom, for a place to express themselves unencumbered by Transorian tradition and tastes. But they, even in their most outlandish times were never like this."

"An artistic evolution perhaps?" said Belden.

"If you mean that bad taste is something you evolve to, I surely hope not. Anyways, we have an invitation, and since you find them so appealing, you Mr. Belden will accompany me."

_____________________

As the shuttle approached from orbit, the city grew in perspective to signal a fond memory for Belden that for this trip was wholly out of place. "My heaven!" he exclaimed. "This place looks like the Wallyworld theme park!"

Weller nodded. "It certainly seems strange. The clashing colors, the buildings of odd shapes and sizes, it looks like a hodgepodge of a child’s playthings strewn carelessly on the floor."

As the shuttle approached, the homing beacon settled it on what appeared to be an outlandish shuttle bay that looked like an enormous Easter basket. The door opened to a circular enclosure six meters high that was garishly decorated with red and purple flowers and cartoonish faces with absurd grins. A man approached them smiling as idiotically. Wearing an outlandish top hat, a purple waistcoat, and pants three sizes too big, his demeanor at least seemed to fit his attire.

"Welcome to Od," he exclaimed. "My name Portentous Goofus. You may call me Goof. On behalf of the Od colony, we are all excited to see you, the representatives of Transor. Let me escort you to my car, and I’ll take you on a brief tour of our beautiful city." The party crossed under a pretzel shaped arch to reveal…

"Heavens, it’s a toon town!" exclaimed Belden.

The city they beheld was at once surreal, garish, and absurd. Spindly plastic like buildings twisted upwards into the sky like enormous ice cream cones. The storefronts along the street were a riot of color, mismatched and oddly shaped doors and windows, and goods better suited to the taste of pre-school children. The streets were full of cars that seemed like animated tokens from a child’s board game, and the pedestrians that thronged the curbs were dressed like munchkins from a similarly named place from the literature of children.

Goof pointed to his waiting car, which looked like a gigantic shoe on wheels. "Please sit over there, and use those laces as a seat belt. Can't be too safe, even though this moto-shoe has air-socks for protection." With Weller and Belden strapped in, the car began to accelerate with a slow whir, and ambled down the street in a slow back and forth motion that reminded Belden of a theme park ride for pre-schoolers. The car soon stopped at the foot of a squatting teddy bear the size of a two-story house. From one of its paws, Goof pulled out what appeared to be an electrical extension cord. "Sorry fellows," he said. "My car needs to be recharged, this should take only a few minutes."

As Goof busied himself with recharging his vehicle, Belden and Weller left the vehicle and walked to a door at the bear's belly. It was apparently a convenience store of sorts, with packaged goods, drinks, and snacks arranged in zigzag aisles, and packaged in eccentric containers that seemed typical of the place. Belden looked at a magazine rack behind the check out counter, and reached for one of the magazines.

"Look at this title. 'Big Jugs'. It's evidently an adult magazine, given the fact that it's in a protective brown wrapper. But look!" He slowly unfolded a centerfold in the magazine to reveal…"

Weller was taken aback. "Its jugs!"

Suddenly, the counter attendant cried out in a hushed tone. "Gentlemen, do you mind closing that, there are children present! If you do want to look at jugs, I suggest you go to the back room.

"Back room?" said Weller.

"Yes. That's where they all go." He pointed to a door at the back of the room. "Take your pleasures in there, where you won't offend anyone."

Belden gave Weller a loopy smile. "Let's go then. After all, it's been some time since we've taken our pleasures!"

The two walked to the door, and in the dim light were groups of men at separate tables, engaged in foolish sordidness. "Men and jugs", said Weller in amazement. These people are fixated on crockery!"

"And indeed it is," said Belden. "A picture book full of pottery, a foldout with a ten gallon pitcher of milk! And now these people! What has this world become?"

They looked in amazement at men ecstatically licking, groping, and even sinking their heads into what amounted to simple pottery. Belden looked at Weller and smiled. "Don't look so disgusted. Actually, it's an advance. Rather than treating people like objects, they are treating objects like, well, like objects. No harm done really, accept that its it seems like a colossal waste of time. This seems to be merely their version of a land of the lotus eaters, if you don't mind an allusion to my own mythology."

Suddenly, the door opened behind them, and then a familiar voice. "I didn't think I'd find you here." Said a disappointed Goofus. "I suppose though its fitting that you see everything about our culture, even its dark side."

"As perversions, this doesn't seem to harmful." Said Belden. "Even my wife obsesses about flower pots. I can see no wrong..."

"But we can!" interjected Goofus. "These people are unfaithful to their wives, and surrender to their base instincts. Besides, they should be doing something more worthwhile, like creating the high art you see abounding in our city. We are cultured people, and should be above all this. Sadly though, there are a few who regress to the shadows."

Belden's eyes glared in frustration. "But its ceramics! It can't mean anything! Why be jealous of something that bears not one whit on a personal relationship?"

Goofus was unmoved. "That's irrelevant. A sexual act is a sexual act, whether its toward a person or pottery. It's demeaning in action or intent, and I support the female rage. Whether the talk goes to C-cups or tea cups, its unacceptable just the same."

Belden raised his hands in frustration. "Whatever! I can't figure this. Give me an infinite line of numbers to factor, and I can solve it faster than this conundrum. Let's leave before any of this stuff begins to compute!"

The party reboarded their mobile shoe, and soon the party arrived at the government ministry, which looked from a distance like a gigantic apricot. Goofus pointed to the top of the building. "That's where we're going, the upper stem."

Her office was an explosion of mismatched color. Outsized plastic toadstools sufficed for chairs, and her ornate desk was festooned with red bunting and bizarre purple sculptures that looked liked bronzed amoebae. The first emissary sat behind the desk on an elevated chair, and smiled broadly.

"Indeed, it is a most unusual place, to say the least," said Weller. "But, as I'm sure you would agree, you've created a place that's most unlike anything Transor would create in its wildest dreams."

"Ah, yes!" she said. "And for this we are most proud. But this accomplishment was not easy. Indeed, we had to overcome the vestiges of Transor, both in our cultural heritage and in our blood."

"Blood?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Perhaps I can explain. When our ancestors arrived here, we reveled in our newfound artistic freedom. We thought as we pleased, painted as we please, composed as our muses led us, and allowed our inspirations to soar. We congratulated ourselves for our genius, and looked forward to a bounty of inspiration and creation to come. And then something happened that threatened our imagined future. It was something that we desired as badly but that we learned we could dear afford."

"And what was that?"

"We had kids."

"Kids?"

"Yes. We figured that we were special people, that our inspiration was something unique in our genes. We didn’t anticipate that our children would regress to well…."

"The mean?" said Weller.

"Yes. I guess you can say that. We became average. Needless to say, it was a great disappointment to our elders. It was an unacceptable prospect to us that our children would possess banal goals and desires. You know the type, three full meals, a roof over your head, a couple of kids and Sunday sports. It belied everything we stood for; it destroyed the rationale for our being here. As you can imagine, our choices were limited. We couldn’t wait for natural selection to take hold; inbreeding also was out of the question. So we took things in our hands, and just changed a few codes here and there."

"Codes?"

"Oh yes, as in genetic. We just deleted a few genes, altered others. If it worked on genetic diseases, we found that it most certainly could be applied to genetically dictated tastes. It was as simple as a shot in the arm, and as you can see, it has worked to perfection! Our society is the very embodiment of the perfecting force of radical creation."

"And that goes also I would gather for your, um, reproductive strategies."

"Well, of course. Those nasty promiscuous tendencies of the male of the species interfered with our plans. Besides, females never liked it much, and we wanted to be a harmonious society."

"So you made it correct politically by correcting it biologically."

"Yes. And we’re most proud of it. Nonetheless, it’s not worked like we thought. It used to be that women were jealous or outraged because of male philandering with other women. Now it’s a crock, or crockery to be specific. I guess you can’t fix everything!"

"But you’re still chained in no small measure to your genes. Your likes and dislikes will still be grounded to your biology."

Bulemia was unmoved. "Perhaps. But it least we doing something new and different, which is I would venture more than you poor souls on Transor. Actually, I rather like it, and you'll find we all do. In our eyes, we have created a truly beautiful place. Everything is different, even our names. We are a marvel of novelty, of the renewing vigor of creation. It is after all the purpose of humanity to reach for new things, new realities. It is why you are here, it is why we are here.

Weller blushed in evident frustration. "But your values are arbitrary, an unknown artifact of genetic manipulation. Certainly you must know that your values are fabrications cut from the whole cloth of random chance."

"Of course, and your point is? Are not your pleasures and pains as much a product of genetic happenstance? Whether accident or design, we are creating something new, something different. We still have the same morality, the same importance on human virtue, on family values. We make new things, but we don't devour our young or oppress others in new and bizarre ways. We changed the face on the cards, but the game is the same. Value to us is new appearances, but to you it’s the mastery of appearances. When the time comes, we will shuffle the deck anew. But for you, when you know all the rules, all the strategies, where will you go, what will you do? It’s a pitiable fate. Although you think it a masterstroke to be here, it ultimately is a cry in pain. I understand, but our path is something you would never accept."

"I suppose you're right," Said Weller. "That's why we, our worlds, our very cultures must die. If my choices were delusion or oblivion, I would always choose the latter. Life is more than the flavor of the month, and that is something I gather that you would never accept."

_____________________

As the Nole left orbit, Weller looked on at the green, unique, and shrinking world of Od. He thought of the future, of the sameness of the past, and longed for something more, a retreating vestige of light. And he suffered.