“I have a Masters in Business from the University of Peach Land,” he replied heartily.
I checked the translator out of curiosity. That wasn't bad, close enough to retain the meaning anyway, although I doubted that a Masters had quite the same meaning as a human university degree.
“And you took classes Peach Land?” Teresa asked.
“Of course.”
“I taught courses at Peach Land, Mr. Whiplash. Don’t talk down to me. I have several doctorates in subjects much more relevant than how to count money for those who’ve had their life handed to them.”
Woah. Snidely jerked back, and I imagined flames sparking at the end of his whiskers. As much as I disliked him, obvious glee wouldn't be helpful, so I maintained a stone face as he stood stiffly.
“That would've been very handy, I suppose, before senility set in,” he said, showing his canines.
Belinda turned on him, snarled, and extended her claws. Snidely jumped back, surprised and alarmed by her reaction.
“You’re a small man, with a small shriveled soul, Mr. Whiplash,” Teresa said. “There is no bigger waste of a formal education, gave to someone incapable of using it. I have no doubt your whole life would disappear into your father's accomplishments without leaving our ripple.”
Snidely glared at her for a moment, totally silenced, before stalking off.
“That went well,” I said.
Teresa chuckled. “And what about you Mr. Fungi? You have a last name as well. Do you have anything to show for it?”
“Not really. My family earned the name long ago. Nowadays it's mostly useful for keeping people like Snidely from patronizing me too much.”
“Do you believe, as Mr. Whiplash apparently does, that the world came about naturally?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “It's a rotating structure, 100 hen in radius, composed of segments each 1000 hen in length. The ratio is clearly artificial. The experiment to determine the rotational period is something we did in our first-year classes. It's exactly what you’d need in order to generate 0.86 g.”
I was taking a chance showing any scientific chops, but I wanted Teresa to approve of me. Not just because she appeared to have a ferocious intellect, but also because I might learn something useful. This could turn out to be the first truly useful encounter since we'd landed.
She nodded slowly. “Ah. An engineer. A frustrating occupation, I imagine. So much of what you know you could do is forbidden.”
“And what did you teach, Teresa?”
“Philosophy. Math. History.” She smiled sadly. “That last item is particularly frustrating. Even in my lifetime, I've watched people letting go of some of the more difficult aspects of Quinlan history, in favor of myth. Belief in the Administrator as a supernatural deity of some kind, and just-so stories.”
Jackpot. Maybe I'd finally get a complete picture of the history of Heaven's River.
“So, what do you think the Administrator…”
The captain's voice cut through everything. “Alright you lazy sots, this tub won't steer itself. Are you going to leave that mess on the deck forever? Do I pay you to sun yourselves? Hop to it!”
I sighed. Lunch 10 minutes was over.
The next day's topic was life after death. Orrick and Freda, no surprise had opinions the tended toward the mystical. Teresa, bless her heart, didn't mock or condescend, but she did ask questions that they found very hard to handle. During a lull, while Orrick and Freda were regrouping, she turned to me.
“You've been quiet, Enochi. Don't have an opinion?”
I chuckled. “That'll be the day. I guess the real problem is defining what you mean by life after death.”
“I would have thought it with self-explanatory.”
“The supernatural version, sure. Also unprovable. At least so far. But what about a more science-oriented version?”
I launched into a highly abbreviated explanation of replication. When I was done, Orrick and Freda looked equal parts confused and appalled.
“That’s not the same,” Freda exclaimed. “That's just a copy of you.”
“But if original you isn’t around anymore, it sure beats the alternative,” I replied with a grin.
Teresa laughed. “And to anyone else, it might make no difference. If a copy of me loved to chase my grandchildren around and remembered everyone's birthdays, how would you tell it wasn't original me?”
“But it wouldn’t be.”
“There is a postulate in the information theory that information can't be destroyed,” I said slowly. I was sticking my neck out, I knew it. I watched myself doing it, and couldn't stop. This might be well beyond what Quinlans had managed to retain.
“And in philosophy, there's something called a Closest Continuer, which according to some thought actually would be you, even if there was a gap.”
Teresa gave me a quizzical look. “I can get the definition of Closest Continuer from context, but I'd love to hear more about this, bit about information theory.”
There were groans from the others. It appeared advanced physics was not a popular subject.
I was in my VR library, studying some of the blueprints of Heaven's River produced from scans by the Skippies and Gamers, when I received an alert from my Manny's AMI: sentry roamer reports disturbance.
That meant someone or something was disturbing my trunk. I quickly entered my Manny and climbed quietly to my feet. It was full night, and Ted was on watch. The ersatz starlight was enough to illuminate the shore if we got to close, but it generally wasn't a problem, as the current and wind tended to keep the boat in the middle of the river. Ted would wake us up if some emergency navigation became necessary.
Meanwhile, we had a small lantern on bow and stern, just enough to mark our position for any other boats, but not enough to affect night-adapted eyes. Of course that didn't matter for a Manny equipped with real night vision.
Someone had peeled back part of the tarp and was bent over the trunks. Someone with a, shall we say, extra wide silhouette. I walked quietly up behind Snidely and whispered.
“It's locked, asshole.”
He jerked up and turned to face me. “Very well locked, it
