“What deities give you aren’t rules of morality,” Teresa responded. “They’re just rules. Do this and you’ll rewarded. Do that and you’ll be punished. That's how we teach our pants not to relieve themselves in the house. One would hope that true morality involved more than learning not to poop on the rug by being rapped on the nose.”
I remembered that small animal Garfield had seen wearing the cone of shame. It seemed pet behavior was another universal.
“In fact,” Teresa continued, “I believe that it is only possible to acquire true morality without input from a deity. It is only when you do something because you believe it is the right thing to do, instead of because of an immoral desire, that you are acting morally. Likewise, it is only when you refuse to do something because of the golden rule, rather than because of a threat of punishment, that you are behaving in a moral manner.”
“Ah,” I piped up. “The golden rule: treat others as you'd like to be treated.”
Teresa gave me a perplexed look. “No, that's the silver rule.”
What? Had I missed something?
“There are three rules of behavior,” Teresa replied now in lecture mode. “The iron rule: treat others less powerful than you however you’d like. The silver rule: treat others as you’d like to be treated. The golden rule: treat others as they'd like to be treated.”
Huh. I had not heard that.
Teresa frowned at me. “Seems like an odd gap. How far away is your home? Maybe they need a missionary visit.”
“From an atheist?” Freda said archly.
“Wait,” I gestured at Freda with an upheld hand. Then to Teresa, “How is that better?”
“If I treat you how I want to be treated, I'm not taking into account your desires.” Teresa made it imploring gesture. “If you are a unitest and can't eat land meat, but land meat is my favorite, the silver rule says I'm behaving morally by offering you a steak if you're hungry. But of course, you won't eat it, and in fact, may be offended. So the silver rule is still, to a large extent, about me and my desires. However, with the golden rule, I am obligated to take into account your beliefs and preferences when deciding how best to behave toward you. Does this not produce a better result?”
“Huh,” I said. Again, not sounding very smart, Bob. “I'll have to think about that.”
Teresa smiled. “That's the best sentence any teacher could hear.”
“But,” Freda interjected, “you could believe literally anything, and there’s no way to decide which is right.”
“Shall we just sail right past port then?!” Captain Lisa's voice washed over us. Damn, she had presence. I wondered if captains practiced that kind of yelling. “Maybe we should just sail into the rocks, then. Perhaps when you have a few seconds, you could steer this Mother-be-damned tub!”
Once again, lunch 10 minutes was over.
We pulled into Orchard Hill without incident. As soon as the gangplank was in place, Snidely stalked down it and away, cutting in front of the captain. He wasn't carrying his trunk, so unfortunately, he'd probably be back. And Captain Lisa would likely have a few things to say to him.
The captain and the dock master got into the usual spitting and shouting match, which as usual, terminated with work for us. We began hauling boxes off the Hurricane and stacking them on a low-slung cart specifically designed for this. It was mindless work, and allowed me to think. I’d been on the move for a week, and had traversed the segment. Assuming that was a reasonable speed, I'd be a month and a half getting to Garrick's Spine. Maybe a little more, since I’d also have to move from the Nirvana back to the Arcadia. Maybe I could get on a boat that crossed as part of their regular route.
I was interrupted in my ruminations by something… undefinable. There's a particular sound or maybe a change to the normal background that happens when cops show up. It's subtle, but it's enough to make you stop and look.
Coming down the dock was Snidely, talking animatedly to one of four cops. I doubted that he was trying to get them to check the Hurricane’s boating license. Assuming they had such things.
Snidely marched straight up to me, and with triumph in his voice said, “This one.”
The cop, presumably the ranking officer, examined me, head slightly cocked. “Doesn't match the description.” He sighed. “Nevertheless, we're here.”
He motioned me to precede him up the gangplank.
“What's going on?” Captain Lisa demanded. She place herself in front of the spokes-cop, blocking his path.
He gestured to Snidely. “This gentleman has accused this man of being the fugitive, who is currently being sought through several segments.”
“Based on the fact that he tried to break into my trunk and I threatened him,” I said.
“And why would he be trying to break in your trunk?”
“You've known them for five minutes. Tell me honestly if that doesn't seem in character.”
The cop said nothing, but his face took on the stony cast the men someone was trying to suppress a facial expression. After a moment, he sighed. “Nevertheless, we're here. And Mr. Whiplash is from a Family.” He turned to the captain. “You can refuse to let me on board, but the dock master can also refuse to continue to load and unload. Your choice.”
Captain Lisa gave Snidely a murderous glare before replying to the sergeant.
“You have permission. He does not.” She turned to Ted. Bring Mr. Whiplash’s trunk down.”
Snidely smiled
