Young Tales of the Old Cosmos (6 page)

“I’m sorely disappointed,” pouted the Milky Way.

“Why? That’s such an irrational attitude,” objected Andromeda.

“It means I haven’t been accepted back into cosmic society after all. It means I’m still an outcast and the galaxies beyond our group will keep moving away from me. What’s the use of being friends with a bunch of gods for a single afternoon? Yes, I realise that gods don’t come in bunches, but the moment the fairground closes they’ll return to their alternative reality and I’ll be miserable again. I’ll have gained nothing worthwhile. That’s why.”

“What about the sheer enjoyment of the experience?”

“There’s that, I suppose,” conceded the Milky Way.

She attempted another smile, then frowned again as she listened to the combined song of all the pulsars in her body. Andromeda also listened. The polyrhythmic element to the music of all those rapidly spinning neutron stars was incredibly complex and the superimposed harmonies somehow produced the paradoxical effect of agitated stasis. It was neither pleasant nor unbearably discordant.

“When will they realise nobody’s going to answer the phone and ring off?” joked the Milky Way.

But Andromeda forgot to laugh.

“Lighten up, my dear,” chided the Milky Way. “Why not tell me something about the nature of the gods who have developed a sudden interest in me? For example, how many are there? Have they been anthropomorphised? How potent are they?”

“In answer to your last question, not omni,” replied Andromeda.

“Typical! Only minor deities!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Andromeda, “for even the most powerful deity in existence probably can’t do
everything
, but I don’t care to get into a philosophical discussion right now, so I’ll merely state that the gods in question seem to be highly respected in their own dimension and in others too. I can only tell you what I’ve read in books because I’ve never seen them for real.”

“Don’t you know their names?” pressed the Milky Way.

The three hundred billion suns in the pinwheel body of Andromeda seemed to dim slightly and flare up again as the only obvious sign of that galaxy’s concentrated efforts to recall extremely murky memories, but such fluctuations in luminosity tend to be optical illusions created by psychological expectation, instead of physical phenomena, and they can’t be objectively measured.

At last an answer was forthcoming. “I seem to remember there are scores of them and that they are grouped into two main categories and four sub-categories.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” sniffed the Milky Way.

Andromeda ignored this criticism. “The main categories are the Old and New Gods and the sub-categories are labelled the Old Old, Old New, New Old and New New, but I don’t know who belongs where. For example, I feel sure that Grunnt, Mmuudd and Hiss are Old Gods but
how
old I couldn’t say, whereas Hopp, Bliss and Faker are New Gods, but whether brand new or only slightly new is uncertain.”

“Strange names. I wonder what Hopp is the god
of
? I can’t guess!”

“Nor me,” agreed Andromeda, “and he only has one leg, so the mystery deepens. Some of the others have attributes embedded in their names, such as Tonshur the Balding, Elabora the Elucidated and Ragluv the Vulgar, so I imagine a perceptive mind could work out their powers with the aid of a dictionary, but I prefer to eschew such puzzles. I gave up religion too, when I was young, just before my twenty first supernova, when it seemed profoundly uncool to be overawed by any credo.”

“Me too,” said the Milky Way, “and in fact the entire Local Group are a sceptical lot. I don’t think Triangulum has ever offered a prayer to anything. I’ll ask him outright, the next time I see him. All the same, I’m looking forward to meeting some real gods.”

“Yes, that pleasure doesn’t require actual belief.”

“I wonder if any god or goddess has ever been an atheist?” grinned the Milky Way, but to her surprise Andromeda nodded vigorously.

“You’ve just reminded me of the unique case of the goddess Xodarap who did become an atheist or maybe an agnostic and suddenly stopped existing, together with her believers. Or was it untogether with her unbelievers? I’m not sure!”

“So I won’t be meeting
her
this afternoon?”

“Afraid not. But more names are coming back to me now… Drigg and Gakk and Chyme. Who else? Gaap, Meek and Hornus. There’s Subtil, Allaflap the Flaky and Whistful. Not forgetting Puff, Nigggl, Rudurr the Bent, Scala, Gasklud, Pitapata and Dripdrip. Did I mention the Aloo Brothers, Saag and Hullab? Or Snooka…”

“Enough!” protested the Milky Way. “My mind’s awhirl”

“Awhirl,” repeated Andromeda.

“I’m so excited I can scarcely breathe. I feel quite faint!”

“Focus on the present, not the future. Move your lungs slowly and get that refreshing vacuum deep into your circulation,” advised Andromeda.

“It tastes funny,” said the Milky Way a few moments later.

“That’s simply not possible, my dear!”

The Milky Way began to chuckle and most of her anxiety dissipated on the waves of mirth she radiated. “Having pondered the matter more carefully, I’ve come to the conclusion that I no longer
want
to rejoin the wider community of galaxies. If all those gods and goddesses have singled me out, I clearly can’t be worthless. I bet the Virgo Cluster swine will become so envious when they see what takes places that their red shifts will turn a livid shade of green!”

“Please don’t go to the other extreme,” sighed Andromeda.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Giving yourself airs and graces. One moment you’re a pariah, the next you’re some sort of astral princess. It’s just a visit to a fairground, not your coronation!”

The Milky Way digested this and responded soberly, “Perhaps I do need to cultivate a proper sense of perspective, but when I recall how badly I’ve been treated by M49, M86 and M87 can you blame me for being so angry with that particular clique of galaxies? Fifty five million light years distant they are already and receding at a faster rate all the time. The insult is so brazen…”

Andromeda was philosophical. “If you don’t brood about it, how can it hurt you?”

But the Milky Way was unconvinced. “That attitude is impractically stoical in my view and I ought to point out that
you
don’t have fleas and haven’t been ostracised by most of your friends. I don’t mean to denigrate your support and you’ll always be my closest companion, my sister and mentor, but bear in mind that only a few billion years ago I was engaged to be married to the Sombrero Galaxy. So it’s not only friends I’ve lost but my lover too. Try to imagine how that feels!”

“Yes, he
was
a scoundrel, running away like that.”

“Didn’t even bother taking his hat off. I’ve half a mind to stop using his real name and call him by his catalogue number.”

“NGC 4594, isn’t it?” asked Andromeda.

The Milky Way nodded. “An ugly number, just like his soul. But back then I thought he was so noble. We were going to have a lavish wedding, with M32, M63, M77, M97, M101, M102 and M109 as bridesmaids. Everything was ready for the big day, then he noticed my fleas and the news spread throughout the universe like a tachyon tsunami.”

“Hang about!” protested Andromeda. “There’s something suspicious about that list. For a start, M32 is a male dwarf galaxy and not eligible to be a bridesmaid. As for M97, that’s not even a galaxy but a nebula in the constellation of Ursa Major, in other words a shell of hot gas somewhere inside your own body. And M101 and M102 are actually the same object, mistakenly given two different names because of a clerical error. Are you sure the marriage was about to take place?”

“What are you implying?” huffed the Milky Way.

“The fog of forgetfulness is starting to clear and now I seem to recall that the Sombrero Galaxy broke off your affair long before you acquired planets. I don’t appreciate being misled in this manner!”

The Milky Way didn’t reply to this accusation but merely hummed a little melody that she made up on the spot, the sort of tune that might be heard in a fairground. Then she paused and said with a frown, “It tasted of raspberries, actually.”

Andromeda was taken aback by this blatant attempt to change the subject. “What did?”

“The vacuum I inhaled earlier. I said it was funny.”

“What the hell are raspberries?”

The Milky Way shrugged. “Why do some galaxies have proper names and others only have M numbers? Do you know?”

“I have an M number too,” said Andromeda, “and it’s M31.”

“But what does the M stand for?”

Andromeda couldn’t resist an opportunity to demonstrate her erudition. “For Messier. I’m a Messier Object and so are all the M numbers.”

“The Messier Objects,” nodded the Milky Way. “So who are the Tidier Objects?”

“You don’t understand,” said Andromeda.

“Are the gods and goddesses the Tidier Objects?”

Andromeda cleared her throat. “No. I think Messier was a man, the first man to compile a list of fuzzy things in the night sky, a few of which turned out to be galaxies. Sorry, I seem to be babbling…”

“Yes, you are. I don’t understand a word. What’s a man?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know why I said all that. The words just seemed to jump into my mind. Maybe a man is a kind of flea, a flea that lives on those other fleas that orbit your stars. Or maybe it’s a flea that lives inside those spaceships you mentioned earlier?”

“Don’t be absurd!” mocked the Milky Way. “A spaceship is a natural object, solid all the way through, just like an asteroid, which is
another
type of flea!”

“I’m confused now,” groaned Andromeda. “Can’t we return to the topic of your wedding and the discrepancies in your guest list? You still need to provide an explanation…”

At that moment a visitor called out a greeting. “Hello there!”

The Milky Way squinted. “It’s the Small Magellanic Cloud. Hello back! Do you want a cup of neutrino tea? Or are you in a hurry?”

“I’m free at the moment,” replied the Small Magellanic Cloud, “but I don’t want any tea, thanks. My digestion has been playing up recently.”

“I understand that. My own stomach is unsettled. I’m going to the fairground later,” gushed the Milky Way.

“So I heard,” said the Small Magellanic Cloud.

“I was invited by a pantheon of gods. I don’t know when they’re coming but it might be soon. Maybe they’re already here but are too small to see. Deities come in all sizes and these ones could be tinier than quarks.”

“Not so,” corrected Andromeda. “They are huge and you certainly won’t miss them when they arrive. They are bigger than any gods that have ever existed in this universe, which is ironic when you consider that they originated here. But they passed through a wormhole into a parallel dimension, where they expanded, and from there they went through another wormhole into another dimension, and so on, swelling all the time, until they reached their final resting place. When they return to our universe they will be a trillion times their former size but their outer forms will be the same.”

“Impressive knowledge!” whistled the Small Magellanic Cloud.

“Yes, I’m constantly amazed by her learning,” said the Milky Way, then she asked with formal politeness, “Where’s your brother, the Large Magellanic Cloud?”

“In the constellation of Dorado as always!”

The Milky Way clucked her tongue. “That’s not necessarily the case. Only from certain points inside my body do the galaxies appear to be located in particular star groups…”

Andromeda cried, “Hush! The gods are here!”

The Milky Way blinked, creased her forehead and gasped, “Something is happening to my mind. It’s making me dizzy.”

Then she realised the cause of the sensation. The supermassive black hole at her hub was disgorging with difficulty a sequence of figures. Gods and goddesses. Dozens of them, all birthed in the same manner, squeezing along the transdimensional passage beyond the singularity and heaving themselves over the event horizon. Many were covered with plasma, a few gasped for non-existent breath, but none wailed. They were fully grown adults.