Romance Novella 1
Under any lighting conditions, Cape Morris Jesup is a beautiful sight. On one side, the ice-covered Arctic Ocean; the other, stunning snow- and ice-covered mountains. It stands proudly at the northern tip of Greenland, the furthest north solid land in the world.
Even by ordinary daylight, not direct sunlight, it is awe-inspiring. You need polarized and tinted goggles to cope with all the brilliant reflection.
Under direct sunlight, it is a billion glittering diamonds, scattered from here to infinity.
Even more breathtaking is under conditions of ice fog, ice crystals hanging in the air. The billion diamonds are now in your face, not spread out.
Even by moonlight, during the perpetual Arctic night of several months, it's beauty rivals most other landscapes as seen by day.
It would be almost impossible for an atheist to stand there for an hour, then afterwards be able to assert to his friends he was positive there was no God.
To the crew of the shot-down armored hover pod, the glittering full moon showing this went unnoticed. They had other concerns.
Pvt Tremblay had just taken away the blaster pistol from the holster of the seriously wounded laser-gunner M/Cpl Jean Boisvert. Voice thin with pain, he tried to keep a cheerful tone, "please, give it back."
Pvt Tremblay flashed a look at the pod commander Sgt Savard, 1/10 question, 9/10 pure defiance, just daring sarge to step out of line.
Sgt Savard knew that look well, groaned inwardly. Having a draftee in the crew was bad enough. When that draftee happened to be a second year seminary student, made it worse. When that seminary student happened to be an aspiring Jesuit-in-training, made life impossible.
It was a terrible decision for Sgt Savard to make. M/Cpl Boisvert was a lifelong friend, the two having grown up together in Magog, Quebec, having spent many a happy day at the Lac Memphramagog beach. Worked in the mill together until old enough to join.
What lay ahead for M/Cpl Boisvert? No walking, no sex, 3/4 of his body paralyzed. So pumped full of drugs he could not drink a single beer. Stuffed in a wheelchair doing Mickey Mouse paper at the Crystal Palace, slang for National Defence HQ.
There would be nothing to read. Everything published was for the university graduate set, some 94% of the adult population nowadays. Even TV was for the suits. The only program M/Cpl Boisvert liked (and could understand) was the Montreal Canadien hockey games.
With all the advances in modern medicine, he would live another 100 years, if that's what you called it.
Sgt Savard longed to give him the blaster back, but he couldn't. Pvt Tremblay was a right royal pain in the ass, as self-rightous as they come, dogmatic, viewed everything in stark black and white.
Though it broke his heart to say so, Sgt Savard asserted, "can't be done. Breaking three sets of law: Canadian military, Canadian civil and Church."
At this point, Cpl Leblanc quietly interjected, "just picked up the transmissions sarge. ETA for Father Henri is 4 minutes; for the air ambulance, 9."
Quietly Sgt Savard said, "resta you, back off, me and Jean gotta talk private."
They did.
"Now listen up Jean, I know you know the rite exists. But you hafta understand the tone of how it's done. All these centuries the Church has never publicly admitted it exists. Nowhere in Church doctrine is it either forbidden or permitted. So this means each individual priest gets to play God. Some utterly refuse to give the rite. Others, very open-handed. Father Henri, he'll give, but only if he's sure you deserve it."
"So what do I do?"
"Make the decision right now, whether you want it or not. If not, it's a long boring life. Yet if you do, it's a terrible chance, could end up in any body in history that has suicided. I mean any physically healthy body."
"So, sarge, you're telling me it's a hundred years of paralysis or a lifetime of insanity?"
"No Jean, see back in history, they didn't have all those mood-altering drugs. Lotta those suicides back then were people just temporarily down, temporary chemical imbalance. Not at all like nowadays, where the only suicides are the lifelong insane."
"Oh."
"So?"
"Yes, what else can I do? I'll take the rite if he allows."
"One word of advice Jean. Don't even hint you know that the heathens have a different rite or he'll get right uppity."
Even by ordinary daylight, not direct sunlight, it is awe-inspiring. You need polarized and tinted goggles to cope with all the brilliant reflection.
Under direct sunlight, it is a billion glittering diamonds, scattered from here to infinity.
Even more breathtaking is under conditions of ice fog, ice crystals hanging in the air. The billion diamonds are now in your face, not spread out.
Even by moonlight, during the perpetual Arctic night of several months, it's beauty rivals most other landscapes as seen by day.
It would be almost impossible for an atheist to stand there for an hour, then afterwards be able to assert to his friends he was positive there was no God.
To the crew of the shot-down armored hover pod, the glittering full moon showing this went unnoticed. They had other concerns.
Pvt Tremblay had just taken away the blaster pistol from the holster of the seriously wounded laser-gunner M/Cpl Jean Boisvert. Voice thin with pain, he tried to keep a cheerful tone, "please, give it back."
Pvt Tremblay flashed a look at the pod commander Sgt Savard, 1/10 question, 9/10 pure defiance, just daring sarge to step out of line.
Sgt Savard knew that look well, groaned inwardly. Having a draftee in the crew was bad enough. When that draftee happened to be a second year seminary student, made it worse. When that seminary student happened to be an aspiring Jesuit-in-training, made life impossible.
It was a terrible decision for Sgt Savard to make. M/Cpl Boisvert was a lifelong friend, the two having grown up together in Magog, Quebec, having spent many a happy day at the Lac Memphramagog beach. Worked in the mill together until old enough to join.
What lay ahead for M/Cpl Boisvert? No walking, no sex, 3/4 of his body paralyzed. So pumped full of drugs he could not drink a single beer. Stuffed in a wheelchair doing Mickey Mouse paper at the Crystal Palace, slang for National Defence HQ.
There would be nothing to read. Everything published was for the university graduate set, some 94% of the adult population nowadays. Even TV was for the suits. The only program M/Cpl Boisvert liked (and could understand) was the Montreal Canadien hockey games.
With all the advances in modern medicine, he would live another 100 years, if that's what you called it.
Sgt Savard longed to give him the blaster back, but he couldn't. Pvt Tremblay was a right royal pain in the ass, as self-rightous as they come, dogmatic, viewed everything in stark black and white.
Though it broke his heart to say so, Sgt Savard asserted, "can't be done. Breaking three sets of law: Canadian military, Canadian civil and Church."
At this point, Cpl Leblanc quietly interjected, "just picked up the transmissions sarge. ETA for Father Henri is 4 minutes; for the air ambulance, 9."
Quietly Sgt Savard said, "resta you, back off, me and Jean gotta talk private."
They did.
"Now listen up Jean, I know you know the rite exists. But you hafta understand the tone of how it's done. All these centuries the Church has never publicly admitted it exists. Nowhere in Church doctrine is it either forbidden or permitted. So this means each individual priest gets to play God. Some utterly refuse to give the rite. Others, very open-handed. Father Henri, he'll give, but only if he's sure you deserve it."
"So what do I do?"
"Make the decision right now, whether you want it or not. If not, it's a long boring life. Yet if you do, it's a terrible chance, could end up in any body in history that has suicided. I mean any physically healthy body."
"So, sarge, you're telling me it's a hundred years of paralysis or a lifetime of insanity?"
"No Jean, see back in history, they didn't have all those mood-altering drugs. Lotta those suicides back then were people just temporarily down, temporary chemical imbalance. Not at all like nowadays, where the only suicides are the lifelong insane."
"Oh."
"So?"
"Yes, what else can I do? I'll take the rite if he allows."
"One word of advice Jean. Don't even hint you know that the heathens have a different rite or he'll get right uppity."
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:02 AM
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