Greetings from the Vodka Sea by Chris Gudgeon Page A

choreographed and physically demanding divorce ritual. This honour code is a highly fluid system, with built-in safeguards that allow it to adapt to changing cultural demands. Only one kind of honour has remained consistent throughout the ages: “QuV SoS,” the honour of a child for its mother.
    The concept of duty is less entrenched in the Klingon system, having been introduced only at the end of the second millennium. Still, the pac vo’ kA includes more than four hundred entries, delineating what amounts to a state-sanctioned caste system. A careful reading of the pac vo’qua (High Counsellors specializing in this branch of Code must be logicians of the highest order) clearly delineates the duty any one individual within the Klingon Empire bears to any other individual. In fact, over time, as the Klingon culture has become more entrenched and therefore, by necessity, more hierarchical and more political, Duty, in practical, pragmatic terms, has risen to the level of, and in some senses supersedes, Honour. Honour still holds the greatest symbolic power for Klingons, but it is Duty that, as the counsellors like to say, gets the job done.
    This is the subtext of Kahless’s dilemma. It is a question less of choosing between two abstract and equal concepts (and all abstractions, like all men, are created equal) than of selecting the course for one’s life, or rather, the course for one’s legacy. To the left, Kahless faces quv, the sacred tradition of his peoples that gives meaning to ka. To the right lies ka, the profane system through which quv is sustained. One is eternal and decadent, the other perverse and sustaining. But Kahless, as the legends tell us, chose neither left nor right. He dove into the middle of the abyss. He is falling still and shall continue to fall without end. That is his legacy. In the shadow of his greatness, that is his tragedy.
    . . .
    Moonie was still talking about food. At first Murph had thought the talking was cathartic. But now it seemed the opposite, whatever that was.
    â€œThe drivers themselves should be chefs, that’s part of the key, I think. Who wants to see some pimple-face snot delivering a wet bag of food? That’s what most of those other fast places do, have pimple-faced snots deliver the food. It’s always cold. The bag is always wet.”
    â€œUh huh.”
    â€œBut our drivers will be professionals. They’ll be professional drivers and professional chefs. We’ll even get those chefs’ costumes and little white hats. In fact, maybe we can save ourselves a bundle and just buy the outfits. That way, we don’t have to pay real chefs. We can just hire drivers who look like chefs. But professional drivers. And no snotty-faced kids. I hate that, when they come to the door with cold food.”
    â€œAnd the bag all wet?”
    â€œExactly. I hate that.”
    Murph had picked up Moonie on the way back from the mall. Quite frankly, Moonie had been getting on his nerves lately. But also, quite frankly, Murph didn’t want to be alone. In the back of his mind he half thought that he could unload some of the product on Moonie. But who was he kidding? Even if Moonie took it he’d have to take it on credit, and in that case, he might as well just give it away.
    â€œMaybe we could hire girls. Seventeen, eighteen. That’d be even cheaper. And instead of chef suits, they could wear those little French maid outfits.”
    â€œFrench maids?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd not chefs?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œIsn’t that somewhat incongruous?”
    â€œYeah. Exactly. It’s funny.”
    A moment of silence. Murph figured Moonie was mentally undressing one of his French maids.
    â€œYou ever made a stupid decision, Moonie, fucked up real bad? You know, gotten yourself into something that looked simple enough on the outside, but once you’re inside, you found yourself . . .”
    Moonie waited