In the mountains ranged across the edge of the world, where eagles dare to tread and the rocks sleep beneath a high tog duvet. The skiers and snow booted enthusiasts wallowed in the snow-white snows of avalanche valleys. Looking upwards, chin lifting, neck curving back, eyes rising to find the realms where whitened rocks slept peaceful in their fluffy jackets.
The Blue Knight and Blue Woman Knight, travelling by skiddoo and skidont, trackless waste and windblown snow, pushed into the load bearing windlass. It was cold. In the tiny tent of evening after a full stint of dog sled following, the snow melting over a tiny burner and a pot of thin porringe consumed, the Blue Knights consulted the Moral Compass Detector? Second of its kind.
Switching the toggle to power up, the indicator light flickered into existence and the upper dialling system clicked, first clockwise, and then a bit more clock and then whirring about like a car wheel on the motor cade. Soon after the candle was reduced by a centimetre, the answering or solution belt scrolled delicately across its designated rollers, one word behind the next, making a useful phrase or saying.
The Moral Compass is high on a ledge at 15, 000 meters looking for all the world an metal circles engaged with icy breath on its extremities.
They say that mountains are majestic and that mole hills are insignificant, said the Moral Compass to her climbing companion the Right of Way, but I don’t see it. Surely the entire universe is equally wondrous from the smallest atomic bean to the greatest intergalactic energy swirl. I’m suspect that all these attitudes are just promotions from holiday tour operators and estate agents.
I know what you mean, said the Right of Way, threading another carabiner onto its utility belt. People seem to equate scale with grandeur, when quality is after all a slippery customer and concept. Small and simple can be a world beater.
True enough, said the MC thoughtfully, I don’t see the point in engaging my value pack system skills unless the race of being called Human can grow up, take a step back and actually do some thinking for themselves, instead of slavering after the nearest dog whistle or angry flapping banner.
So, considered the Right of Way thoughtfully, If they could convince you that the scales of bigotry and fear had fallen from their eyes, you might once again deliver your services to the coalition of the willing?
In so many, yes, then and only then, said the MC and set off up the sheer rock face, roped up and safe.
At the topper most edge of ice the Blue Knights waited, bluer than normal with the cold and all. Eventually the MC and the R of W flopped over the edge onto the snowy cornice, exhausted, but elated by their experience.
How did you two get here? said the MC looking up at the Knights, it’s a long drive.
Thermocopter and Shankses pony, said the Blue Knight, its fairly urgent and Shanks didn’t need his pony today.
Its either urgent or it isn’t, fairly urgent is a tortilla, I mean, language.
We are in dire need of your expertise, said she Knight in her Blue apparel, we beg at your proverbial feet for guidance.
It would help; said the MC, if we could isolate a representative or spokes person who might engage to convince me that my dials would be taken seriously once more. You two, knights that are Blue, Could you organise some kind of weeding process, whereby the cream might rise and the dross be filtered away to be used as fertiliser in the ever widening fields of coffee beans? I seriously believe that coffee has become a driving factor in the global economy, overtaking oil and orange juice by some margin, especially as green energy is becoming so clean and reliable, contrary to the lies of some lying toads who have not so secret agendas.
That is a gauntlet well laid at our feet, said she Blue Woman Knight, perhaps muffins at dawn or a weed pulling contest would divide the billys from the goats and butter the parsnips, that’s not a saying is it? Anyhow, you know.
The question, said the Blue Knight, that is playing havoc between my ears is what quality should this tournament hold up to the light. Should it be strength, aptitude with the bow and violin, should it be wisdom or its cousin guile. Would the most friendly and empathetic individual be chosen or perhaps someone who remain aloft and separate with an overview that might come in handy. It is known that those who seek power are the least suitable candidates, so which quality shall we.
Perhaps we might have many and various contests measuring all of the above, with a complex scoring system of points and prizes until the readout is made.
We shall send leaflets, on recycled paper, to four corners of the square world, announcing the tourney of our times one year hence. It shall be written in every language known and three that have been made up like Esperanto, Braille, and, yes of course, Klingon.
Can’t we make it next week, I’ve got plans, Oh, ok then, next Thursday we shall begin.
We Knights of Blue will draw up a list of events with semifinals and repechage. There will medleys and the one where you have to hand over a baton before you run out of the box. A cooking competition, with international chefs judging and a simple interior design section for those inclined. Each participant will choose six events from the list and also play a part in a mystery event which will be chosen for them by an annon hand delving in a velvet bag of paper scraps, each with a name inscribed,
At the culmination, points will be added and held aloft on a great screen, with others in stadia around the globe. There will be musical accompaniment and back stories of the final seventeen participants. A short picaresque run down of their career so far, and a small, heavily censored film, in which their relatives will cry, except for the baby who will be unconcerned. Votes shall be cast as to their suitability and star treatment before the final count down of arm wrestling whilst reciting the works of a well-known sonnet or haiku. Simple and fool proof, I’ve always admired a solid plan.
The Guardians of the Cave 