Miracle Measure:
The SSN conference’s answer to the imprecision of doits and tinkers

In light of the recent and somewhat unfortunate events, it became clear that a Conference was now inevitable. Although numerous incidents rendered the plenary sessions at the highest level as ‘arch-dangerous,’ organised only in the case of SSN (Supreme and Special Necessity), decisions were made to resume proceedings. The last suspension of the plenary sessions followed the scandal that broke out after the meeting, in which, despite plentiful security measures, the entire Sarturian delegation evaporated because of one snort of the Womitians’ delegate, when—in the heat of discussion—he got a little bit agitated. The thermal wave broke the protective screens and reached the meeting room. Most of those gathered dismissed it with increased pulsing and waving, but the unfortunate Sarturians, whose bodies resembled complex snowflakes, disappeared in an instant.

Before the incident was contained, the confusion led to a change in the order of debate, followed by a disastrous direct collision of the Masteria and Asteria delegates, which, considering their material and antimaterial physical constitution, caused a rather spectacular explosion (quickly controlled by security). However the losses were catastrophic, and the scandal even bigger. Outraged delegations were falling apart in multiple directions and the diplomatic notes hurled with such frequency that they soon created a new nebula. The entire civilised Cosmos puffed up and began to expand even faster. Since then, no meetings have been held.

The somewhat unfortunate situation showed all the hallmarks of the SSN. Such a crisis could not be ignored. Long-lasting omissions in the field of the unification of cosmic measures had often led to mass affrays and scandals. The problem swelled up, finally bursting with a bang when the intergalactic marriage of Euphrony Starryfish and Salimar Orbitty could not be consummated. The vicissitudes of their romance were followed by a blazing universe of publicity, breaking the ratings records. The waves of romantic confessions and ruptures rolled from one end of Universum to the other at the speed of light, crossing freely any encountered barriers.

Everything was unfolding beautifully during Cosmic Lovers courtship through Standard Avatars — customarily used in such instances. However, their direct confrontation on the day of the wedding ended in catastrophe, when (due to a lack of uniform measurements and translational errors in the stream-of-love messages) the difference in scale between the bride and the groom turned out to be overwhelming. The qualities of the fiancée were so immense and monumental that even Orbitty’s boundless love could not fathom them. Euphrony, on the other hand, could not, despite her dramatic efforts, even notice her beloved and in the fracas nearly crushed him, throwing herself in love and despair. Desperate Orbitty, unable to live without her, got his act together and delved into her bravely through the first encountered aperture. Euphrony, with bottomless relief ingested him, sinking deeper and deeper in her mass under the pressure of unfulfillment. When the torment reached critical mass she finally collapsed, turning into a black hole at the outskirts of the Milky Way, swerving erratically and pulling apart careless daredevils who had ventured over the event horizon. The love tragedy of Universum’s favourites shocked public opinion so much that the delicate balance of cosmic relations became disrupted. The immensity of this suffering made everyone realise that without uniform measures, one cannot exist anymore.

The new Conference was therefore convened. The costs of insurance and protection exceeded galactic budgets; commissions and subcommittees were working in full swing, and here and there a spontaneous self-ignition of the creative substance occurred. The entire universe held its breath. Long and stormy deliberations ensued, interrupted with the sparks and explosions of ancient animosities, but in the end they struck a compromise. If it was impossible to reconcile the conflicted fractions, especially the supporters of matter and antimatter, it was concluded that a Machine for the creation of perfect measurements must be constructed.

A team of the Cosmos’ greatest scholars, showered with grants/blackmailed with torture and death (in-line with local customs), proceeded briskly towards its construction. Obviously, it could not be accomplished without obstacles: hair-splitting astroparticle physicists who kept taking all the construction apart, Newtonian conservatives who got stuck between the spacetime folds and missed all the deadlines, and a few string theorists who spread themselves too thin in a worldsheet, to the point they were mistaken for a cartoon. Yet despite huge costs and sacrifices and the martyrs and monuments issued to them, despite the dates exceeded and many times renegotiated, despite financial and moral scandals — the Machine was completed. And when this happened, the Universe froze in impatient anticipation, because it could no longer expand or collapse in such immense chaos.

The time came to present the machine and the constructors pulled the cloth from the Machine, revealing it to the world. It was huge, handsome, stout in itself, digitally braided, with a shiny facade, studded with lamps, star glitter and all manner of cosmic beads and crumbs… And the glow was emanating from her! And dignity! Almighty wisdom! The scholar, skinny and meagre in comparison, switched the SuperConstruct on with limbs trembling with affectation and sanctity.

The machine growled, sighed, hummed and whirred, tensing so much that all the lights in the entire galaxy dimmed… the front flap opened with a creak and from its unfathomable belly fell a small, slightly worn cardboard box, wrapped clumsily in adhesive tape. The scholars rushed to it with voracious curiosity. To the general surprise and disgust, a pack of hungry storytellers jumped out to have a look themselves, but the blighters were bludgeoned by security. Finally the Chairman himself solemnly cut the tape and revealed to the world the Miracle Measure, the measured miracle maker.

Indeed, it was the measure above all the measures! Nothing more, nothing less! A miracle of miracles! And so accurate and fancy and shapely! And great for general use and admiration! And so widely universal that even though it was scrutinised in all dimensions, examined in all the extreme experiments and from the most unflattering angles, even the greatest cosmic malcontents had to admit that the Measure could describe everything, everywhere and always…

And thus it happened. The work was over. And everyone saw that it was good. And the time came for the subjugation of chaos and great joy in the entire Cosmos! No more phlimping sacks! No more perts and gobblebags! Stop slowpoke totter-cups! We could finally reject the mouldy crust of anachronistic local measures! Put in a bin all the slophers, shnozyvules, doits, tinkers, or whatever else was hammered out in all the provincial laboratories of the Universe. The Measure of all Measures worked with gas and liquid, the mechanical and digital, the material and antimaterial, even though the latter normally never liked anything and always stood in opposition to any joint endeavours. The greatest success of science was henceforth announced, new laws were written hurriedly, the procedures were implemented and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that the crisis was so precisely and neatly overcome.

Just before the end of the showcase, the esteemed delegates put their bodies and other valuables in their rockets and super-efficient flying vehicles, started their engines and parted in different directions full of satisfaction after the well-fulfilled duty of another act of saving the world, whilst concurrently missing the traffic.

In line, we started our ship, taking our course to the home galaxy in haste. We were flying for some time in absolute silence, until our young varlet, inexperienced in spaceflight, asked a question timidly and morosely:

“Which way, Lord…?”
There was silence so full of tension that screen circuits sparked like varicose veins.

“Three tufts from the nucleus, then the usual, with a sharp broadwollop following the spiral. And make sure that it doesn’t jut out more than two whiskers, or I’ll give you the works!”
I ordered and felt tingling relief.

“Yes sir! Three tufts in propulsion!” he sparked back briskly and cleared up. We entered smoothly into hyperspace, and were home in three gurglets.