There are a few delightful charlatans in the Science Fiction Musical Universe who are god tamers. They understand that the gods are a projection of our own desire for adventure and “other”. The gods are maya, beliefs incarnate. In a bar…

“OF COURSE the gods exist. My brother was Golightly for the cruiser Sagromorph, they encountered a god in the deep empties and jettisoned a few pods before that big ship was eaten, sucked right out of reality. My brother’s core mind was jacked into the pod’s matrix, along with half a hundred other crew members, with a live cargo of mom’s and kids. The mice were slowed and eventually recovered, but the matrix was frazzled and whacked, only the memories of the crew could be extracted… but their essence was encrypted, unbroken to this day. So I know what he knew, what he felt up to the last moment. I got the tapes. But I don’t have him and neither does his brood of munchkins. And how do you encrypt the essence and leave memories intact? That is pure defiance of physics right there. Don’t tell me the god’s don’t exist, sure they’re rarish, but we’ve got hard evidence. Science full on. Your mystic atheism is fluffy, I don’t mind asserting Lord Tamer. If you want to keep your hard secrets to yourself, trade secrets, so be it. I don’t begrudge you your fancy high life, girls and good drugs. But don’t hide behind stuff and nonsense. My brother is dead and it’s gods what done it.”

SO there’s a delicious dichotomy where the science peeps are arguing for god and the mystics know there are no such things. God tamers are hired at great cost to get key cargo across the gaps, they are able to shew the gods when they show up, through a combination of bogus ritual, Alan Wattsian humor, social engineering and so forth. They change the crew so that the horror show nightmare of gods just can’t get started. That’s the super deep backstory of the whole scene. We are the elder gods.

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