Homer had conceived sailing to consist of surveying the roiling, shimmering blue of the sea, disembarking onto warm soil, and, sword in hand, shouting lustfully and pinning one’s arms around the sweaty waist of an alarmed but aroused maiden. Sailing was really rowing, grunting, sweaty men and flatulence from lentils.
Gary recommended they sing sea songs to pass the long hours of rowing and farts. The Greeks did not know any songs and told Gary to shut up and row. Gary said no more; then, he began to lilt; the song matched the rhythm of the oars, and so the sailors began to sing along, unsure of the rhythm initially, stumbling on some of the words, then singing in time with lust and heart; Gary, pleased, asked the Greek he was contracting to write more songs; the Greek, in the present, thought it was strange anyone could need so many sea shanties from classical antiquity.
Gary reasoned that, after a few bashes in the head, the sailors wouldn’t remember the songs anyway.
During the daytime, they rowed; in the afternoon, they rested, ate, and played games, in which Homer placed last, for his arms were very sore; at night they bathed in the Mediterranean, the moon lurking on its surface, and Homer did not appreciate the other men measured his manhood with their hands.
As the robots, undressed, resembled women more, the sailors inquired why they went to war and whether they could keep up. I, Andia, Andy began, and here my bosommate Garia, have come from the Hamazon. We are Hamazonians, like the Amazonians, warrior women as good as men. One of the warriors had excited eyes and said he had been to the Amazon and seen these rugged girls, but he was not acquainted with the Hamazons. Andy asserted Hamazon was just a block away, but it was easy to miss.
The warriors wondered why the machines did not eat. They swore a vow of abstemiousness, and it happened the vow went forever unto death. It was a badly-conceived vow, they conceded. And yet why did they not drink? the sailors roared, for every person on earth, regardless of diet, must drink and be merry. Thus libations were poured; the sailors guzzled their cups, the machines tossed theirs behind through sleight of hand; Homer was under the table; and as they slept, the machines plucked their hairs to record their DNA. More, and not less, data were welcomed.
This was not the only DNA the machines collected. The sailors disembarked on a shore, looking for food and other material. To those in the distance beholding them, they signaled their desire for help in their hands: by wielding swords and axes.
In the distance they saw a woman tending her goats on hilly plains. They smiled, and held their weapons aloft; they decided when would be the right time to raise a bloodthirsty roar; they figured amongst themselves when they would divide the sheep, and the woman too, before setting her aside as a hostage for her father; the woman grew closer and closer into view, grew larger in sight; the men were near to raising their bloodthirsty roar; the woman grew larger and larger; until, finally, her knees met their faces; and the bloodthirsty roar was but a squeak in their throats.
It turns out, mankind in the past was very, very tall. The bones of Theseus were not that of a mammoth’s but of an actual person named Theseus, who was welcomed by King Minos and battled the Minotaur, a half-man half-bull, and all of these figures were more than twice as tall as human beings are today.
Now, all I will say concerning the sailors’ encounter is, people who are twice as tall, run twice as fast.
As the woman busied herself by tearing the men in half and strewing their guts around the green grassy plains, the machines commanded the sailors to take a hardy length of rope and to hide it well in the grass. When the woman pursued them, they pulled; the rope lifted, and she tripped. The sailors plunged their weapons into her flesh, cutting her up into pieces to eat later. They did not think they would eat her in this way, but this arrangement sufficed.
The machines collected her DNA too. As they were concerned with the longevity of their DNA, they incorporated the hairs into cows. They would thus, in the future, analyze the cows to understand the genetic differences between men in the past and men in the future. When they were asked whether these cows could be eaten, they answered, No, for these were sacred cows. The sailors swore loudly but did not take any action. This is where the oath, Holy cow, comes from.
© 2025 Jay Lee