The Master Race, Chapter 20
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Judi Dench—“If becoming a dame means you’ve got to behave very well. That’s very, very boring.”
In point of fact, Oversight is to the UK what Section is to the Bene Gesserits. Analogous, not equivalent. In point of fact, no one in the British government will admit that Oversight exists, on or off the record. Oversight is not a governmental committee. In point of fact, Oversight is not part of the British government, whatsoever; even though some of its members are career civil servants and additionally as aforementioned its current chairperson is an active member of the House of Lords. Its members are not elected governmental officials; they are handpicked by the British Monarchy and, just like the Justices of the U.S. Supreme Court, have life terms.
Yet, this is a chance meeting. Not a “scripted” coincidence in a mission scenario. In spite of Dame Chillingsworth’s heavy duty Intelligence connection. A connection which makes her a de facto heavy weight in her own right in the Intelligence community.
Two Nosferatu. Dame Chillingsworth and Sam. The sight halts The Master’s lackey Noreen in her tracks. She backs off. Another time. Another place. Of her more opportune choosing.
Sam waves off the hotel employees, who hastily retreat back into the Hilton. The clerk was an Orc-Gnome mix. The bellhop was a Hulk. Both are from Newark, and they love to crack wise with their heavy Jersey accents. No lightweights in their own right. Heavyweights in their own right. But, it’s the two Nosferatu that Noreen takes caution of. A caution born out of habit and respect, and a lifetime of voluntary servitude to Lost women.
The Dark girl extends her hand. “Maybe I can be of service to you.”
“The hotel double-booked my room.”
“Overbooked because of a convention?”
“Something like that, and I have no place to stay. And …You know how the locals shun us foreigners.”
“No accommodations from the locals regardless of what you offer them.”
“As such, the Hilton has a virtual monopoly.”
“You did argue your point quite eloquently, and quite colorfully I might add.”
Nice, witty exchange. Between unequals. First and foremost, Tress being much older and thus Sam’s de facto superior. But there are those other things that make the two women unequal which fit neatly into the somewhat nebulous category of “etc”. Things which humans choose to ignore in their foolish pursuit of The Lie [the “unnatural”, ungodly state] that Liberals call “equality”. There is no such thing. Never has been. Never will be. The proof? Our relationship with God is a relationship between unequals.
Not fair? Life isn’t fair, then again, it isn’t meant to be. Life is what it is. A privilege, not a right. Nothing more. Nothing less. What about that level playing field? There is no such thing. Never has been. Never will be. A fact that spits in the face of Conservative discourse.
Dame Chillingsworth shrugs her shoulders. “The guest who got my digs evidently has more pull than I do.”
The title of Dame is the female equivalent of the honor of knighthood in the British honors system. The word “damehood” is not used. “Dame” is also the equivalent form address to “Sir” for a knight. A woman appointed to the grades of Dame Commander or Dame Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, Order of St Michael and St George, Royal Victorian Order, or the Order of the British Empire becomes a Dame. Because there is no female equivalent of a Knight Bachelor, women are always appointed to an order of chivalry. Women who are appointed to the Order of the Garter or Order of the Thistle are not given the title of “Dame” but “Lady”.
Formerly, the wife of a knight was given the title of Dame before her name, but this usage was replaced by “Lady” during the 17th century.