Diuturnity's Dawn Page 12

  Briann repressed a smile. It was always the women who noticed it first. “I think you’re probably referring to the body odor of my companion.” He indicated Twikanrozex, who stood patiently. The sensitivity of humans to thranx body scent was no mystery to him. One had only to breathe in that of humans to understand the attraction.

  “Really?” The woman had come unglued. Her eyelids were fluttering as she inhaled deeply. “I’ve heard about it, read about it, but it’s not the same. Words just don’t—they don’t . . .”

  “Peal, control yourself.” The man breathed in and did smile. “I can’t quite place it myself. Attar of plumeria? Essence of protea?”

  “Everyone responds a little differently because of subtle variations in the neural connection between their olfactory nerve endings and the brain. And no two thranx seem to smell exactly alike.” Briann was always gratified when the hesitant and sometimes openly hostile drew near enough to get a whiff of his friend. Twikanrozex’s personal perfume was a better introduction to his species than any carefully scripted salutation.

  As her mother stood swaying slightly, her eyes half closed in a private ecstasy of olfaction, the little girl broke free of the woman’s diminished grip and rushed forward. Twikanrozex recoiled ever so slightly. Remembering the eighty-fourth maxim propounded by the founders Shanvordesep and Cirey Pyreau allowed him to relax and accept the assault. Human offspring, he had been told, were by nature far more physically forward and demonstrative than their thranx counterparts, not least because they already had arms and legs since they did not experience pupation. So when the girl reached out to lightly touch his thorax, he did not flinch.

  “Iolette.” The woman was coming out of her fragrance-suffused haze. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “It’s all right,” Briann was quick to reassure her. “This is what the fair is about, really. Not rides and exhibits and food.” He nodded to where the wide-eyed girl was enthusiastically exploring his companion. “This.” When the woman looked uncertain, her husband put a reassuring arm around her.

  Dropping to all sixes to bring himself closer to the young biped’s level, Twikanrozex dipped his head in her direction. “Would you like to feel my antennae? That’s what we smell with.”

  Reaching out and up, the girl gently let the feathery projections slide through her small fingers. “They’re soft! Like feathers.” She looked the alien directly in the eyes, utterly unafraid of its proximity. “You people smell really nice, but you sure are funny-looking!”

  “And you are funny-looking to us, child,” Twikanrozex replied without hesitation. The young one had said “people” instead of “bugs.” Of such tiny steps were enduring relationships forged. “We can’t imagine smelling the world through holes in the middle of our faces.”

  Giggling, the girl put a finger to the tip of her nose and pushed it first to one side, then the other. In response, Twikanrozex wriggled his antennae. This led to further giggling and brought forth a smile on the woman’s face that was wondrous to behold. For the first time since her daughter had insisted on the confrontation, the mother looked relaxed.

  “How about,” Twikanrozex suggested, “a buggy-back ride?”

  “Oh yes, ohyesohyes!” The angelic countenance whirled on her parents. “Maman?”

  “I don’t know . . .” The broad smile faded slightly, but did not disappear.

  “It’s perfectly safe, madam,” Briann assured her. “Twikanrozex is quite used to humans. He’s done this before. He enjoys it.” That was only partially true, Briann knew, but Twikanrozex had offered. It was part of their calling. Briann was only sorry that he could not reciprocate, because thranx larvae had no arms or legs with which to hold on.

  His reassurance was good enough for the girl. Without waiting for formal consent—or further objection—from her mother, the girl scrambled around to the back of the alien. Kneeling, Twikanrozex instructed her to climb up onto the upper part of his abdomen. Once she was seated comfortably on his upper wing cases, he told her to hold on by putting her arms around his thorax, but to be careful not to cover any of the eight breathing spicules located there. That led to a discussion of whether it was better to breathe through holes in one’s face or at the base of one’s neck. Confident the girl was secure, the thranx started off, utilizing all six legs to support her properly. Once, he stood back on his four trulegs only, rising a little higher and making her shriek with delight as she was forced to hang on to keep from sliding off his smooth back and wing cases. Twikanrozex’s aquamarine backpack, b-thorax muffler, and leg warmers did not get tangled in her limbs.

  Looking on, the husband murmured to Briann. “They really are remarkable creatures. I mean, once you get past their unsettling physical appearance, they’re quite likeable.”

  “It depends on how badly you’re afraid of insects.” Briann stood watching with arms crossed. Choosing not to chat, the woman had eyes only for her daughter. The longer the interaction went on, the louder her daughter screamed with delight, the more she mellowed. “Some humans have no trouble with it at all. Others are . . . Well, there are xenophobes among most intelligent species. The important thing to always keep in mind is that the thranx are not Terran insects. They’re not related to the much smaller arthropods that we’ve been battling since we came down out of the trees. Appearance-wise, it’s a pure case of convergent evolution.”

  The husband nodded slowly. “Not to mention that they helped save our butts at Pitar.”

  “There is that, too. But they would rather be known for their art and philosophy than their military prowess. As would we. At least, as most of us would.”

  They were silent for a while, watching and delighting in the sight of human child and thranx adult gamboling freely in one corner of the expansive fairgrounds. Then the father indicated Briann’s garb.

  “Interesting raiment you’re wearing. I notice that it’s the same color and shows the same symbols as that decorating your many-limbed companion. Is it significant of something more than friendship?”

  The moment had arrived. As was proper, it was the attendee who had brought it up. As acolytes, Briann and Twikanrozex were discouraged from broaching the subject directly. “The United Church settled on aquamarine as its color designate because it is the predominant coloration among adult thranx as well as representing the bountiful and prominent oceans of Earth.”

  The man frowned. “United Church? Never heard of it.” His expression mutated. “You’re not going to ask me for money, are you?”

  “No. We’re not allowed to do that. One of the basic tenets of the church is that it never asks for donations. From the beginning, the idea was that it was to be entirely self-supporting.”

  The man relaxed, albeit not completely. “By charging for buggy-back rides?”

  It was Briann’s turn to smile. Not everyone he and Twikanrozex had encountered since arriving to work the fair had shown a sense of humor. “There is a set schedule of fees for services. You must request them. Nothing is proffered.”

  “Glad to hear it. If you’re looking for converts, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I’m Catholic, and my wife is Fifth-Term Shiite Zoroastrian.”

  “We never look for converts. Though you could remain as you are and still enjoy the fruits of the Church.”

  The man was intrigued in spite of himself. “How can you belong to your church without converting?”

  “It’s simpler than you might think. The Church extends itself to everyone: other believers, atheists, agnostics, aliens. Everyone. One of the first things you learn is that to belong, you don’t have to believe in anything. No deity, no special books, nothing. We minister to that part of sapience that is not entirely satisfied by logic and reason. It exists. We don’t try to deny it.”

  “Sounds like a pretty weird outfit to me.” When Briann did not reply or comment, the man continued. “Well? Aren’t you going to offer me some free literature or something?”

  The padre shook his head. “Reams of printo
ut tend to intimidate people, or make them feel uncomfortable. The Church wants people to feel comfortable in its presence. We have a small display here—one among hundreds. If you’re interested in learning more, or asking additional questions, you can find it on your fairgrounds readout. The display is unstaffed. Everything is automated. No one will try to talk your ear off.”

  “Even weirder. Not that Peal and I need anything like this. We’re both perfectly happy the way we are. So is Iolette.”

  Briann nodded. “She seems a wonderfully well-adjusted child, with equally well-adjusted parents. I think you’re right: You probably don’t need any of the Church’s services. But you might want to read more about it, just to satisfy the curiosity I see written on your face. You can have a good laugh about it with your friends when you get home. Another amusing anecdote from the fair on distant Dawn.”

  The husband eyed Briann uncertainly. “Are you serious about this Church business? This isn’t some sort of wandering comedy routine sanctioned by the fair programmers? You’re not a performer?”

  “I am a true acolyte of the United Church. I can recite to you its founding principles as well as all the One Hundred and Five Maxims of Indifferent Contentment. I am qualified to minister in a number of specialties. But why should I bore you with that which you have not requested? Go and have a read about it if you’re curious, or pull up the general literature on your personal communicator. Code MT-DF-186. You don’t have to visit the display. You can also access the same information when you get home.”

  “So you’re already on New Riviera, too?” The man was quietly impressed.

  “The Church suffers from increasing popularity. We try to keep a low profile. Here comes your daughter.”

  “I hope she didn’t wear your friend out.” The man hesitated. “I’ve never heard of a Church that extends to all species. How do you manage it?”

  Briann leaned close and whispered. “We proceed from the notion that good ideas know no shape. Then we’re careful not to take any of it too seriously.”

  Uncertain whether to smile or not, the man settled on a half grin. Then he walked over to join his wife in assisting their daughter in her dismount.

  “Careful of my spicules—that’s it, there.” As soon as the girl was off his back, Twikanrozex turned and preened an antenna. “Did you have fun, little one?”

  “Ohyesohyesohyes! Let’s do it again!”

  Her mother bent to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t you think Mr. Twikel . . . Mr. Twiken . . .”

  “Twikanrozex,” the thranx said, enunciating it slowly for her.

  She smiled gratefully at him. “Don’t you think Mr. Twikanrozex might be a little tired? Maybe he needs to rest.”

  “For a little while, crr!!ckk.” Briann could see that Twikanrozex was breathing hard but was far from exhausted. Clearly, the little girl would have been happy to bounce along on his back all day.

  “Say thank you to Mr. Twikanrozex,” her father ordered.

  Walking up to the thranx, the girl extended a hand. Instead of proffering one of his own, Twikanrozex leaned forward and brushed her open palm with the tips of both antennae. She clutched at her hand, giggling.

  “That tickles!”

  “A last smile.” The thranx stepped back. “Perhaps I’ll see you again before the fair is over, little one.”

  “I hope so, Mr. Twikanrozex. Thank you for the buggy ride.” Turning, she placed her right hand in her mother’s and looked up. “Can we get ice cream now? I’m hungry!”

  “I’m sure you are, after all that hopping around.” The woman looked back at Twikanrozex and beamed. There was no trace of the uncertainty and hesitation that had marked her initial approach. It was utterly gone. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Raising a truhand and a foothand, Twikanrozex imitated the simplistic human gesture of farewelling. “Another time.” As soon as the couple and their daughter were out of earshot, he turned to his companion.

  “How did it go?”

  “The seed is well planted. Like most, he tried to affect disinterest. And like most who take the time to ask questions and to listen, he’s interested. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even until he’s back home months from now, but he’ll definitely research the Church.” Briann chuckled. “Nothing like telling them you don’t want their money to pique their interest.”

  “That’s good. The larv—the little girl was fun. Human children are so full of energy.”

  “That’s a difference between us. Thranx larvae think before they act. Human children act before they think. Of course, being hatched with functional limbs has a lot to do with it.”

  “Yes.” Twikanrozex sighed softly. “Many’s the time I remember lying in the nursery longing for the day when I would be able to pupate and emerge with arms and legs. Your kind is fortunate in that fashion.”

  “It does make us more impulsive, though.” Together, they resumed their walk. Briann badly wanted to see the demonstration of thranx acrobatic music, while Twikanrozex was fascinated by everything around them. Simply being on a human-colonized world was entertainment enough for him.

  They had come prepared to deal with all manner of possible problems, of protests and objections. But the last thing they expected to have to deal with was competition.

  They did not think of it that way, of course, but the cluster of well-dressed young humans who surrounded them in front of one of the numerous water sculptures contributed by the thranx hydrosculptors of Willow-Wane felt otherwise.

  “We’ve been hearing about you.” The young man who spoke was tall, slim, handsome, and syrupy of voice.

  “Already?” Briann glanced at Twikanrozex, who could not disguise his apprehension at being surrounded by so many exceedingly intent, larger humans.

  “And we decided we had to do something about it.” The woman wore her hair cropped short, like her syllables. “Before it got out of hand.”

  Briann was not yet ready to begin looking for fair security personnel, but the idea that he might have to do so had crept rapidly to the forefront of his thoughts. “That sounds ominous. Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Members of the enclosing circle looked at one another in apparent disbelief before their spokesman turned back to Briann. “You don’t recognize our garments? The white suits and dresses, the decorations of virtuous gold?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t.”

  It was the woman’s turn. “We represent the Unity of Traditional Religions, Dawn branch. We were informed that an odd pair, consisting of human and thranx, were proselytizing here at the fair on behalf of some new cult. As representatives of the old beliefs carried out from Earth, we felt it incumbent on us to seek you out, and to appraise your message.”

  Another woman spoke up. “You understand, there are a lot of children here.”

  “The United Church makes no distinction between children and adults,” Briann explained. “Only between intelligence and nonintelligence. The two do not always evolve in parallel.” It would have been an excellent moment to eye the young leader of the white-clad group meaningfully, but Church protocol strictly forbade the application of sarcasm at the personal level.

  “Or between humans and aliens?” another woman wondered aloud.

  Briann nodded in Twikanrozex’s direction. “My thranx friend is not an alien; he is only nonhuman. Again, we clearly differ in some of our definitions.”

  “There’s no provision in terrestrial theology for sentients that are not created in God’s image,” another man declared with complete conviction.

  “Many of us feel similarly,” Twikanrozex replied calmly.

  That put a momentary halt to the questioning as the assembled devoted murmured among themselves. The two representatives of the United Church waited patiently. Patience was among the first qualities they were taught. It was becoming clear that these young folk meant no physical harm. They wanted only to assure themselves that the eccentric couple were not bent on seduci
ng human children to the ways of evil. Briann and Twikanrozex could deal with that. The United Church had firm ideas of its own about evil: It was against it.

  “How can you offer to minister to something that looks like that?” The woman who had first spoken stared unashamedly at Twikanrozex. “That aroma, though . . .”

  “Shapeism is to be abhorred in all things,” Briann pointed out. “Intelligence marked by understanding and compassion are the hallmarks of a spiritual being. We don’t go into specifics. Every species seeks the answers to the ultimate questions in its own way. The Church doesn’t attempt to define them, or to restrict them.”

  “Then how,” another man wondered, “can you offer solace?” His friend tried to interrupt, but the younger man, now curious, shrugged him off.

  Twikanrozex gestured with all four hands, wondering if any of the humans would respond in kind. They did not, but neither were they visibly repulsed. He was encouraged. “Sympathy does not demand to be underwritten by dogma. Pain is a universal constant that may be assuaged by any concern irrespective of source.”

  “We don’t feel the need to speak a lot of mumbo jumbo to help someone feel better,” Briann added.

  Several among the white-clad looked upset. “You speak blasphemy,” one insisted.

  “Fluently,” Briann assured her. “Our organization has no truck with archaic attempts to help people by filling them up with guilt. Ample guilt is acquired soon enough, through the mere process of living. The last thing any sentient needs is the unrequested addition of external culpability. How many of you feel guilty about something?”

  The several expressions of concern that appeared in reaction to Briann’s question were drowned out by the loud words of the young spokesman. “Look here, we’re the ones asking the questions! We’re the ones who’ll determine whether you’ll be allowed to continue to work this fair or not.”