Diuturnity's Dawn (12 page)

“ ‘Dawn,’ “ Anjou politely corrected her. “But it’s not the same. It’s not what it could be.” Held in check since she had arrived, excitement finally overcame her professional equivocation. “We’ve never encountered anyone like the thranx. Physically, socially, you’re completely different from us. Yet we enjoy so many of the same things. Not only art, but even humor. I don’t know anyone who has spent time among you who has not made a permanent friendship or two.”

She was waving her arms about now. Instead of alarming the elderly eint, it relaxed the alien. Speaking frequently as they did with their four arms, it was a pleasure for a thranx to see a human similarly utilizing her limbs. Carwenduved studied the movements with interest, wondering at the meaning of each individual gesture. She would have been disappointed to learn that nearly all served only to emphasize and did not carry specific meanings of their own.

“Friendship is a fine thing,” the eint declared when Anjou finally ran down. “But you speak as one who has spent more time among us than most of your kind. Others are not so sanguine. What is to say that a closer, tighter association might not harm rather than help relations between our kinds? In the absence of proof, continued caution would seem to be the best course.”

Here, at least, was a line of objection Anjou had anticipated and prepared for. “There are the outposts here, at Azerick, and in the Amazon Basin on Earth. In both places, humans and thranx have developed a working relationship that goes beyond the formal. Everyone gets along. There have been just one or two reported incidents of violent conflict between settlers, scientists, and locals. The more time our people spend in one another’s company, the closer grows the bond between them. We have seen this happen over and over again. There is occasionally some mutual distaste involving appearance, but this soon passes as everyone gets to know everyone else.” She nodded at the eint. “Your own reports, I am sure, show similar maturation.”

“No one disputes that our species can get along, or that individuals can become fond of one another.” Reaching out with a foothand, she ran the two center fingers down Anjou’s arm. “
I
am growing fond of
you
. Your persistence gains you merit. And I must confess that I myself . . .” She looked away—or at least, Anjou thought that she did. With those compound eyes, it was hard to tell. “I am inclined to think that the proposals you set forth in these documents should be given serious consideration.”

Anjou contained herself. Out of the cool, calm resistance of the conversation had come the first glimmer of hope. “It would be,” she replied with as much gravity as her small voice could muster, “the greatest thing to happen to our two species since each of us independently detected the presence of intelligent life beyond our respective homeworlds. Think of it! An alliance between two different intelligences that for the first time in this part of the galaxy advanced beyond the usual agreements on trade and culture. Thranx would be able to visit any human world they wished, at any time. Humans would gain reciprocity of movement with the Greater Hive. We would share government, thus reducing many large expenses. And no potentially antagonistic species would dare to threaten so powerful a regional alliance. You would be safe forever from possible depredations on the part of the AAnn.”

“Don’t underestimate the determination and capability of the AAnn.” The eint gestured first-degree vigilance. “They are afraid of nothing. Cautious, yes. Deliberate and calculating, yes. But afraid, no. You are right, of course. Such an all-encompassing alliance would give them considerable pause, and would therefore be to our great advantage. But it goes beyond the military commitment the Great Hive seeks.”

Anjou sat back. “I don’t see you ever acquiring the one without the other.” It was time for bluntness, no matter how unpleasant. “Despite what I said earlier, I personally don’t see the great mass of humankind going to war to save the thranx. To save a human-thranx society, or humanx as some of us have taken to calling it, that would happen without debate.”

“And I don’t see the council moving in the direction of sharing government and dissolving at one dig all the usual barriers that stand between us.”

Anjou wished there was another representative she could caucus with, someone else she could turn to for advice on how to proceed. But there was not. She was alone. The eint had agreed to see her, and only her, because of the Bryn’ja. There were at present no other diplomats serving at Azerick who happened to be pregnant.

“Will you at least present the formal proposal to the other members of the council?”

“They have much to occupy their time, and are very busy. Not only are they responsible for the stable operation of government here on Hivehom; they must consider progress and development on our own colony worlds.”

“And wouldn’t those functions be easier if they could be shared?”

The eint whistled quiet amusement. “You are righteously dedicated in this matter, I see.”

“I, and those who think like me, dearly desire what we believe to be best for both our peoples.”

“Well, the Pitarian War certainly gave a boost to your aspirations. There are those among the thranx who would sign such a treaty tomorrow. Unfortunately, they do not lie in council. But yes, I will present the relevant documents for consideration.”

Anjou’s heart leaped. It was not everything she had hoped for, but it was realistically as much as she could have expected from the visit.

“And now, enough of interstellar diplomacy, of debating the fate of worlds.” Rising from her supportive bench, the rickety eint clasped Anjou’s right hand in a foothand. “Such softness! One cannot only feel the warmth, but see blood vessels beneath the skin. I marvel that it does not tear as easily as a leaf.”

Anjou let her hand lie freely in the hard chitinous grasp. It was like holding hands with a crab. “Amazing stuff, human skin. I’m afraid we don’t take care of it the way we should.”

“Yet if torn, it bleeds more slowly than do we.” Antennae dipped forward, stroking the human’s exposed arm. “And this business of exuding salt water through your epidermal layer. Most bizarre.”

“No less strange than breathing through one’s neck,” Anjou responded. “Or employing a set of limbs alternately as hands or feet. Or smelling through feathers that stick out of one’s head.”

“You speak querulously of normal things.” Tugging gently, the eint drew Anjou away from the bower where they had been talking to lead her down another garden path. “Not being a biologist, I take it you have never seen a nursery, or visited a pupation station.”

“No,” Anjou admitted. At the eint’s words, images swam in her mind of glistening larvae and newly matured adult thranx bursting forth from swollen body cases.

“
Srr!!lpp,
if you’re going to speak of merging our civilizations, our cultures, you need to know more than what they show you at formal briefings.” The two fingers and two thumbs that had been holding Anjou’s hand moved around to her lower back and pressed, urging her forward.

“You will come with me now, Fanielle Anjou. It’s time you met the kids.”

8

“Maman, look at the funny-looking man walking the big bug!”

The well-dressed woman leaned over and whispered urgently to the little girl, who looked to be about seven. “Hush now, Iolette. It’s not polite to call someone funny-looking. It’s only his clothes that are different. And he’s not walking the big bug; they’re walking together. That’s a thranx, sweetheart. They’re not really bugs. They just look a lot like bugs.”

From the other side of the seven-year-old, her father bent over to speak. “A bug is an insect, sweetheart. The thranx are not insects. They’re people, just like you and me, and they’re supposed to be very smart.”

The little girl’s black ringlets hovered about her forehead as she looked sharply up at her father. “Can we go meet them, Dadan? Can we say hello?”

Mother and father exchanged a glance. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” the mother murmured. “Are you sure you really want to? I thought you told me that bugs were yucky.”

The girl was insistent. Perhaps it was the play of color of the thranx’s iridescent blue-green exoskeleton, or the flash of light from the red-banded golden compound eyes. Something drew her in its direction. “But Dadan says thranx are not bugs. Please, Maman, please!”

The woman hesitated, but her husband was encouraging. “This is supposed to be an intercultural fair, Peal. It would give her something to talk about in her next age-group mixer back home. I’ll bet none of her friends have ever met a thranx in person.”

“They haven’t, Dadan.” Ringlets and wide blue eyes swung around on the reluctant mother. “Please, Maman!”

“What can it hurt, Peal?” the husband wondered aloud. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind face-to-facing one of the things myself. And if that guy at its side isn’t walking it, maybe he’s some kind of handler or something. See, they’re wearing similar symbols. I’m sure it’s safe.” A sudden thought made him smile. “I know! It’s some kind of wandering exhibit, as opposed to all the static displays we’ve been seeing on stages and in tubes.”

Under assault from two sources, the woman finally relented. “Well, if you’re certain it’s safe . . .” Making sure her daughter’s fingers were grasped firmly within her own, she glanced down one last time. “You stay close to Maman, Iolette.”

“That larva has been staring at me for some time.” Twikanrozex gestured with antennae and truhand in the direction of the dark-haired little girl who was eagerly leading her parents toward him and his companion.

“Girl,” Briann corrected his friend. “It’s a little girl, not a larva. I know that for you they amount to the same thing, but I promise you no human parent wants its offspring, however cute, referred to as a larva. The word brings up unpleasant atavistic racial memories.”

“
Little girl.
I will remember. But I think
larva
is a better description. Compact.”

“I won’t argue with you.” Glancing down at himself, Briann made sure his robe was straight. As always, he wanted to make a good impression. Good impressions first, they had been told. Conversions later.

The approaching adults looked uncomfortable. The woman, Briann noted, studiously avoided looking directly at Twikanrozex. “Hello,” the man began, “I hope you don’t mind, but my daughter expressed a desire to . . .”

“Can I touch it, Dadan. Can I touch it?” Wide-eyed, the little girl was bouncing up and down with barely repressed energy and excitement.

“You have to excuse our daughter,” the woman began apologetically. “She’s never seen a thranx before. We come from New Riviera, and we’ve only seen thranx there on the tridee. So you can understand that—” She broke off abruptly, clearly distracted by something unexpected. “What is that
exquisite
fragrance?”

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 printout 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 . . .”