As for the martial artists, humans were larger and heavier, and faster over a short distance. But thranx had more endurance and eight limbs to utilize in fighting instead of four, although the delicate truhands were not of much use in hand-to-hand combat and were usually kept folded close to the body and out of the way. Still, clever and well-trained thranx could often hold their own against combative humans. Built closer to the ground, they were harder to get off their feet. A judo leg sweep was not of much use against an opponent who could stand on six legs, and the bodies of the chitinous insectoids offered few soft spots to attack.
Such demonstrations were carefully choreographed and all in good fun. At other exhibits, the individual inclinations of humans contrasted sharply with the thranx tendency to perform tasks through cooperation. Human gymnasts tended to flip and fly by themselves, while their thranx counterparts built astonishingly stable pyramids consisting of dozens of individuals interlocking their hands and feet. These latter edifices were judged not only by their size and by the number of thranx involved in each structure, but by the aesthetics of the completed design.
But it was at the food stations where inhibitions really dropped away, as thranx discovered numerous human foods they could consume and humans luxuriated in the literally hundreds of new juices and soups concocted by thranx food preparators. Great scientific discoveries interest people, as do entertaining new works of art or exceptional demonstrations of physical skill, or ways to improve an individual lifestyle. But nothing enthralls quite so homogeneously as a new flavor.
Briann and Twikanrozex wandered through the pavilion, drawing fewer and briefer stares than they had elsewhere. Everyone was too intent on the exhibits, or on trying new foods and drinks, or on laughing at the wandering thranx sniggle poets, to pay special attention to one roving human-thranx pair. As for the two padres, they did not comment on the obvious lack of attention being paid them. They were too used to each other’s company.
But they did observe, with pleasure, the unconscious ease with which their respective species had begun to relax in one another’s presence. Seduced by the exotic surroundings of the pavilion, by its engaging food and drink, marvelous exhibits, unusual demonstrations, and the multitude of singular diversions set before them, few visitors had any time left in which to remark unfavorably on the mere physical differences between them.
“Observe,” Twikanrozex remarked, “how the essence of shapeism vanishes when everyone involved is having a good time.”
Briann nodded. “It’s hard to hate when one is laughing too hard. Barring a very few isolated incidents, everything I’ve seen so far at this fair bodes well for better relations between our species. Amid such good feelings, the Church should prosper.”
Twikanrozex indicated second-degree concurrence. “Criill, we need to nurture these good feelings, and to be available to succor and assist those whose inner emotions are conflicted. There is still an enormous amount of work to be done.”
They rounded a slowly rotating disc on which thranx body-poets were arranging themselves in ever-more-complex patterns. Ancient traditions that had once been employed in the service of constructing impressive underground chambers had been transformed into a wondrously intricate kind of performance art human acrobats could only hope to emulate, but never duplicate.
“Myself,” Briann declared, “I’ll know we’ve achieved our goals when I see a human outside the Church consent to be ministered to by a thranx.”
With delicate movements of head and antennae as well as hands, Twikanrozex insinuated a fusion of understanding and general bemusement. “It is a puzzle to me how sentient beings can feel more relaxed in the presence of a hostile but similar shape than in the company of a sympathetic but differently constructed intelligence.”
Using their rigid exoskeletons like pieces of sculpture, the body-poets had erected a complex geometric structure that reached almost to the polarized roof of the pavilion. A mixed audience of complimentary thranx and perspiring humans stridulated and cheered in unison. As always, the reaction of the human children was particularly heartening. To them—to those children whose minds had not yet been poisoned by prejudiced or chary parents, Briann reminded himself—the thranx were a beautiful mystery, aromatic and alien, like oversized toys that could talk back. As Twikanrozex had pointed out, there was much work to be done.
The Church intended to be in the forefront of such work. There was no place in its self-deprecating structure or formal hierarchy for shapeism or any other kind of species bigotry—only for souls. And as far as anyone had yet been able to determine, scientifically or theologically, all souls had the same shape. Exactly what the “soul” consisted of was a question both humans and thranx had been dealing with for thousands of years. Despite enormous advances in the technology of quantification, it remained an abstract, something that still could not yet be measured or weighed. The taxonomy of metaphysics was still in its infancy. In that sense it was akin to the never-ending search for the ultimate building blocks of matter, which every fifty years or so seemed to shrink a little farther in the direction of infinite smallness.
Briann did not worry overmuch about such matters. Or nonmatters, depending on one’s point of view. He had joined the Church to help people, no matter their shape. Thus far he had encountered nothing to make him second-guess his decision. His family remained puzzled, but supportive. Interestingly, Twikanrozex had encountered even more difficulty with his choice. Thranx society was not as fluid as that of the humans. Radical changes in lifestyle and direction were not as freely countenanced. Twikanrozex had been compelled to hoe a harder row than his human companion.
Still, even though both considered themselves more sophisticated in matters of interspecies relations and had prepared themselves for this occasion with much serious study and preparation, the fair had already shown itself capable of delivering an endless round of surprises. Presently, they were passing a lively display devoted to illustrating the history of agriculture on Willow-Wane. Virtual thranx drove virtual machines to the accompaniment of narration in both Low Thranx and Terranglo. Appropriate odors suffused the area immediately around the exhibition. Generating the story via tridee transducers allowed the thranx producers to incorporate huge mechanicals and hundreds of workers without overwhelming the individual display.
Passing by, a larger than usual human family paused briefly to gaze at the roof-high exhibit, whereupon the smallest child in the group raised a hand and pointed, yelling gleefully.
“Look, look—an ant farm!”
Briann felt his face flush slightly as he and Twikanrozex ambled on past the thoroughly enchanted family. His reaction was not in response to the child’s comment, but because Twikanrozex, overhearing, requested an explanation of the term. When a slightly flustered Briann had finished elucidating, as diplomatically as he was able, the thranx gestured reassurance.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, my friend. Your native arthropods are not my ancestors. Actually, I find the concept rather endearing.” Swiveling his head to look directly back over his shoulder at the gawking family, he gestured with both truhands. “Certainly it has proven useful, as the larvae in question show no fear of my kind. Perhaps a general distribution of the educational toys to which the youngest referred might be considered by the Church.”
“There are other concerns,” Briann endeavored to explain. “Although I have never owned such a bio-apparatus myself, I believe that the resourceful little arthropods in question have a tendency to escape their controlled environment, to the annoyance of any resident adults. I think the Church is better to stick with those visual aids that can provide instruction without the possibility of accompanying infestation.”
Twikanrozex’s antennae drew together, showing that he was deep in thought. Finally he responded. “Perhaps, sellicc, you are right. I don’t think self-contained habitats holding miniature humans would be welcome in the private chambers of many hives, either.” He glanced at his friend. �
�Assuming such a contrivance could be constructed.”
“A people farm?” Briann pondered the notion. “I don’t think so. Although if you offer humans enough monetary compensation, they’ll do just about anything. In that respect, the thranx are more virtuous than my kind.”
“Not at all,” Twikanrozex demurred. “It is only that we are most of the time too busy to be corrupted. When time exists for contemplation of possibilities, we too can be persuaded to make fools of ourselves.”
“Another vinculum between our peoples.” Reassured by his friend’s reiteration of the existence of mutual foolishness, Briann led the way out of the pavilion. All the walking, not to mention all the talking, was making him hungry.
He shared the state of his stomach with his companion, who allowed as how he, too, could stand some sustenance.
“What would you like?” Briann inquired. “We can go back inside, where the climate is more to your liking, or continue wandering until we come across something that appeals to both of us.”
“Let us wander.” Twikanrozex was enjoying himself hugely. “The air is a little dry today, but not entirely intolerable.”
Briann hitched his sweat-dampened shirt higher on his shoulders and chose a pedestrian walkway at random. There was no need to consult a fair directory. The Church would guide them.
It did indeed, as they soon found themselves resting comfortably in an outdoor venue that was raised slightly above ground level, giving the patrons a pleasant view of the busy fairgrounds that stretched to the lake and the green-clad hills beyond. Not for the first time, Briann reflected on what an excellent choice Dawn had been for such an enterprise. The semitropical nature of the climate was bearable to the thranx while not unduly uncomfortable for humans. Locating the fair next to a large lake had the effect of injecting additional humidity into the local atmosphere, thus pleasing the insectoids even further.
At the moment, one of those aliens was finding exceptional pleasure in a mango-starfruit-guanabana crush, the terrestrial fruit juice drink being not only acceptable to his system, but avidly welcomed. The only difference between that and a similar beverage being enjoyed by Briann was that the thranx had ordered it made with tepid water instead of pulverized ice, a request that had left the perspiring human attendant shaking his head in silent disbelief. To the thranx, the notion of a “cold drink” was an oxymoron.
Twikanrozex admired the flexibility of his friend’s prehensile lips as Briann sipped easily at his own libation. With four opposing mandibles, the thranx could make quicker work of solid food than any human, but liquids gave them problems. Fluids had to be poured directly into the open mouth, or inhaled via often elaborately swirled and decorated, narrow-spouted drinking utensils. Only by inserting the tip of such a siphon partway down the insectoid throat could a thranx generate enough esophageal vacuum to draw liquid from a container. In contrast, the malleability of human flesh allowed someone like Briann to form an airtight seal around the edge of an open container and pull fluids up and in. There were advantages to having a ductile epidermis.
Of course, Twikanrozex mused, such abilities were more than offset by the inherent aesthetic handicaps all humans suffered from. The thranx would not have exchanged his burnished, gleaming, blue-green exoskeleton for all the fluid-vacuuming abilities in the Arm. Slipping the drinking tip of his siphon-cup between his parted mandibles, he luxuriated in the slippery, sugary taste and feel of the exotic terrestrial refreshment as it coursed down his throat.
“Ah, there you are!”
Briann looked up from his chair to see two men advancing toward him. Both were older, one considerably so. Their eyes were intense, but not baleful. They were neatly dressed. Excessively so, given the ambient temperature and humidity within the pavilion.
“May we join you?” the younger of the two asked politely. “We’ve been searching for you two ever since we came across your display.”
“We like to move around.” Briann set his drink aside. “You know: meet folks, see the fair, try new experiences.”
“Well, you two are certainly a new experience for us. We’ve read about you, and seen bits and pieces about your organization on the tridee. I am Father Joseph.” He indicated the distinguished, white-haired senior who had settled into the chair alongside him. “This is Father Jenakis. I am Twelfth Baptist, and he is Orthodox Episcolic.”
Briann explained to his watchful companion. “Traditional human churches.”
Twikanrozex gestured welcome to the two men of the cloth. “I’m pleased to meet a pair of fellow theologians.”
Joseph accepted the proffered chitinous hand tentatively. Making no move to emulate the gesture, Father Jenakis maintained a respectful distance to go with his thoughtful silence.
“We hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in our language.”
Twikanrozex dipped his antennae forward, keeping one truhand wrapped around his drinking utensil. “I am conversant in several languages, including one that involves only the use of gestures. If one has information to impart, one cannot expect the audience to go to the trouble of learning the imparter’s tongue.”
Briann smiled pleasantly. “Twikanrozex doesn’t have a tongue, of course. The thranx modulate sounds deep within their throats, by means of mechanisms that would choke a human. That it comes out sounding so similar to us is as remarkable as it is advantageous. I am Padre Briann and this is Padre Twikanrozex.”
Father Jenakis snorted curtly. His younger associate winced ever so slightly before resuming the conversation. “As you may know, a number of the established Terran religions are having some trouble with this United Church of yours.”
“It’s yours, too,” Twikanrozex observed, managing to unsettle the earnest Father Joseph in as few words as possible.
“No, not mine, I’m afraid. Some of my colleagues and I are concerned. At first, no one paid much attention to your efforts.”
“No one paid any attention to our efforts,” Briann corrected him, still smiling.
Joseph had the grace to smile back. “But now your message, peculiar and unconventional as it is, appears to be having some small effect. In particular, you are making inroads among the young who dominate the upper intelligence percentiles. This is not only disturbing, it is unprecedented.”
“Yes, we know.” Briann sat back in his chair. Around them, crowd sounds rose and fell: laughter and squeals of delight and shouts of surprise. “Usually it’s the other way around. It’s those in the lower percentiles who tend to be persuaded first.”
“Dangerous nonsense!” the older man huffed, deigning to speak for the first time.
“Not a bit of it.” Briann had heard it all before, though not usually from official representatives of terrestrial churches. “We don’t proselytize. We don’t try to convert anyone. We just put our creed out where it can be examined by anyone who might be interested. We don’t push it. It’s a free society we live in, in these days of open communications and galactic colonization. Anyone is free to join any organization they wish, provided the tenets of that fraternity do not impinge on the rights of others.” He spread his hands wide. “We don’t even ask anyone who joins the UC to give up their previous religion, if they have one, or stop going to that particular church, if they wish to continue to do so.”
“So how can we be dangerous?” Twikanrozex finished for his friend.
“Your doctrine is seductive,” the older man growled, his true sentiments clearly held in check by the admonitions of his own. “Worse than seductive, it mocks all other religions. You worship nothing but irrelevancy!”
Twikanrozex motioned for understanding. “We don’t worship irrelevancy: We simply recognize it. We are irrelevant. All of us. I, my colleague Briann, you, everyone in this pavilion, everyone on this planet. Our presence justifies nothing, and signifies only the accidental evolution of some exceptionally active amino acids. The results are admirable, even praiseworthy. But they are not relevant to the evolvement of the universe. One of th
e core beliefs of the United Church is that every sentient being should come to understand its place in the scheme of things.”
“And what is that place?” Father Joseph ignored his senior’s look of disapproval.
“A little to the left, we think.” Briann’s smile widened. “I’m sorry if that sounds too irrelevant. You see, we are a dogma that is founded on full comprehension of our own individual and collective insignificance. Having accepted that, we can mature in comfort. I am quite content with who I am and with my place in the cosmos. Likewise, Twikanrozex is content with his.”
“What about eternal damnation and salvation?” Father Jenakis looked as if he wanted to thunder the question but, mindful of the many others seated nearby, restrained himself.
“Questions we can’t answer,” Briann replied. “If they exist, we can’t do anything about them. And if they don’t, why, we’d be wasting an awful lot of otherwise productive lifetime agonizing over them.” He met the older man’s gaze unflinchingly. “There are plenty of others willing to do the agonizing already, and we have no desire to intrude on their territory.”
Joseph turned apologetic. “You know that there are proposals being put forth to limit your activities.”
“Among my people, as well,” Twikanrozex felt compelled to point out.
Briann shrugged. “We don’t spill time worrying about that. It’s a matter for the legal logisticians. Twikanrozex and I, we’re just two among many who have chosen to help spread the message.” He sat forward. “Having been by our display, you know that everything about the Church is available for the asking. Why don’t you try reading the first forty maxims or so and their antecedents?”
Joseph replied with the confidence of the convicted. “I already have plenty to read, both religious and otherwise.”
Briann sighed resignedly. “Too bad. They’d give you a couple of good laughs. What is it you want from us? If it’s simply to discuss theology and the economics of organized religion, we’re happy to oblige you. If there’s something more . . .”
Diuturnity's Dawn Page 17