Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [28]
“There’s going to be a lot more amusement, much of it directed my way. Not to my face, of course. But people will laugh at me.”
“Someday they will bless you.” Pyreau made the assurance with as much feeling as he could muster.
“Oh, I’m sure,” she muttered sardonically. “What name have you picked for this creed of yours, anyway?”
That much, at least, he and Shanvordesep had worked out beforehand, Pyreau thought with relief. “Nothing complex. Nothing overbearing or intimidating. We were thinking of calling it the United Church.”
“How original. And yourselves?” She eyed him with some interest. “Will you still be a priest, Father Pyreau?”
“I think so, though that is still to be worked out.”
“And your many-legged, golden-eyed friend?”
Pyreau turned to the thranx, and this time it was the solemn-visaged pastor who smiled. “In a difficult moment early in our encounter Shanvordesep once referred to himself as the ‘last resort’ of his…flock is not quite the right word, but it will do. And that is what he will be once we begin: the last resort.”
5
As it had for thousands of years, Mount Agung was steaming softly. The thranx who were strolling along the beach hardly glanced in its direction. They had never questioned why humankind had chosen to situate one of the two original sites for greeting and processing visitors to their world in the midst of a necklace of islands noted for their exceptional volcanic activity. Perhaps this question had occurred to their hosts, who had on more than one occasion alluded to the possibility of moving the facility to the large land mass that lay to the south.
There were three thranx: Nilwengerex, a specialist in human culture; Joshumabad, recently arrived from Hivehom; and Yeicurpilal, the second-highest-ranking representative of her species on Earth. In the company of the two younger males she made her way along the shore, careful to keep well away from the water. The protection from large, potentially deadly waves afforded by the offshore reef was not adequate to completely reassure any thranx.
Joshumabad would not, and perhaps could not, let go of the theme that prevented him as well as his companions from enjoying their morning stroll beneath the warm equatorial sun. It was understandable. The concern he continued to express was the reason for his being there.
“Those on the Grand Council feel like they are caught at the terminus of a dead-end tunnel with a starving memn!!toct at the open end. They do not know whether to run, estivate, or start digging.”
Yeicurpilal’s six unshod feet left multiple impressions in the slightly damp sand. A warm tropical breeze whispered through her ovipositors. Though past the age suitable for procreation and unable to vent any more eggs, she was still straight and sturdy of limb. The delicate lavender tint maturity had imparted to her exoskeleton was highlighted by the angle taken by the rays of the still rising sun, and her compound eyes glistened with intelligence.
“Why are they so upset?” Yeicurpilal gestured with a truhand in the direction of the island of Bali that lay just across the deep, swift body of water known as the Selat Lombok. “Our relations with the humans are good. Negotiations are proceeding on a host of mutually important matters, from trade and commerce to exchanges in the arts. I realize that agreements are not being finalized as rapidly as some might like, but neither are they at a standstill.”
Less comfortable in the alien surroundings than his companions, the recently arrived Joshumabad kept much of his attention focused on the ground beneath his feet. He was careful to avoid anything that hinted of the organic. While he had confidence in the greater experience of his associates, neither of them were experts on local life-forms. Though the likelihood of them encountering anything that could prove toxic to their offworld biologies was small, he was not the type to take chances.
“Everyone is nervous. Not only those on the council, but those who are assigned to many of the advisory committees. These