Des?”
“So I can compose about them.” His eyes gleamed, the light reflecting gold from intricately interlocking lenses. “Wuuzelansem did. He was a frequent contributor to the original project, composing for as well as about humans. I personally attended at least three performances during which they were mentioned.” His antennae twitched at the remembrance. “Difficult as it may be to believe, he always claimed that despite the absence of appropriate cultural referents, they appreciated his poetry.”
“What if there are no humans near Geswixt?” Broud felt compelled to point out. “What if the rumors of this implausible, unlikely, alien colony in the making are just that and nothing more? You will have embarked upon a radical change to your life for nothing.”
Des turned to look at his colleague. “Then I will meditate on my impulsiveness and try to salvage illumination from the depths of quandary. Either way it will be an improvement over my present circumstances.” He gestured with a truhand in the direction of the nearest tunnel entrance to the city below. “There is nothing for me here. Comfort, shelter, familiar surroundings, daily work, ritual compliments, intimacy with familiars. Nothing more.”
Nio was openly shocked. Desvendapur was even more maladjusted than she had ever supposed. “Those things are what all thranx desire.”
Des whistled sharply and clacked his mouthparts together in a particularly offensive manner. “They are the enemies of poetry. My mind embraces all, but with them my aesthetic is eternally at war.”
“Poetry should reassure, and comfort, and soothe,” Broud was moved to protest.
“Poetry should explode. Stanzas should burn. Word sounds should cut like knives.”
Broud drew himself up on all four trulegs. “I see that we suffer from a serious difference of philosophy. I believe that my job as a poet is to make people feel better, about both themselves and their surroundings.”
“And mine is to make them uncomfortable. What better source of inspiration than beings so grotesque they are scarcely to be believed? What rationale could the government possibly have for allowing them to set up a colony here?” He gestured emphatically with both truhands. “A small, official contact station to which access is severely restricted is one thing—but an actual colony of the creatures? If this is true, no wonder it is being carried out in secret. The hives would never stand for it.”
Nio gestured uncertainly. The crowd was continuing to thin around them, the park emptying as attendees vanished down a handful of subsurface accessways. “If colonization is actually being carried out, there could be other reasons for the government wanting to keep things quiet. We are not privy to the rationale that underlies the Grand Council’s inner decisions.”
Des indicated understanding with a flip of his antennae. “What other reasons? They’re afraid that hasty exposure of these aliens’ intentions might enrage the populace, especially with the AAnn’s repeated attempts to establish and enlarge their presence here by force. It would make sense to keep a second alien presence among us quiet for as long as possible.” He stridulated wistfulness. “I have heard recordings of their voices. They can communicate, these mammals, but only with difficulty.”
“I know nothing about them,” Broud protested. “Remember, at this point their continued presence on Willow-Wane is only a rumor. Officially, they were all moved to Hivehom years ago. To find out if the rumor has any basis in fact you would have to speak with someone directly connected to this new project. If there
is
a new project.”
Des pondered furiously. “That should be possible. Surely these colonizing humans, if they exist, must be supervised and attended by specialists of our own kind, if only to see that their activities remain unknown to the population at large. Aliens can be isolated, but not their
“So I can compose about them.” His eyes gleamed, the light reflecting gold from intricately interlocking lenses. “Wuuzelansem did. He was a frequent contributor to the original project, composing for as well as about humans. I personally attended at least three performances during which they were mentioned.” His antennae twitched at the remembrance. “Difficult as it may be to believe, he always claimed that despite the absence of appropriate cultural referents, they appreciated his poetry.”
“What if there are no humans near Geswixt?” Broud felt compelled to point out. “What if the rumors of this implausible, unlikely, alien colony in the making are just that and nothing more? You will have embarked upon a radical change to your life for nothing.”
Des turned to look at his colleague. “Then I will meditate on my impulsiveness and try to salvage illumination from the depths of quandary. Either way it will be an improvement over my present circumstances.” He gestured with a truhand in the direction of the nearest tunnel entrance to the city below. “There is nothing for me here. Comfort, shelter, familiar surroundings, daily work, ritual compliments, intimacy with familiars. Nothing more.”
Nio was openly shocked. Desvendapur was even more maladjusted than she had ever supposed. “Those things are what all thranx desire.”
Des whistled sharply and clacked his mouthparts together in a particularly offensive manner. “They are the enemies of poetry. My mind embraces all, but with them my aesthetic is eternally at war.”
“Poetry should reassure, and comfort, and soothe,” Broud was moved to protest.
“Poetry should explode. Stanzas should burn. Word sounds should cut like knives.”
Broud drew himself up on all four trulegs. “I see that we suffer from a serious difference of philosophy. I believe that my job as a poet is to make people feel better, about both themselves and their surroundings.”
“And mine is to make them uncomfortable. What better source of inspiration than beings so grotesque they are scarcely to be believed? What rationale could the government possibly have for allowing them to set up a colony here?” He gestured emphatically with both truhands. “A small, official contact station to which access is severely restricted is one thing—but an actual colony of the creatures? If this is true, no wonder it is being carried out in secret. The hives would never stand for it.”
Nio gestured uncertainly. The crowd was continuing to thin around them, the park emptying as attendees vanished down a handful of subsurface accessways. “If colonization is actually being carried out, there could be other reasons for the government wanting to keep things quiet. We are not privy to the rationale that underlies the Grand Council’s inner decisions.”
Des indicated understanding with a flip of his antennae. “What other reasons? They’re afraid that hasty exposure of these aliens’ intentions might enrage the populace, especially with the AAnn’s repeated attempts to establish and enlarge their presence here by force. It would make sense to keep a second alien presence among us quiet for as long as possible.” He stridulated wistfulness. “I have heard recordings of their voices. They can communicate, these mammals, but only with difficulty.”
“I know nothing about them,” Broud protested. “Remember, at this point their continued presence on Willow-Wane is only a rumor. Officially, they were all moved to Hivehom years ago. To find out if the rumor has any basis in fact you would have to speak with someone directly connected to this new project. If there
is
a new project.”
Des pondered furiously. “That should be possible. Surely these colonizing humans, if they exist, must be supervised and attended by specialists of our own kind, if only to see that their activities remain unknown to the population at large. Aliens can be isolated, but not their
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