Twin Suns

Chapter XIII, Part II

Dwerna thought the old fellow had done well. He had met the Venerable more than once, talked to him at length, in fact. Quindom found it fascinating to see a dogge, especially one gone native, at his lectures. It was not until after his mate left him that Dwerna had taken a serious interest in cooche philosophy, and by that time he had ceased all unnecessary contact with dogges and had begun dressing exclusively in cooche clothing, even going so far as to wear a silver ring in one ear, a fashion at the time amongst younger males.

That he needed no interpreter to talk with Dwerna was especially gratifying to the cooche thinker.

"The philosopher's lot is not an easy one," he told Dwerna. "The profession is held in lower esteem than that of historian because historians are trained to deal only with facts, not speculation. An historian is never caught out in an error because he learns and repeats only the agreed upon facts of written history. He leaves to philosophers the task of unraveling the mysteries of the unrecorded, or unreliably recorded, past. "Essentially," the Venerable sighed, "we are detectives who only rarely and after a great deal of discussion and argument arrive at a unified theory of anything!"

Since the goal of cooche philosophy was to arrive at a grand unified theory of everything, the Venerable was acknowledging ruefully that he was far short of it. Philosophy on Chaelysium was a field of study which encompassed most other fields of study; the most curious amongst the universally curious cooches spent their lives on it. Any thread of any subject which could explain anything was followed as far as possible. Physics, theology, mythology, spiritism, archaeology, biology - just about anything could be useful to these insatiable seekers They tried to weave the threads into a meaningful pattern, find missing threads and pull out ones which were found wanting, all for the purpose of finding the ultimate truth. Although, if they had actually found it they would have been very unhappy indeed, for then they would have had nothing left to do. Those who relied on reason alone were too often caught with their noses pressed up against a wall of fundamental fallacy, a wall the historians were quick to point out had been constructed by the philosophers themselves who then had to disassemble it and find another foundation for their reasoning. The vacillation and lack of agreement on important matters lowered the status of philosophy in relation to other scholarly pursuits. The more orthodox scholars were careful to never argue in public and only published what exhaustive research and experimentation had proven to be indisputably true. Of course, they left most of the really big questions, those asked by scholars and common cooches alike, unanswered; but the scientific types were so occupied with their comparatively narrow pursuits that they didn't bother too much about this, and didn't take kindly to being told of their shortcomings.

Quindom had started out to become an historian, but his questing mind had made him a nuisance to his professors, who despaired of ever teaching him to keep his opinions and speculations to himself and devote himself to the study of the thirteen, thousand page volume of Cooche History and abandon his other intellectual pursuits. He learned many facts during his student years, but facts alone were dry and sparse; they had no magic, nor did they satisfy his deep inner craving to know the unknown.

He came upon his true calling in life quite by chance. One of his professors had been part of a team of writer-historians, those scholars who had spent their lives with the dusty old books and had finally reached the point of being entrusted with the job of expanding the volumes. The professor, Historian Plemen, had been working long and hard on a piece of evidence uncovered by archaeologists. One day he was taking up the better part of a bright and beautiful afternoon to deliver a somewhat boring lecture describing how he and his team had examined the artifacts, talked at length with the scientists - and at greater length amongst themselves - in order to discard any possibility of speculation or fancy and come to a sparse set of facts whose irrefragability made them acceptable for inclusion in the sacred tomes.

Quindom was rapidly losing consciousness towards the end of professor's interminable monologue. In a twilight sleep state he heard the precious paragraph - the glorious result of years of tedious study - being read from the latest addendum to Cooche History. The professor closed the book with a flourish and the loud slap of its pages woke Quindom with a jerk just as Old Plemen launched into what he probably supposed was his dramatic summation.

"So it is that after thousands of years of ignorance, modern cooche historians and archaeologists have at last discovered a missing piece of our history. It is the highest point in an historian's life when he finds himself in the position of being able to make a contribution to our History. But I do not commend myself, I am not proud for myself; rather, I am proud of the profession which excludes rumor and unscientific methods from Its realm and relies on tangible evidence rather than superstition and crack-brained theory for its conclusions. Let it be an inspiration to you as apprentices in this noble field to continue along the straight and narrow path to truth, never veering, never yielding to the temptations of 'original thinking' which is really only a nice name for the most despicable sort of prevarication at best and outright deception at worst."

Quindom felt the fur on his back rise as the old professor's gaze rested meaningfully on him, a know reprobate and asker of unanswerable questions. But the class jumped as one when a disdainful "Raahhl" issued from the very back of the room.

It was Luranta, another whose practice often strayed from the prescribed methods, who had so impolitely punctuated the professor's closing remark.

"That's all very neat and clean, Professor, but how do you explain the fact that the Rosaquacheons discovered and published the very same thing over two hundred years ago?" He waved a yellowed-looking pamphlet in the air for all to see.

The old Prof was momentarily flummoxed, but he recovered quickly. It was not the first time the work of unscholarly organizations had been thrust under his nose. Usually it was some upstart student, but occasionally even an old and respected colleague trotted out this sort of drivel, one whom he would not hitherto have suspected of cultivating heresy.

But, no matter; he always had a ready answer which knocked the wind out of them - to his own satisfaction at any rate. But this time he was irked that a student would try to dim the luster of his great achievement just as he was giving it a final polish, so he did not trouble to couch his reply in diplomatic terms.

"Well, young fellow, by the time you have lived and studied as long as I you will have learned that some particles of truth are occasionally stumbled upon even by the most blind and most ignorant of seekers. These groups hide their own ignorance and highly suspect methods of research under a veil of secrecy which serves to protect them from exposure as the frauds they are and allows them to prey upon the gullibility of others, not only with impunity but even with a shabby sort of respectability. The true scholar, I may say, will not allow himself to be duped by even the most authentic-seeming examples of their work, because he knows without a doubt that it is merely the result of chance and unbridled imagination. Even a bunch of quat heads spouting a lot of cacophonous babbling will come up with something sensible every century or so, given enough time."

The old cooche's whiskers drew back in a very smug smile. "The old adage is particularly apt in this case: 'You can cut all your claws and still get a scratch; the slightest probability, time and chance may catch.'"

Luranta's argumentative spirit was not quashed so easily. "Yes," he retorted, "'You can live in a cave until the dark seems bright, but when you venture out again you can't bear the light.' If every thinking cooche were as purblind, close-minded, and devoid of intellectual curiosity as the average historian, gathering knowledge would be like loading a ton of sand by training a beeper to do it one grain at a time. We'd all be dead and buried before you'd have enough to line an outhouse! If someone has discovered a shovel, why should I be too proud to learn to use it?"

The Prof continued the analogy by suggesting that Luranta was already using the shovel to dig a grave for his career as an historian, but by then the other students were hurriedly packing away their notes and padding towards the door, eager to leave the controversy behind. But Quindom' s ravenous curiosity had been piqued and when Luranta finally lumbered out of the classroom, he was pleasantly surprised to find Quindom and his thousand questions waiting for him.

They went to Luranta's cozy, book-littered room and, fortified with a large pot of quat tea, they settled down for a chat which lasted well into the night. Luranta told all he knew about the Rosaquacheons which, considering the amount there was to know, was not much.

"Why does the Prof call them quat heads?" Quindom wanted to know.

"Well, apparently they use it when they hold a sensance."

"A what?"

"When they talk to the Old Ones. It means 'senior speak', you see."

Quindom did not see but widened his eyes so it would seem that he did. "Why do they use the tea? Is it the same stuff we drink all the time?"

"Yes, but they drink quite a lot of it and it's very strong - not like what mothers give their kits to make them sleep at night. They only drink it before a sensances and they burn baggabaum as well. It rearranges their thoughts and makes it easier to meditate and invoke the Old Ones."

"But who are the Old Ones and what do they tell them?"

"Some think they are the spirits of our ancestors; others think it is the subconscious thought of the sitters, or even the expressions of their souls. I prefer to reserve judgement, but the fact is they get information from them - as I was trying to tell that old gasbag today - that later turns out to be true. I've been studying their material rather carefully and, if you understand the archaeisms of the language, they've had a lot of scientific and historical knowledge for centuries which the modern scholars are only now beginning to prove through their discoveries and experimentation."

"Well, how does one contact them, then? Are they really so secretive?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. One has to wait for an invitation - contact those who have come to their attention, those they suited to join them."

"Where are they?" Quindom asked. He thought they must live in exclusive colonies in some remote, inaccessible place.

"Why, they're everywhere!" Luranta exclaimed. "They're ordinary cooches doing ordinary things. They just keep their spiritual lives to themselves."

It was ironic that Luranta, who had brought this strange society to his friend's attention, was never approached by it; but Quindom was soon invited to join. Over the course of his long life he was initiated into all the mysterious goings-on and he eventually progressed to its uppermost levels. No one outside the society, except Luranta, knew he was a member, but he managed to share many of his discoveries through his writings and lectures. He was known as the greatest of the "intuitive" philosophers.

His friend Luranta soon discovered that the world of his imagination was bigger and more interesting than that contained in the heavy volumes of Cooche History and he left the Great Hall of Learning to become a prominent traveling philosopher and storyteller. His specialty, thanks to information he received from Quindom, was weaving vivid tales of strange and fascinating little peoples called Elvens and Impets. These were so popular that the kits of every village on his circuit soon owned dolls made in the images of those small beings and greeted him by waving these toys and clamoring for new Elvish stories.

Dwerna smiled to himself as he recalled these stories. If Quindom had not been so highly placed in the order, Dwerna would surely never have been asked to join.

At Tootabuk the Great Debate was about to resume. The red-robed dogge priest took his place behind the podium again and cleared his throat as he waited for the last shuffling and whisperings to cease.

"My friends," he began at last, "it seems to me that dominance is the goal of both our species and that only our methods differ. I will answer the arguments set out by my cooche colleague and prove that the dogge method is the correct one, that in the long view the evolution and selection of a master species is the highest goal for sentient creatures. I admit that we have found on our planet the remains of species which have brought themselves to extinction through their struggles with one another."

And buried the remains of those you've brought to extinction, Dwerna thought.

"But far from demonstrating that pacifism and the effeminate weakness of tolerant coexistence are desirable, these examples underline the necessity of conflict, for in these cases not one but two or more inferior species were eliminated, thus clearing the planet of dross and making room for the emergence of superior types. A planet whose resources are wasted by groups of bestial, useless specimens who lack the intelligence and will to use evolutionary principles to improve themselves is bound to be exhausted in the process, becoming unfit for habitation by higher life forms.

"We have refined our own species to the point that we are capable of eliminating all other species on the planet. In fact, we have planning committees which determine whether or not a lower species is fit to survive, according to its usefulness to the master-dogge race. Any species deemed unnecessary to the further development of dogges is purposely reduced in numbers. A few specimens are set apart in special areas for the purpose of study and if any species is found to have a use not previously appreciated, it is usually a simple matter to propagate and reintroduce it into the proper environment. In short, we are the caretakers of our world, the decision-makers We look upon this as a training ground for the greater responsibilities which will come to us as soon as we have proven ourselves worthy.

"Our social life is an extension of evolutionary progress. Leaders lead because they have proven themselves worthy. The young are constantly tested and measured against the highest standards so they may be placed in positions where they can best serve society. We do not tolerate those whose presence would tend to weaken the whole while contributing nothing to its welfare."

Which is why I am here, Dwerna told him silently.

"These practices assure the continuance of the superiority we now enjoy. A world which tolerates the weak risks becoming the prey of another which has not allowed degeneration and decrepitude to undermine it."

Dwerna had not heard this particular turn of phrase before and it worried him. He looked at the dogges on the other side of the room. They were at attention, he noticed. They sat in small groups on high, stiff-backed, straight sofas and chairs; their feet were flat on the floor and they were staring intently at the radio/as if they could hear better by doing so, or could grasp inaudible pieces of information. This was In striking contrast to the cooches who sat cross-legged on large, semi-circular, low sofas furnished with thick soft cushions. Some cooches were dozing with kits snuggled up to them, others were simply listening quietly. None of them were alarmed or even very attentive to the speaker's words.

The High Priest stepped back and seated himself. Dwerna imagined that a smile of reason and satisfaction wrinkled his long snout.

Quindom was behind the podium as quickly as his old joints would allow.

"My friends, at this point it is incumbent upon me as speaker for the cooche race to bring to light two fundamental errors in my worthy opponent's thinking and in his argument. We philosophers must begin with a premise, a basis of absolute truth from which our thinking and reasoning can proceed logically We must be able to return to that base at any time during the process and find it as firm then as we did at the beginning, and if we find that the base has crumbled or that the arguments will not be supported by the sturdy foundation, well then we must either find another base or amend the arguments to fit the original premise. Therefore, I must humbly suggest to my opponent that the foundation he has laid for his argument is riddled with cracks!

"My opponent tells us firstly that cooches and dogges have the same goal in mind, namely that of dominance over the other species of our respective planets, and secondly that. evolution points the way towards that end. Now, I have already stated that the goal of cooches is not dominance for its own sake, but that the apparent dominance which we now enjoy is only a stage in our development towards the true goal, that of unity of spirit. Moreover, we believe that this goal has only recently been set for us; it does not have its roots in the chance workings of evolution. We see evolution as a blind, haphazard process and that only when, by chance, our species had attained a certain level of physical and intellectual development was it given the gift of a higher form of consciousness and the true goal revealed to it. In exchange for this gift of higher consciousness, from whomsoever or whatsoever It may have come, we obligate ourselves to take on the responsibility first to try to understand it and then to use it wisely. This is what distinguishes us from the lesser species - not our hands or brains, not the fact that we build cities and write books; it is the conscious recognition and willing acceptance of responsibility for our thoughts and actions towards all other creatures and the world, even the universe as a whole which sets us, temporarily at least, apart from them.

"But this responsibility does not demand, as my opponent implies, that we should actively prevent other species or lesser members of our own species from advancing. On the contrary, it demands that we encourage, with all the means at our disposal, the complete development of every type of creature, for we believe that all have the latent possibility, however slight it may seem in some, of attaining the gift we now enjoy and that until all have come to this point we will not be able to achieve our own ultimate goal.

"I realize that these sentiments will sound lofty and unrealistic to my opponent and that he will ask me if cooches, by way of remaining true to their ideals, live under a code of asceticism. No, most of us eat meat, and few of us would refrain from ridding ourselves of annoying insects or dangerous microbes; but we have respect for life and try to fit ourselves as best we can into the balance of nature. We do not attempt to reduce the numbers of any species to such an extent that we endanger its existence; and we place restraints only on those who would encroach on our own dwelling places.

"As for our own species, we control our birthrate because we feel that while we have a place here we do not have the right to overrun the planet or displace other species. Unlike our dogge friends, however, we do not seek to control the development of our species so precisely. We have no image of the ideal cooche for which we strive. We find strength in the variety of our species and value in every contributor to our society Nor would we consider, as my opponent suggests, the elimination of the so- called unfit. Our experience has shown us that such a policy would be unwise indeed. Some of our greatest scientific minds dwell in bodies which can function only marginally and with extensive help from others. Our race would suffer incalculable loss rather than profit if these individuals were not among us. The lessons learned by the young from these old ones are much more valuable to us than the time and resources required to maintain them until their lives come to a natural end. And we have found that even those few born with feeblish minds also contribute to the good of society, for they rouse in others a sense of compassion which might otherwise remain dormant, and as we consider compassion to be the highest emotion those who inspire it are especially valued."

As Quindom stepped back the crowd began to grumble again, this time ominously. There was not much of substance to be added to the debate. The dogge wizard talked for another few minutes strengthening his arguments with examples, stories and parallels from history and nature. Quindom in his turn did the same. It was all a matter of interpretation, of point of view and neither side could fully grasp, appreciate, or for that matter wanted to, the orientation of the other. The dogge was the first to begin the name-calling. He used words like "weak, effeminate, crack brained, soft-minded, and submissive" to describe the cooche position.

Dwerna was quite surprised to hear Quindom, his frustration and anger getting the better of his good judgement and diplomacy, responded with "barbarous, cruel, primitive, and evil." The debate quickly turned from a civilized exchange of ideas into a shouting match between the two debaters, and the crowd followed hard on their example. Every cooche in the audience seemed to find a dogge adversary and soon the their voices drowned out the speakers.

The radio signal was distorted by the noise of the crowd and then by crashing and banging. After about a minute of this there was an abrupt silence followed by the not so calm voice of an announcer who told his far-flung audience that the broadcast was being terminated due to the altercation taking place in the hall. Quiet music would be played for the rest of the night as usual and listeners were told to tune in the next morning for the story.

At Tillirium there was an uneasy feeling in the air as the cooches silently gathered up kits, shook old ones awake and betook themselves to bed. Dwerna looked again at the dogge group. They were still sitting in their places, hunched in a circle, whispering amongst themselves.

The next morning as the cooches crowded into the main room, the dogges were nowhere to be seen. Someone checked the dogge quarters and reported that the dogges and their gear were gone. Nothing remained but a lingering scent of them.

The radio blared its morning exercise music for a few minutes longer that usual.

"Now for the story," the announcer proclaimed. There was a pause for about five seconds as the reporter waited for his invisible audience to settle and turn up the volume.

"No one can say for certain who struck the blow which started last night's fracas during the Great Debate at Tootabuk. Many members of both species are anxious to take the credit or avoid the blame for this act; but no matter who started it, the meeting of minds quickly turned into a brawl and some measure of order was restored only after two hours of scratching, biting and rolling combat Not everyone took part, you understand. Most cooches made for the doors when the fighting started and the majority of the dogges were content to sit aloof and simply watch the spectacle, encouraging their fellows with howls. The dogges had no artificial weapons, thanks to the rules of the debate, and their natural ones were no match for cooche claws and teeth.

"I am pleased to say that the cooches fought with no intent to kill (there would have been more than a few disemboweled dogge bodies lying around after if they had), but more dogge than cooche blood was spilled. The free-for-all ended as soon as the dogges cried for mercy. There were no grave injuries. The Venerable Quindom Dua-Cooche has offered his apologies on behalf of all cooches to his debating opponent and to dogge colonists in hopes that the Incident will not cause any harm to relations between the species.

"That is all. Now we return to our programming schedule."

Next episode coming soon!