The morning after
The Pistach elders were on the stairs before the humans emerged in the same order as they had gone in, followed by the Inkleozese. All of them moved slowly downward toward T’Fees’s supporters, who were gathered below. As T’Fees neared them, he hastened his steps to join his colleagues. The rest of the group paused not far away.
The elder Inkleozese, the Assessor Emeritus, turned to face the human delegation and cried:
“Do you consider that your meditation has been successful?”
The crowd grew silent as Chiddy translated this question. The president nodded, smiled, and intoned, “We spent the night praying the meaning of the Fresco would be clear to us. When morning came, we saw a vision of Canthorel. All of us saw it. The human race is very grateful for Canthorel’s return.”
Chiddy turned pale green. His mouthparts trembled, as did his voice as he translated this statement. The crowd around T’Fees stirred ominously. Several of them cried out in objection, but an elder silenced them with a sharp reproof, as though to say the translation was accurate.
When the crowd stilled, the president continued. “We are reassured that the Pistach may go on assisting the human race. As Canthorel said, it is their job. We are reassured to know that the previous misunderstanding was caused by an evil-doer in an attempt to obscure both Canthorel’s great artistry and the authority that had been passed through him to the current athyci in a direct line of descent from Mengantowhai.
“The Fresco makes it perfectly clear,” the president concluded. “There can be no question about it.”
Chiddy, who was by now almost ashen, translated once more.
Confusion. Consternation. Pallor. Babble.
“Heads up, people,” said Chad, tapping the president on the arm. “To the ship, now.”
As the Earthians started for the ship, a mob of Pistach with T’Fees in the vanguard surged up the stairs toward the House of the Fresco at an eight-legged gallop, all shrilling at one another like locusts. The humans ignored this rather ostentatiously, as they strode confidently toward the ship with heads up, drums beating, tambourines chinking, and the president reaching out to shake the manipulators of every Pistach that he passed while the Big SA God-blessed them right and left. While the others blocked the doorway, the artists went aboard, opened up the altars and took out all the paint cartons, brushes, rollers, smocks, projectors, and drop cloths and put them down the conversion chutes along with the lighting equipment and the elaborate animatronic figure of Canthorel, complete with aura. Also down the chutes went the voice recording in Pistach provided earlier by the Inkleozese. It had been done, so the Assessor Emeritus had told Benita, by a Pistach actor who happened to be on tour in Inkleoza. He had been well paid for the work, and for keeping his mouthparts fastened thereafter.
Robes, candles, bells, drums and other ritual impedimenta went into the altars, which were left conveniently close to the loading ramp, wide open, so anyone could see the contents. The artists split off, some toward food, some toward beds, while the president, the Big SA, Chad and Benita went into the dining room, which was near the hatch. The first two non-humans into the ship were the Inkleozese, who also entered the salon.
“I take it you don’t disapprove of our actions,” said the president to the elder one, the Assessor Emeritus, as he led the way to the kitchen where Chad was starting a pot of coffee.
The assessor rubbed her forelegs together, pondering. “I am not appointed to approve or disapprove of human conduct. I merely observe. What you have done breaks no rule of our people. Because this effort of yours aligns the Pistach with their traditional inclinations, those of self-approving benignity, and because we owed a debt to the intermediary, we cooperated in this effort. We are unaware that it disrupts any galactic trend.”
A few other weary humans trickled into the dining room, broke out Earthian stores and began fixing breakfast. Through the view screen they could see arguments erupting all up and down the Fresco stairs. After about an hour, Chiddy came trudging up the ramp into the ship, along with a few of T’Fees’s followers, who stopped just inside the door to run their pincers through the stuff inside the hollow altars, chattering in confusion. Eventually Chiddy came to the dining area.