"Noel K Hannan - Thoughts On Life And Death From The Tarkaha" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hannan Noel K)

Thoughts on Life and Death from the Tarkaha
a short story by Noel K Hannan
art by Derek Gray

"Tell me more about this death, Earthman."
They walked and talked in the cemetery on the cliff, the Earthman called
Connor and the Tarkaha who had no name, and who had assumed the standard
acceptable physical form recommended when associating with these fragile
beings of blood and bone: large eyes, smooth hairless bodies, asexual
genitals, pale grey skin tone. They resembled so much the Greys of
contemporary UFO mythology that countless abduction and government
conspiracy stories were vindicated until it was pointed out that the
Tarkaha could assume any form they wished, and chose one which would be
pleasing and acceptable to the human eye.
"Death is a great burden to a man," said Connor, who had once been a
priest, a man of faith, but had seen so little in his life to make him
believe that there was a higher benevolent power, and so much to suggest
quite the opposite, that he had renounced his office. Somehow, the
brand-new position of Alien Liaison Officer to the United Nations
Extraterrestrial Affairs Committee seemed made for him, a born-again
pragmatist.
"Knowing only oblivion is waiting at the end of sixty-seventy-eighty years
if you're lucky," he continued, "or waiting around the corner, ready to
strike you down in the shape of a runaway car, a murdering madman or a -
heh - Act of God. It is the curse of mankind that we are the only
creatures who are aware of our own mortality."
"Our studies inform us to the contrary," said the Tarkaha. "Elephants
guide their dying to graveyards older than mankind itself, whales shepherd
their sick to the safety of inshore bays."
"Ah, but our belief is that animals have no souls, that they cannot
comprehend a life beyond the demise of the physical form."
"Death - Acts of God - souls," mused the Tarkaha, rubbing its smooth chin
with long delicate fingers, an expression of thoughtful contemplation it
knew was visually pleasing and comforting to its human companion, even
though the thought processes it was mimicking were being carried out by a
virtual brain the size of a planet, that existed in a reality that
humanity was only just beginning to understand. "Let us walk and talk
more. We have much to learn."
They walked and talked some more.
"Death is a very difficult concept for the Tarkaha to grasp," said the
alien, pausing by a weathered stone angel standing sentinel over an
ancient mossy tomb. It ran its fingers over the angel's implacable, finely
chiselled visage, worn smooth by sea air. "For the Tarkaha there is no
death, no ultimate annihilation. The Tarkaha is energy - energy cannot be
created or destroyed, you are familiar with the theory?"
Connor tilted his head and smiled. "Of course. It is the basis of the
physical universe."
"Immortality is a heavier burden than knowledge of a finite lifespan," the
Tarkaha continued. "The Tarkaha are, as far as we know, the only immortal
race in the Universe, and as such we have an obligation to be its eternal