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

which he was treating his guest did not take the edge off a certain
unpleasant fact. The Tarkaha were so damn smug.
"I'm not about to defend humanity in the face of such damning evidence for
our ultimate destruction at our own hands," said Connor tactfully. The
Tarkaha mirrored his wry expression with disconcerting accuracy. "But as
you say we are the Tarkaha's closest philosophical relative, so we must
have something to offer the Universe. Take our reproduction, for example.
Man is born out of physical love." He thought about what he had just said.
"Usually, at least."

The Tarkaha pondered this for a moment, looking out to sea. Dark shapes
moved beneath the wind-frothed waters.
"Yet your apparent miracles are treated so blithely. Men are born with no
apparent purpose, into squalor and poverty and societies bulging with
bodies that cannot be fed. You feel it is your indisputable right to
procreate with no interference from others, even those who may take
ultimate responsibility, yet you have so little regard for the lives that
you so carelessly create. Do you ever ask yourselves, what will be the
purpose of the life we are about to create?"
"Rarely," said Connor. "Often, those lives are not even allowed to reach
fruition, and are instead terminated in the womb."
The Tarkaha shook his head sadly. "In our society, such abuses of life
would be unimaginable. The conception of life, a new life, is a very
serious decision. The origination of a new individual within the Tarkaha
requires the consent and active participation of many other individuals.
The process lessens us all, weakens our individual power - remember that
we are energy and cannot be created or destroyed - and it is a decision
that is not taken lightly. A new Tarkaha is born once every millennium, or
so. It is not unusual for those involved to debate the matter with the
Core Mind for centuries."
"You society seems so perfect," said Connor, watching the surface of the
sea below them churn and a dark amphibious shape break the water. A
dolphin - no, bigger than that, perhaps a small whale. "Protected,
venerated procreation to a higher purpose, then peaceful immortality,
benevolent supremacy over the Universe. Have you ever known conflict?
War?"
"War," the Tarkaha repeated, and the word sounded like it had discovered a
bad taste in its mouth. "Yes, further back in time than any but the Core
Mind can remember. When the Tarkaha were breathers and bleeders, man-forms
like humankind. Beings who move in a frictionless, unfettered trans-space
environment have no appetite for conflict. Conflict is for physical
creatures who resort to kinetic solutions to the problems that beset them.
War is a flesh and blood thing. War is a man thing."
They watched in silence from their lofty vantage point as marine mammals
frolicked beneath them. A school of dolphins, grey flanks shining in the
evening sun, were mobbing what Connor had thought was a small whale,
sliding along its length and gently body slamming in oddly sexual
movements. On closer inspection, the big creature looked like a whale, but
was nothing of the sort. Its fins were too small, its skin too pale, its
eyes too big.