garb. . . .
The next morning, he began his private assault on the inner sanctums of the most powerful single organization in the Commonwealth.
The first step was to select a car with a talkative driver. Flinx chose the oldest one he could find, operating on the theory that older men engaged in such professions were more inclined to gabble excessively and otherwise mind their own business. Flinx’s driver was a white-maned patriarch with a large drooping mustache. He was slight and wiry, as were most of the locals. The women had a uniform doll-like beauty and appeared to age in jumps, from fourteen to eighty with no in-between.
A few of them had already regarded Flinx somewhat less than casually, something he was becoming used to as he grew older. There was no time for that now, however.
“What did you have in mind for today’s journey, sir?”
“I’m just a visitor, here to see my cousins in Singaradja. Before I’m swamped with uncles and aunts, I’d like to see the island unencumbered by family talk. The old temples . . . and the new.”
The oldster didn’t bat an eye, merely nodded and started his engine. The tour was as thorough as the old man was loquacious. He showed Flinx the grand beaches at Kuta where the huge breakers of the Sunda Bali rolled in, unaware that Flinx had negotiated those same waves the night before. He took him to the great oceanographic research station at Sanur, and to the sprawling grounds of the Church University on Denpasar’s outskirts.
He showed him various branches of Church research facilities, all built in the old Balinese style replete with ferrocrete sculptures lining every lintel and wall. He drove him over the ancient rice paddies that terraced the toy mountains—the most beautiful on all Terra, the old man insisted, even if the farmers in their wide hats now rode small mechanical cultivators instead of water buffalo.
Half a day passed before Flinx was moved to comment, “It’s not at all like what I expected the headquarters of the United Church to be.”
“Well, what did you expect?” asked the old man. “A reproduction on a grander scale of the Commonwealth Enclave in Brisbane? Black- and bronze-mirrored domes and kilo-high spires done in mosaic?”
Flinx leaned back in the worn old seat next to the driver and looked sheepish. “I have never been to the capital, of course, but I have seen pictures. I guess I expected something similar, yes.” The old man smiled warmly.
“I am no expert on the mind of the Church, son, but it seems to my farmer’s soul to be a collection of uncomplicated, gentle folk. The University is the largest Church building on the island, the astrophysics laboratory, at four stories, its tallest.” He became silent for a while as they cruised above a river gorge.
“Why do you suppose,” he asked finally, “the United Church decided centuries ago to locate its headquarters on this island?”
“I don’t know,” Flinx replied honestly. “I hadn’t thought about it. To be nearer the capital, I suppose.”
The old driver shook his head. “The Church was here long before Brisbane was made Terra’s capital city. For someone who travels about with a Garuda spirit for a companion, you seem rather ignorant, son.”
“Garuda spirit?” Flinx saw the driver looking back at the somnolent reptilian head that had peeked out from inside his jumpsuit He thought frantically, then relaxed.
“But the Garuda is a bird, not a snake.”
“It is the spirit I see in your pet, not the shape,” the driver explained.
“That’s good then,” Flinx acknowledged, remembering that the monstrous Garuda bird was a good creature, despite its fearsome appearance. “What is the reason for the Church’s presence here, if not to be near the capital?”
“I believe it is because the values of the Church and of the Balinese people are so very similar. Both stress creativity and gentleness. All of our own arrogance and animosity is subsumed
The next morning, he began his private assault on the inner sanctums of the most powerful single organization in the Commonwealth.
The first step was to select a car with a talkative driver. Flinx chose the oldest one he could find, operating on the theory that older men engaged in such professions were more inclined to gabble excessively and otherwise mind their own business. Flinx’s driver was a white-maned patriarch with a large drooping mustache. He was slight and wiry, as were most of the locals. The women had a uniform doll-like beauty and appeared to age in jumps, from fourteen to eighty with no in-between.
A few of them had already regarded Flinx somewhat less than casually, something he was becoming used to as he grew older. There was no time for that now, however.
“What did you have in mind for today’s journey, sir?”
“I’m just a visitor, here to see my cousins in Singaradja. Before I’m swamped with uncles and aunts, I’d like to see the island unencumbered by family talk. The old temples . . . and the new.”
The oldster didn’t bat an eye, merely nodded and started his engine. The tour was as thorough as the old man was loquacious. He showed Flinx the grand beaches at Kuta where the huge breakers of the Sunda Bali rolled in, unaware that Flinx had negotiated those same waves the night before. He took him to the great oceanographic research station at Sanur, and to the sprawling grounds of the Church University on Denpasar’s outskirts.
He showed him various branches of Church research facilities, all built in the old Balinese style replete with ferrocrete sculptures lining every lintel and wall. He drove him over the ancient rice paddies that terraced the toy mountains—the most beautiful on all Terra, the old man insisted, even if the farmers in their wide hats now rode small mechanical cultivators instead of water buffalo.
Half a day passed before Flinx was moved to comment, “It’s not at all like what I expected the headquarters of the United Church to be.”
“Well, what did you expect?” asked the old man. “A reproduction on a grander scale of the Commonwealth Enclave in Brisbane? Black- and bronze-mirrored domes and kilo-high spires done in mosaic?”
Flinx leaned back in the worn old seat next to the driver and looked sheepish. “I have never been to the capital, of course, but I have seen pictures. I guess I expected something similar, yes.” The old man smiled warmly.
“I am no expert on the mind of the Church, son, but it seems to my farmer’s soul to be a collection of uncomplicated, gentle folk. The University is the largest Church building on the island, the astrophysics laboratory, at four stories, its tallest.” He became silent for a while as they cruised above a river gorge.
“Why do you suppose,” he asked finally, “the United Church decided centuries ago to locate its headquarters on this island?”
“I don’t know,” Flinx replied honestly. “I hadn’t thought about it. To be nearer the capital, I suppose.”
The old driver shook his head. “The Church was here long before Brisbane was made Terra’s capital city. For someone who travels about with a Garuda spirit for a companion, you seem rather ignorant, son.”
“Garuda spirit?” Flinx saw the driver looking back at the somnolent reptilian head that had peeked out from inside his jumpsuit He thought frantically, then relaxed.
“But the Garuda is a bird, not a snake.”
“It is the spirit I see in your pet, not the shape,” the driver explained.
“That’s good then,” Flinx acknowledged, remembering that the monstrous Garuda bird was a good creature, despite its fearsome appearance. “What is the reason for the Church’s presence here, if not to be near the capital?”
“I believe it is because the values of the Church and of the Balinese people are so very similar. Both stress creativity and gentleness. All of our own arrogance and animosity is subsumed
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