"Hearts of Space Part 2" by Heidi Hecht

"This is Rita Dithers reporting live from Outer System Outpost Thirty.

"I am joined today by Station Commander Tranna, who has made contact with the alien vessel on a direct line to Earth. Tranna, thank you for joining us."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Dithers."

"So, in you opinion, are these aliens harmless?"

"To the best of our knowledge, yes. There are actually two sentient alien species on this vessel, which they call the Faith-ship. The Veroshi and the Miriana are both refugees from dying planets. They have no hostile intentions."

"Can you describe them?"

"The Veroshi, a species resembling blue wolf-fairies with wings, believe that we are their prophesied gods and see their journey as a pilgrimage. If their historical records and our calculations are accurate, they have been travelling for about ten millennia.

"The Miriana's world was on the verge of ecological collapse when the Veroshi made a stopover and brought aboard as many of their ancestors as their oceans could reasonably hold. Miriana are like colorful and playful mer-foxes. They are now only a few light-years from Earth and, if all goes well, will be here in less than a century. While we don't yet have real-time communications, we have a tentative agreement with both sentient races to protect them while they settle on Earth."

"Do you have any concern about the backlash this news may cause?"

"We will be enhancing security measures and addressing concerns as well as we are able. We have no wish for a panic. Peaceful or not, we prefer to have a unified Sol System when they arrive."

"Thank you, Commander Tranna. This is Rita Dithers reporting for the Worlds News Network. Back to you, Steve."

***********************

The Moon-

Cyle grunted as he watched the holovid.

"Whaddya think of that, Francis?"

Francis swallowed a mouthful of peanuts.

"I always thought so. Earth goes to whoever the Grebsa Network favors and the rest of us can go to pot."

"And how do they know the Miriana and Veroshi are peaceful, anyway? They look sweet, especially those Mers, but I would like to see the look on that Tranna's face when she finds out they're not."

"Mers?"

"The Miriana. Y'know, mer-foxes."

"Huh."

Two Grebsa Enforcers landed on the walk in front of the first-floor apartment they shared. Cyle recognized their collar markings which gave their faction and rank to anyone who knew how to read them.

"Hey, Francis, lookit that. I guess they're serious."

The Grebsas sniffed around a bit outside, and then trotted on, content to let two bachelors continue to watch the news. The Lords of Sol System, as harsh as they were, had never felt the need to know every single detail of their inferiors' lives. For people who could get inside each others' heads at will, they had a great respect for privacy.

Francis barely glanced at them.

"I've never met a Grebsa who wasn't serious. They've made serious an art form."

"No kidding."

Francis tossed a few more peanuts into his mouth. He wasn't worried about the Grebsas any more than he was worried about Cyle. Cyle hadn't been anything more than a holovid-watching buddy since Francis demonstrated a few Judo moves in the first week of rooming together. The Grebsas might sniff him every once in a while and scrunch up their noses, but they never bothered him.

Cyle rose from the couch.

"I need a beer. Want one?"

"No, thanks."

"Aw, Francis, you know you want to."

Francis squinted at Cyle. He never saw why the man tried to foist off beers on him. The stuff was nasty, and made him feel sick.

"I don't drink."

"Have it your way."

Cyle went out to the kitchen. Francis closed his eyes, grateful for the moment's peace. Cyle was actually his third room-mate. The first had moved out after Francis broke his boom box. He had paid for it, but felt that no one needed to blast music at three in the morning, when every sane person was trying to sleep. The second had failed to pay his rent and got the hint only after Francis filed a small-claims lawsuit. Cyle might be an immature, beer-chugging, twenty-three-year-old bachelor, but he hadn't yet done anything to make Francis throw him out on his hind end.

Cyle returned with two beers.

"Football time."

"Suit yourself." Francis tossed him the remote. "I'm outta here."

"Where ya goin'? It's Steelers versus Panthers!"

"And I'm sure you'll enjoy it. See you later."

Francis stopped in his room long enough to put on a pair of shoes and a jacket. Luna was always kept cool, though never freezing, for energy conservation. He left the apartment. It wasn't that he hated football. He was more indifferent. He just needed to get outside sometimes.

****************

Mars-

Francis and Cyana watched the footage of the Miriana and Veroshi on the news. Husband and wife, they were the joint pastors of Saint John's, a Martian church and one of the few to have a Grebsa member. Arax was considered something of an oddball among other Grebsas, though they did not penalize him for his beliefs. Once he had earned the trust of his fellow Christians, he had become an unofficial mascot. He was also, often to his chagrin, very popular with the children.

"What do you think of this, Arax?" Cyana asked the Grebsa.

Their house did not have any of the furniture designed for Grebsas, but Arax was content with a mat beside their couch. He turned his eyes from the holovid.

"I do not think I would care to be worshipped," he said. "I wonder where the Veroshi got that idea."

"Your people did make sure to send them a copy of the Bible, didn't you?"

"Of course. It wouldn't be a fair representation of the Sol System if we didn't include information about the major religions. Including Christianity."

Arax was only repeating the official Grebsa policy. Like most Grebsas, he was almost brutally honest at times. He never tried to fool anyone about what most of his people believed. Oddball or not, he wasn't going to deny his heritage, no matter how many times people told him that he was almost human.

As he had put it once, "Wouldn't that be denying the place God had in mind for us when He created us? It's okay to avoid having a swelled sense of pride over it but it's not okay to deny our place or our talents."

And he quoted the First Corinthians verses about "varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit" at anybody who tried to protest on Biblical grounds. That had shut the complainers up. Arax had always been the articulate one.

Francis said, "At least you sent them one. They know they have a choice."

Arax nodded. "We won't make the Veroshi worship us. You know it's not our way."

"But neither will you make them stop," said Cyana.

"Religious freedom has its cost. We won't encourage it, but we do want to be gentle while they get used to life in Sol System. The Veroshi may change their minds once they've gotten to know us."

Cyana wanted to pat him, an urge she had wrestled with often enough since she had met him. She had never seriously thought he would twist this to his own ends. No one who knew him would. He would love the Veroshi enough to let them see him for what he was. Sure, he was powerful. Cyana hadn't ever seen a Grebsa who couldn't break a human's bones without really trying. But he wasn't God and he knew it.

"Christmas is next week," she said, changing the subject.

"That's true," Arax said. "I'm looking forward to it."

He had ordered a nice, if slightly expensive, gift for both of them. He hoped it wouldn't be too obvious-and that they would like it.

"Do Grebsas celebrate Christmas?"

"Not generally. Most think of it as a nuisance and an assault on the senses, but they know it'll go away on its own eventually."

"Mere tolerance again."

Arax moved his wings in his version of a shrug. "Historically, trying to oppress Christianity has never worked. We've got one ornery religion."

That got a laugh out of both humans. Good, Arax thought. He hated having to defend his people's indifferent attitude towards religion in general. Humor was a good way to head off the worst of it.

The back of his skull began to tingle. It always felt that way whenever someone wanted to talk to him over the Network. He was sure it was just his imagination. The Network was a natural function of Grebsa brains and there shouldn't have been any actual sensation. But that didn't stop the back of his skull from tingling.

*Arax? This is Commander Brio. Commander Tranna at OSO-30 needs biochemists for a special project.*

*And I'm nominated, is that it?*

*I know, you don't want to leave your church, but this is important. The First has put Tranna in charge of preparing for the Faith-ship's arrival and she is asking us Scientists for help. You're one of our best biochemists.*

*All right. If you can give me a couple of weeks to settle accounts, I'll start packing.*

*Next shuttle to the Outposts leaves in three weeks. I already booked it for you.*

*I'll be ready.*

Brio "closed" their mental connection. Arax sighed. Brio was one of the Scientist Faction's commanders. Tranna was an Enforcer Commander and would have no direct authority over Arax, but she could go through Brio if she needed scientists.

"Bad news, Arax?" asked Cyana.

Somehow, they could always tell if he was speaking with somebody over the Network. He was never sure how. Perhaps his eyes glazed over.

"I'm being reassigned to the Outposts. I'll be leaving in three weeks."

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know. Commander Brio didn't give me many details. He just said Commander Tranna is asking for scientists. The First Grebsa put her in charge of the Faith-ship issue."

"You be sure to write, Arax," said Francis. "We do worry about you, you know."

"I know. I will write as often as I can." His voice dropped to as close to a whisper as a Grebsa ever got. "I will miss you."

That was a big admission for him. Few humans had ever earned the trust of a Grebsa and fewer Grebsas admitted to missing a human friend. This time, Cyana gave in to the urge to stroke his mane and kiss him. Arax accepted the affection and gave her a lick on her cheek. She laughed at the sandpaper feel of it.

"We'll miss you, too."

~~~~~~~~

Arax found saying good-bye difficult on Sunday. Most of the congregation looked stunned when Francis made the announcement and, afterwards, he was surrounded by many of the humans he had known for years.

"I'll be back if I can. I just don't know when that will be," he told them.

Miss Taylor clutched the rim of her hat, a sure sign that she was flummoxed. Large-rimmed hats had come back into style for ladies recently, something that amused the Grebsas whenever a strong wind came through-and they did happen on Mars, now that the atmosphere was breathable. Arax even had pictures from the time Miss Taylor had lost hers and it landed on his mother's head.

"Don't you ever forget us, Arax," Miss Taylor said, trying to sound like her usual authoritative self, but her voice betrayed her by cracking. She dabbed away tears with a handkerchief.

"I don't forget easily. I will send letters whenever I can," he assured her.

A few children who were just old enough to understand that he was leaving ran to hug him, crying.

"Please don't go, Mister Grebsa, please don't go!" they begged.

"I have to," he said gently. "I'm not leaving right away, just in a few weeks. But I'll be back, you'll see. I can still let you paint me at the festival next week. How about it?"

Several of them smiled through their tears. They always liked painting his fur at the annual church festival. It always took him days to get the paint out of his fur afterwards, but it had been one of those things that helped him win the humans over and they looked forward to it every year. His mother had pictures from past festivals. Whenever he threatened to show off the pictures of her wearing that ridiculous hat, she would reach for her photo album.

He let the children play with him until their parents whisked them off to go home. He walked Miss Taylor to her car. Now that she had him alone, she vented her concerns to him.

"Was the commander-Tranna, was it?-telling the truth about the aliens?" she asked. "Do they really worship Grebsas?"

"The Veroshi do. We're not sure about the Miriana, though we doubt it. We don't even know where they got that idea. You know most Grebsas are indifferent about religion."

"I know they consider you somewhat strange, Arax. And I know you'll try to set things straight."

"We'll let them see us for what we are. We sent them information about the major religions, so they do have a choice."

Miss Taylor sniffed. "Their priesthood might censure it."

"That's up to them, but we've done all we could for now. We'll just let them see us for who we are. We are building a separate community for them on Earth."

"Why not just let them live among us humans?"

Arax sighed. He didn't want to call Miss Taylor unintelligent, but, well, she had never had to run an empire. She wouldn't think of the real meaning of the word alien or of the possibly devastating consequences of just turning the Veroshi loose in Sol System.

"They haven't had any experience with living among humans. They never made contact with other sentient species besides the Miriana until now. We Grebsas do have a conscience and it won't let us introduce the Veroshi to life in the Solar System without the proper tools."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. I'll bet this is going to change a lot of your plans."

"Some."

"Well, goodbye, Arax."

"Goodbye."

She got into her car and drove off. Arax flew back home to start packing.

**************

Earth-

Since the Grebsas had conquered first Earth and then the entire Sol System, they had made it quite clear that they would ignore religion as long as humans kept it peaceful. The major religions and most of the recognized minor ones (cults didn't count) had responded by forming the Inter-Faith Council to settle any dispute that came up. The representatives of each religion took turns as Chairperson for the sake of smooth operations. Pope John-Paul VI did not expect it to be an easy job this time. The first point on their agenda was their response to the Veroshi issue.

It proved to be a more controversial subject than usual, which was pretty much what John-Paul had expected. Twice, the meeting had nearly degenerated into a shouting match with the participants thumping sections of their respective holy texts. A few cracks with a gavel and a snap from John-Paul had been enough to restore order, though.

"You have to remember that these are aliens," he said after the second outburst settled down. "We can't expect them to follow any of our religions. To them, it might make perfect sense to worship the Grebsas as gods."

"Has anyone spoken to the Grebsa representatives about this? What do they think?" asked the Muslim cleric, al-Jezeera.

"I spoke to Lieutenant Odan of the Enforcers," John-Paul said. "He insisted that the Grebsas aren't going to set up a theocracy. They are willing to settle the Veroshi and Miriana on Earth but they will neither encourage nor discourage the religion."

"Then why do the Veroshi worship them as gods?"

"Odan insisted that the Grebsas didn't know. All they did was transmit a pre-recorded message that included information about existing religions and invite them to respond. He says the Veroshi must have extrapolated something out of their holy texts."

"As long as they don't settle near any of our holy sites," al-Jezeera muttered.

"The Grebsas are looking at likely sites in the Americas and they probably won't have to consider the Holy Land at all."

Al-Jezeera raised a skeptical eyebrow. "They are honest if nothing else. I just know how circumstances can change."

That was true enough. Even the most tolerant of Grebsas would only take so much. After a series of Islamist attacks on Grebsa buildings a decade ago, the Network had cracked down on known radical groups and issued an ultimatum to the Muslims: Cut all support for the radicals or be destroyed. Al-Jezeera himself had been one of those who balked at it, and he had three parallel scars running down the side of his face to show for it. Why he was still alive was beyond him. The Grebsas were very efficient killers when riled.

But he could thank Allah for his blessings. Since then, he had come to think of the Grebsas as a test of his people's faith. Perhaps it was Allah's will that they reign for a while, so humans could learn the value of patience. Now that he considered it, that had been the radicals' main problem. They were too impatient.

He returned his attention to the business at hand.

"I'm sure we all know that the Grebsas think long-term," the Catholic was saying. "They're giving us a chance to get used to the idea. We should prove that humans can be mature about it and call for a warm welcome to the aliens."

"And their religion?" said al-Jezeera.

"Is not the Grebsas' fault. Making this up would be," John-Paul chose his words carefully, "rather uncharacteristic of them. We should just recommend that they not encourage it."

"But would they listen? They don't exactly hold humans in high esteem," said Wizenger, the Protestant representative.

"They are reasonable, even if they don't like us. If an idea has merit, it won't matter where it comes from. Their one interest at a time like this will be keeping the Empire intact."

"Even if it means slaughtering humans," al-Jezeera grunted.

"Even if it means not starting another jihad," Wizenger snapped. "The Grebsas aren't going to take kindly to that at a time like this. Or do you plan to get people killed for no reason other to suave your wounded pride?"

Al-Jezeera turned red. "I might be a Muslim, but I'm not an idiot!"

"You came off as rather idiotic ten years ago. The Grebsas will be watching for reactionists, especially those with religious leanings, and they have long memories. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they had a few of their Shadow spies watching you."

Al-Jezeera clinched his jaw. He knew Wizenger was telling the truth. When most humans spoke of Grebsas, they meant the great winged cats. People ignored the fact that they had been genetically engineered from basic human form. In fact, there were still Grebsas who could pass for human. These were the Shadows, expert at worming their way into human society and finding information that humans would rather keep secret.

John-Paul called a recess to allow tempers to cool. In the lobby, Wizenger stole a moment to speak with the Jewish representative and the Dalai Lama.

"You've been pretty quiet so far."

The Dalai Lama said, "There isn't much to say that hasn't already been said. The Veroshi don't seem so alien as they might at first glance."

"Oh? How so?"

"Many religions, Christianity included, believe in an immortal soul. Reincarnation is a Buddhist concept."

"And the Grebsas are capable of passing their memories from one generation to the next," noted the Jewish representative.

"You're right, Mister Rosenbury. Perhaps it is a form of reincarnation."

"There is only one God," Wizenger said stiffly.

"The Veroshi see it differently," the Dalai Lama said gently. "Perhaps the concept of an invisible and all-powerful God never occurred to them until they received the Grebsas' message. Even now, you can't expect them to willingly convert to a religion they see as alien and, perhaps, erroneous."

"And, besides," Rosenbury said, "you said yourself that the Grebsas will be watching our reaction. Do we want to give them a reason to restart the Human-Grebsa Wars?"

"No," Wizenger said quickly, and for good reason.

The Human-Grebsa Wars were the brutal conflicts that had cost the humans their autonomy centuries ago. The Grebsas had gotten tired of being discriminated against, hunted, and abused simply because their minds were linked in a telepathic Network. Under the direction of their ruler, a woman known only as the First Grebsa, they became savage fighters whose tactics could change without warning, even in the middle of a battlefield. The antecents of modern Shadows had sabotaged the military at every turn, taking bases and warships from the inside at every opportunity and warning their counterparts in the field of every human move. This, in turn, allowed their warriors to outmanuever any enemy.

Eventually, humans had called it hopeless and surrendered. But that didn't mean they accepted the situation easily. Residual resentment often exploded in the form of riots, bombings, even open rebellion. And the Grebsas responded harshly. Wizenger knew people who had seen family and friends slain by winged demon-cats in a hunting frenzy. They did have the instincts of large predators, and those instincts could well be difficult to control while chasing criminals. Convicts spoke of harsh conditions and long days in the labor camps. Parents spoke of children taken in routine searches for young human-born Grebsas. The mutation did still crop up in the human population, and the Grebsas saw no reason to give their enemies a potential hostage.

"They're just going to get that much harsher, now that they know what's coming," Wizenger said out loud, continuing his line of thought. "Maybe they don't want a theocracy, maybe they think the Veroshi are wrong, but, deep down, they want people who don't hate them. And they're going to do whatever it takes to make sure we humans don't sabotage that. We shouldn't give them any reason to believe we don't want the Veroshi here."

****************

Outer System Outpost Thirty-

Tranna saw the reporter, Miss Dithers, to the airlock where her shuttle waited. It had been against her judgement to let the humans know about the Veroshi and the Miriana, but the First herself had overridden Tranna. However, to make up for it, the First had put her in charge of preparing for the arrival of the "Faith-ship," as their generational ship was called.

Dithers seemed suitably pleased. Grebsas rarely did interviews, and covering this story was likely to be a boon to her career. The news services were already calling it "The Story of the Millennium."

"Thanks much, Tranna. It's been an excellent three weeks."

"It was my pleasure, Rita." They had gotten to a first-name basis during that three weeks. "Farewell."

"'Bye."

Rita went through the airlock. The human had taken a liberty in kissing Tranna's nose, but Tranna didn't mind. Some humans were quick to read more into a close working relationship than a Grebsa might have meant. Tranna was sure Rita would forget it in a year, perhaps less.

On an impulse, she went to visit Geralt. He had been feeling a little restless lately and was even talking about taking up a place among the Terran Enforcers. Tranna couldn't really say she blamed him. He had grown up on the Outpost and was probably sick of staring at steel-gray walls and not being able to turn around without a lot of maneuvering. So, she had promised him a chance to go back to Earth on the next shuttle.

*************

The Faith-ship-

The idol sat on the bench on the altar, as silent as always. It was made from solid gold, except for its eyes, which were purple gemstones that flashed when the light hit them just right. It resembled a Grebsa, and had proven a satisfactory stand-in for the Grebsas for millennia.

Unfortunately, it was no replacement for a real Grebsa.

Rossa, taking a brief break from her duties, sat on the front pew, simply gazing at the idol. Over the past few years, Rawn had spoken often of how she wished she could touch her gods and let them know somebody loved them. She believed they suffered terribly from being what they were and being rejected by humans. The gods wanted somebody they could love without fearing a betrayal, somebody who could love away the pain. And they could feel pain. Rossa had seen that often enough in the videos. They were powerful, but not invulnerable.

A few junior acolytes lit the candles in preparation for evening service. Most of the major temples had gone from one service daily to two. Rossa went to assist Rawn in the room behind the altar.

She found the High Priestess sitting in her favorite chair with her headdress in her hands. Rawn's fur had become almost pure white from age. She moved slower and tired more easily, but, most times, could still get through each service. She looked up at Rossa with a sad smile.

"Hello, Rossa."

"Is something the matter, Priestess?"

"I don't think I'm ever going to look in my gods' eyes."

"You will someday. We will become their brothers and sisters."

"At some unknown point in the future."

"And so was the inevitable contact with our gods once." Rossa knelt and took Rawn's hands in her own. "The Grebsas will remember you as the first Veroshi who spoke to them. I feel that you will mean as much to them as any of us who might touch their faces."

"I hope so."

"Your faith is strong. I see no reason why you wouldn't join the gods when the Prophecy is fulfilled."

"And part of it has been fulfilled already."

"If part of it is true, why not all of it?"

Rawn smiled at her. She had never regretted promoting Rossa to full priestess. Rossa always carried out her duties without complaint and even helped teach acolytes in her spare time.

The High Priestess suddenly felt tired. She still had a few minutes before she had to start services. Surely no one would care if she closed her eyes for a moment.

Rossa caught her as she fell over.

"Rawn, are you all right? Rawn!"

Rossa shook her shoulder. Rawn didn't answer. Rossa checked for a heartbeat and found nothing. She went to the doorway and signalled an acolyte.

"Get the Healers, hurry, the High Priestess has collapsed!"

The acolyte stared for a moment, and then flew out. Rossa went back to Rawn and tried to resuscitate her, praying loudly to the Grebsas as she tried to restart her heart. Not that she thought the prayer would do much good. The Scriptures clearly stated that the Grebsas didn't have much power outside of Sol System. But it made her feel better.

The Acolyte flew back in with the Healers. Rossa stood back as they worked. She felt a whimper rising in her throat. Irrationally, she had hoped Rawn would live long enough to touch her gods' faces before her mortal form died.

She will someday. The Scriptures say so.

It gave Rossa something to hold on to.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral ceremonies lasted for several days. High Priestess Rawn's body was shuttled from Temple to Temple so various priestesses could bless her and every Veroshi who were capable of coming had a chance to pay their final respects.

Rossa felt that only her faith was keeping her going. As one of Rawn's friends, she was expected to speak at each ceremony. She could never give her speech without a little whine creeping into her voice. Every other priestess she spoke to assured her that they felt the same way.

She remembered having to announce Rawn's death to the congregation the day she died. The Healers had done everything they could, but they were unable to restart a heart that was just worn out. The worshippers hadn't wanted to believe it until the Healers carried out her body on a gurney. They whispered among themselves for a bit, then reached a consensus that Rossa should try to conduct the service. That bit of normalcy seemed to settle things a bit, and confirmed something Rawn had told Rossa when the latter was still a young acolyte.

"A worship service isn't so much for the gods as for their worshippers. I'm sure the Grebsas hear any praise, ritualized or not. The services are a way to keep our minds focused on them, not on the distractions that can creep into our lives."

That had proven true. They had been able to go through with the service without any major problems, though Rossa was sure it had been strange to see her, rather than Rawn, giving the sermon. She was still embarrassed by the way she had stammered through it, though everybody assured her she had done fine for not having a chance to prepare.

Now, though, they were about to bury Rawn's body in the cemetary outside the oldest and most venerable Temple on the Faith-ship. This time, Rossa didn't try to hide the whimpers, her people's way of showing grief. She didn't even try to come up with something formal for the blessing.

"I will miss you, High Priestess Rawn. I will pray that your spirit may be reborn as a sister to the Grebsas."

No one seemed to mind. The pallbearers carefully lowered the casket into the grave as a small choir sang a hymn of hope and renewal. The grave diggers began to shovel dirt on top and the mourners dispersed, speaking in hushed voices.

Rossa waited until the last shovels of dirt were placed on top. It seemed disrespectful not to, somehow. Or, perhaps, she wouldn't feel like Rawn was really gone until she saw the burial through. As she turned away, she thought she felt a soft, sweet-smelling breeze. It passed as quickly as it came, though, and she shrugged it off.

She slipped into the Temple. It was said to be as old as the Faith-ship, though parts of it had been rebuilt at various points in her people's history. The Forbidden Room was here, and the largest Grebsa statue, and a library full of history texts, some of which dated back to their departure from the Veroshi planet of origin.