"Yngve, A R - Alien Beach" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yngve A. R)
A thousand human eyes of all ages stared at Tmmtenaa at once. In all directions, he was surrounded by hands unlike his, stretching out to touch him. The crowdТs voices merged into a cacophonic roar of emotion. A little child was pushed down and trampled by older children. Cut off from the bus, Tmmtenaa stood helpless with his oval eyes flickering open-shut, open-shut, mouth pinched, arms paralyzed. Ann thought she could see him tremble. The crowd was mostly children; they couldnТt harm him. But the team had to get him inside quickly, beforeЕ There was no bang; the sniper must have been using a silencer. The crowd screamed and scattered, fanning out from the spot where Tmmtenaa collapsed. Two drops of purple-red blood dripped from his head onto the asphalt. From his metallic vest, a black liquid blob had swelled up and was covering his upper body.
A very loud, shrill warning signal came from his vest, making every human bystander hold her ears. The time elapsed from the moment Tmmtenaa had exited the bus, to when he had been shot, was less than a minute. The Secret Service men rushed outside with their guns drawn, closely followed by Moanossoans and Oanss. The two Sirians shut off TmmtenaaТs warning siren and carried him back into the bus, moving fast and hunching down to cover him. From somewhere above, a second silent shot hit the pavement close to their feet.УDrive to the Bellevue, quickly,Ф a Secret Service man ordered the driver. УDonТt wait for the police escort, theyТll catch up on the way.Ф The bus driver obeyed. Carl tried to get close to Tmmtenaa, see where he had been hit - and Moanossoans blocked him with her arms, baring her white, cylindrical teeth at him, eyes turned to reddish slits. She made a squeaking warning-shriek, that made his ears smart. He didnТt back off. УPlease, let me help. We have people who can help -У Another, sharper squeak came, and he had to back away to the front of the bus to avoid going deaf. Ranmotanii moved up to Carl, trembling a little, and faced him. УTmmtenaa iis daaamageeed mmuch! He can die reeeally now! Ouur machinnnes say a buullett come dowwwn and liittle almmost movve into TmtenaaТs heeadЕФ There was panic in the alienТs wailing voice. УI tried to warn you! I grew up here,Ф Carl said quickly, barely in control of his own panic. УWhy didnТt you listen to me? Tmmtenaa shouldnТt have been going outside the bus!Ф Face ashen, Ranmotanii shut his bloodshot eyes and opened his mouth as if ready to scream. He uttered no sound save for his quickened, deep breathing. Carl fell silent for a long moment, himself unable to calm his heart. УIТm so sorry, Ranmotanii.Ф They looked toward Tmmtenaa, who was lying down in the back of the moving bus, almost completely covered with the black substance oozing from his vest. The nature of this technology had not been explained, but Carl assumed it served many functions - in this case as a sort of emergency life-support system. Three other Sirians were kneeling down at TmmtenaaТs side, holding their heads, making low moans and squeaks. For all their superior knowledge, these beings appeared to instantly lose their calm when confronted with injury and the threat of violent death. An hour later, the Sirians declared that the bullet had been removed from TmmtenaaТs head. They demanded to immediately be brought back to the airport and flown directly to Alien Beach, where he could receive special treatment in the lander vessel. For the moment he was being held in hypothermia, the black substance forming a frozen, hard cocoon that steamed with exhaust heat. Carl could do nothing but accept their demands. The guided tour was aborted.
Chapter Sixteen
The soldier woke up in the middle of the night, his head suddenly aching. His heart beating faster with eager, conditioned anticipation, he waited for the vision to come... Nothing. Nothing came. He saw only the usual canvas walls of his tent, faintly illuminated by the moon and lights from outsideЕ No, wait - there was something after all. But it had to work harder to come into his consciousness, struggling and flickering. Now it flashed through his mindТs eye, lasting a subjective few seconds: A dark forest of tall trees, shaped like giant gray corkscrews with thick black leaves for crowns. This was a remote inland part of his homeworld, but it wasnТt Earth. In the sky hung a violet-tinted, thick gloom. He was standing there alone, away from his company, sensing the presence and ambience of animal life, somewhere in the darkness. A sudden whizzing sound - something darted past his head, too quickly for him to perceive if it was an animal or a thing. Then he felt warm blood flowing over his face, and he knew he had been injured. A brief moment of panic - The soldier blinked, and he was in his tent again. His hand flew up and felt his face. The injury was not real. But it meant something, clear and simple this time. Someone had been hurt, or would be. He had to be cautious and expect real, physical danger. УWe interrupt this program for a breaking news feature, live from the NBC studio in New York.Ф УThis is Cathy Courier, live from the Today studio. Just a few minutes ago, not far from here, a visiting Sirian was witnessed being shot and injured outside the Disney IMAX Theater. Apparently, the Sirian male took part in a secret bus tour through the city, when he unexpectedly left his cover and moved out into the crowd watching a parade of impersonated Disney characters. Our roving camera team cannot reach the site now, since the police have sealed off the area in search of the one or several attackers who fired the shots.
УThe whereabouts of the wounded Sirian are not certain; an unconfirmed rumor holds that he was immediately taken to the Bellevue Hospital. УThe public has for several days known, that a covert Sirian tour of the worldТs countries was in progress; the sudden upsurge of police activity in New York, plus reports of similar activity in a consecutive number of countries, had indicated that New York was next on the list. Who was behind the attempt to assassinate a Sirian visitor is not yet known. The official leader of the ECT on Alien Beach, Carl Sayers, has been unavailable for a comment on the current crisis. УLater on Questions and Answers, Polish science-fiction author Lew Stanislawsky will discuss the impact of this event on the extraterrestrial visit to EarthЕФ
DAY 86
УTmmtenaaТs going to make it, Mr. President. The shot hit him square on the head, but his suit stopped the bullet before it could enter his brain - no, I donТt know how it was done. Invulnerable they are not, but the Sirian technology is unbelievably fast sometimes...Ф Carl put his hand over the phone for a moment, and looked at his colleagues in the plane seats: Ann, Lazar, Takeru, and their linguist. The Sirians were also on the plane, in a separate compartment, watching over TmmtenaaТs recovery. The injured alien could not yet speak. There were all these people he were responsible for, Carl thought, and he had failed them all. He half wanted to ask the President to resign from the ECT, half feared becoming a public scapegoat if that happened. УYes, sir. WeТre doing fairly well, but weТre all quite shaken as you can understand. What? I see... well, IТm grateful the Security Council didnТt vote me out. Thank you, Mr. President, for me not having to face them in a hearing. Ha, ha. I know. Right. Thank you, sir. Bye.Ф He put away the phone and sighed deeply. Lazar awakened from his slumber and cocked his head in CarlТs direction. УAre the politicians looking to put the blame on you?Ф УSince when did you become so cynical, Lazar? Early on, I pictured you as the great humanist who understood everyone.Ф УI do try to understand all menТs thoughts, but IТm not forced to like everyone. LetТs say the jetlag made us surly.Ф Carl yawned, and replied: УI shouldnТt even be here now, you know. Except for the Sirians who never seem to plan anything in detail, everyone thought they were going along with our plans. Head straight for the U.N. Building, talk to the world leaders, call for global peace, I take a week off and see my family - everyoneТs happy.Ф УHave you spoken to your wife and children after the shooting?Ф УJust a few hours ago. The President and his blasted staff have been on me all day and night. Thank God I had the foresight to arrange that the media canТt find me.Ф Lazar cleared his throat. УWe need to talk, Carl. The whole team too, but you and me first. IТm starting to understand this whole process - the things that are going on between humans and aliens. ItТs like a psychic drama being played out with the planet as a stage - two different ways of thinking, colliding head-on... from a certain perspective, the attempt to kill Tmmtenaa was being forced through by humanityТs collective imagination.Ф УExplain yourself. And why did he go out into the crowd anyway? The Sirians never even bothered to explain it to us - almost as if they took for granted we understood.Ф Lazar put his palms together before his face, features set frowning hard: УWhen it comes to TmmtenaaТs motives, I can only speculate. Assume... assume he was becoming claustrophobic, and was desperate to get out of the bus after all those days. Remember, these beings have been traveling through space for years, and they sleep in the ocean. The sight of the Sirian-impersonator was the impulse that made him act out an overwhelming desire for open spaces. These beings do tend to be impulsive sometimes, even playful.Ф УGo on.Ф УThe impersonator - was he arrested?Ф УYes - the police did suspect he was sent out as a decoy. They couldnТt prove it though - his costume was genuine Disney merchandise, and he was working on schedule.Ф УIТll take it as coincidence then. The bus was probably being followed by the attackers long before the shooting.Ф УYou said Тpsychic dramaТ? Explain yourself.Ф Lazar leaned closer. УIТm indebted to the Sirians for giving us those helmets, that record and play thoughts. IТve been using mine every night, and itТs really helped me understand myself... Have you been using yours?Ф УNo, no, not once.Ф УYou were afraid of it, right?Ф УNo! There just wasnТt time to...Ф Carl stopped, sensing his own guilt. Lazar shook his head - he saw straight through the lie. УYes,Ф Carl admitted, reluctantly, УI was afraid of it from the very start.Ф УSo was I, Carl. But my professional curiosity was too great to resist using my machine...Ф Lazar straightened up, eyes widening behind his thick glasses. УYes!" he said. "I realize now, that ever since poor Bruno broke down, you and the others have unconsciously repressed the existence of the mind-recorders!Ф УYou must be mistaken, Lazar. Early on, I told the crew they were free to use the devices on their own, and you did...Ф УI did... no one else. Or at least, no one has even mentioned using them to me. On this little world tour, did you see anyone but me bring their helmets along with them?Ф УWell, no.Ф УWhen we come back to Alien Beach, ask the team. IТll promise you very few will have even touched their mind-recorders while we were away.Ф УSo... why the repressing?Ф УThis is complicated, but IТll try... УAll Earthlings know instinctively, that the Sirians are the ultimate outsiders. In spite of the fact that they look much like us - ironic, no? So on a sub-conscious or semi-conscious level, humans will tend to think of the Sirians as not being real - as an intrusion on our reality.Ф УThe public thinks they are a fraud?Ф УAn intrusion on our reality. A hallucination come alive. A vaguely supernatural entity. A projection of our deepest desires and fears. And to experience that boundary between reality and imagination breaking down, does of course make you feel insecure, make you fear youТre going crazy. Add to this the unexpected gift from the Sirians - a little machine that enables you to experience a dream as if it was waking existence! ThatТs just too much. Our minds are not ready for that yet. So humanity treats Sirians as more than real, as... gods, maybe, or demons. Hence, us scientists repress these irrational impulses, and in particular our own dreams.Ф There was something about LazarТs matter-of-fact tone that made CarlТs skin crawl. He had to repress a weird urge to run away. УThis is outrageous,Ф Carl objected. УYou could just as well suggest we, all of humanity, wished the Sirians into existence.Ф УAnd assume we did?Ф Carl blinked. Lazar met his disbelieving stare without a flinch - smiling, too. Carl went cold with fear. УIsnТt it too much of a coincidence,Ф Lazar continued, Уthat they made themselves known to mankind now? The public interest in UFOs has been increasing steadily for the past fifty years. The schizoid cases IТve been studying during my long career have also changed. They used to imagine demons - now they think itТs СaliensТ who are causing the voices in their heads.Ф Carl shook his head; now it was too obvious what was happening, too painful to repress. He had to break the news slowly. УLazar, youТre starting to scare me. What if your using the dream-recorder is breaking down your distinctions between dream and reality? What if a kind of mental crisis hit the Sirian civilization long ago... and is now happening to you? What if thatТs why Tmmtenaa went out of the bus - because he and his kin are so confused about dream, artifice, and reality, that they took the Disney impersonators for real beings? He thought the fake Sirian was real!Ф Lazar seemed startled, but only momentarily; when he answered, he sounded shocked. УI thought I knew why the Sirians are so artless... no ornaments, no decorations, no clothes, no decorative colors, just one single font for all letters, just blank surfaces on all their things...Ф Carl had the same thought; he stared before him, clasping his hands together hard to prevent them from jerking outward. УThey are clinically insane... all of them. A whole culture of hyper-civilized, peaceful schizoids. They canТt have art or stories or dreams, because to them making up a fiction is to make up reality as well. ThatТs how you survive if your dream-life is equal to being awake... you avoid imagining things. You donТt dream. Anything.Ф Lazar nodded slowly; it was like in one of those nightmares of his childhood, where he could see the menace coming but was unable to move out of its way. Was it himself he heard speaking?
УAnd they travel around the universe... because if you canТt have an imagination, reality is all you have and direct physical experience becomes the most important thing! ThatТs why they came in person the second time, instead of sending automatic probes... thatТs what Oanorrn meant, about dead things being real and thinking beings not being real...Ф Lazar hid his face in his hands and broke down. УOh God... IТm going insaneЕФ Carl didnТt know whether to hate the Sirians for having hurt Lazar, or pity them. He hugged the sobbing old Egyptian, trying to comfort him; he could feel the manТs aging limbs shake with each of LazarТs panicky heartbeats. As Carl patted LazarТs shoulders, he began to see the whole picture coming together. The humanoid, friendly appearance of the Sirians really was deceptive... but in a way he hadnТt imagined.
And the Sirians, he thought, can no longer imagine what itТs like for us, us who take the real/imaginary distinction for granted. All the mutual misunderstandings between humans and aliens, all the strange ideas Oanorrn had been trying to convey to Edmund Soto... now Carl understood them. That is, Lazar understood them better - because mentally, he was becoming one of them. How on earth were they going to tell the President this? What wouldnТt the generals and warmongers do with such an argument: The enemy is crazy, so itТs no use reasoning with them. The amphibians probably considered Уland-humansФ to be crazy from their point of view. This truth was way too dangerous to reveal at once. Could he himself communicate any further with the Sirians now, knowing they didnТt - couldnТt think alike? One other option: succumb to the Sirian paradigm. Carl could use the recording-device like Lazar had done, record his own dreams and play them up while awake, day after day, until he had no fantasy-world any more... just Уreal thingsФ - rocks, atoms, energy, animated matter that resembled life...
УNo!Ф Ann opened her eyes, rose from her seat, saw the weeping Lazar and Carl who was staring at nothing, sweaty and wild-eyed. УWhy did you shout? WhatТs happened?Ф Carl looked at her with a face of utter despair. УI canТt say... Ann... go back to sleep. Please. Dream something nice. HeТs fine. IТll see to it. Sleep. Please.Ф Ann started a little, confused and frightened. УIs it Tmmtenaa? Is he dead?Ф УNo! I mean... go check how heТs doing.Ф Ann obeyed, and left the others alone in their compartment. The British linguist was still asleep in his seat. Dream, you lucky bastard, dream, Carl thought. How do they live that way? Do they suffer? All I wanted from them was answers to all the questions thatТve troubled me all my life... and the answers they give... IТm not sure I want them. Midnight. All the cult members on the island were gathered to hear their leader talk about the assassination attempt. A videotape of the TV news had been shown to them: edited by the Church, but enough to inform what had happened and its consequences. The soldier sat next to Patty, gazing up at the stage, which was lit up by lines of flickering torches. The Regional Elder, dressed for the occasion in a black robe, held a microphone in his hand, connected to a rather inadequate loudspeaker; he compensated for it by shouting until he went hoarse. УWoe and pain! Woe and pain! This is how the evil forces strike at our collective heart! My poor friend Tmmtenaa - I can feel his pain even now, as his wound heals!Ф The bloated cult-leader raised his free hand, seemingly writhing with telepathically induced pain, and the cult crowd roared with unleashed emotion. Suddenly, the soldier was completely awake. He thought: "Feel his pain?" What a joke! That fat clown is preening like this was a rock concert. HeТs not in telepathic contact with Ranmotanii. The crowd is hypnotized all the same. Now is the time to escape! The soldier clutched his mouth and stomach, feigned an attack of nausea, and made his way through the crowd to the dark edges of the open place. No one had attempted to stop him. He halted in a dark shadow, and caught his breath. The petty cash he had managed to collect wasnТt nearly enough to get him to another island. He could seek shelter at the local police station - they would probably send him to Fiji and the U.S. Consulate - and he would never be allowed near Alien Beach again. He just knew it. The soldier stopped and listened to the voice of the ranting cult leader. УThe time is nigh to join our amphibian brethren! Ranmotani speaks to me, even now, and his message to us is: Faithful ones, do not despair! You are still welcome to join us in the new world we will create on this planet - not on the polluted evil surface, but in the blissful, undisturbed underwater world! If your faith in the Sirian gospel is strong enough, we will transform you into amphibians, and be able to breathe water like us.Ф
The soldier thought: No, you fools! DonТt listen to him! But the assembled cultists, hundreds more now than when the soldier had first joined, sounded enthusiastic enough to try out breathing water immediately. The soldier was much too aware of where this madness might lead. Patty. He didnТt particularly like Patty, he had told himself many times, apart from a vague physical attraction. She only had eyes for the cult itself and its leader; the soldier owed her nothing. And the Sirians, the real Sirians, obviously couldnТt care less. He really should be running off now, and mourn PattyТs fate later...
The soldier stood still.
Chapter Seventeen
DAY 87
УThis morningТs press conference brought few explanations for the New York shooting yesterday, but some facts came out:
УThe Sirian known as Tmmtenaa has been brought to the lander vessel at Alien Beach to recover. The police are investigating a number of known militant Islamic groups which may be involved in the assassination attempt. The Sirian spokesman has not yet given a public response to the incident. УSurprisingly, except for the standing members of the U.N. Security Council, very few statesmen have condemned the attack in public, or pleaded for peace and reconciliation with the Sirians. УHere with me in the CNN studio we have the renowned political analyst Gore Vydall, who came out of retirement to offer the public his views on the recent events. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Vydall - why are the world leaders quiet?Ф УThis goes beyond politics. Way beyond. I followed the Cold War closely and, for all its atrocities and planned genocide, it was still a struggle between humans. The raw instincts that fueled that war - the greed for power, the fear of losing power - these are still present. But the presumed opponent now is not of this earth. Furthermore, the superior technology and science of the Sirians represent a challenge to all the established power structures... on... the... entire... planet. УOur leaders know that. But of course they would never admit this to the public - that they secretly fear for their own privileges and authority. They must pretend they are still on top of things... yet they most of all wish the Sirians would pack and leave the next morning, so that the Сchosen leadersТ could continue their petty power games. Hence the attack... hence the ominous silence from the establishment. УNow the public has seen that the visitors can bleed - they are that much like us. And that means they can be killed, which means the establishment can seriously consider an all-out war that might be winnable. I came back to the media to warn the public: You must stop your leaders from leading you into a war that could end human life on Earth. УThe path to annihilation has been entered for real this time - a Cold War between the species has just begun. It is up to you, the public, to stop it before itТs too late -Ф УEr... thank you, Mr. Vydall. The other news... after this.Ф
DAY 89
Alien Beach looked more or less the same as when the group had left it. Only, the weather had deteriorated further. Ann remarked to her colleagues over dinner, that the persistent cloud system above must be the result of Sirian tampering with the atmosphere. She voiced her suspicion that the strange alien antenna-structure on the beach, which had been erected during the nightly ceremony, was a weather regulator. Takeru, sitting at the same table, cursed her inwardly for being on to him. He had long been suspecting the same, but had kept his theory to himself. Takeru still possessed his mind-recording device, but he had not dared to use it after the initial test; Lazar, who admitted to using his device regularly, was steadily growing more and more eccentric. Takeru needed to know more about the side-effects, if he was ever to ensure a safe patent on these fantastic devices. УMats,Ф he asked after dinner, УI am deeply worried about LazarТs health. He is acting so strange. Please tell me if thereТs anything wrong.Ф The Swedish physician seemed reluctant to talk about it; then again, he wasnТt the talkative type. УWhile you were on tour, I made some thorough tests of my own thought-recording helmet,Ф he said after a pause. УHave you?Ф УWell, not really,Ф Takeru lied with a straight face. УMy finished report will be made public at the end of the year,Ф Mats said enigmatically. УAre the devices dangerous? Is it safe for me to try and use mine? I was going to...Ф The Swede swallowed the bait. УIТd recommend you not to use the helmet on you or any other humans,Ф he answered quickly. УDo you know how it actually works? The helmet, like all the other Sirian machines, is like an organism made of intricate metal cells. The cells of the mind-recorders are special. УWhen activated, they squeeze themselves close to the scalp and shoot out millions of microscopic needles, three millimeters long, which perforate the subjectТs cranium. Somehow these needles do not trigger a pain response; instead, they connect into a matrix that registers the entire spectrum of higher brain activity, which is then... imprinted in the helmetТs cells.Ф Takeru nodded, and said: УI want to know what is troubling Lazar, but I cannot ask him. Would it be possible for me to borrow his helmet and replay his recorded thoughts in my own head? Is that safe?Ф He was fairly sure why MatsТ answer would be no; he wasnТt disappointed. УWhatever you do,Ф Mats said, Уavoid that! Any brain that you record from has a unique structure, like a fingerprint. It follows that the recorded thought can only be replayed on that same brain. If you would try on LazarТs helmet and СborrowТ his thoughts, youТd risk physical pain and all sorts of mental side-effects. I should have warned the group long ago, but... they seem to have been avoiding the devices on their own accord.Ф УThis is an amazing invention,Ф Takeru admitted. УDo you think they have even more advanced technology. For instance, artificial telepathy?Ф УYou mean, like radios connected to their brains? That wouldnТt be any stranger than our cellular phones.Ф УNo, I mean sending thoughts directly into the brains of humans.Ф
Mats frowned at the shorter Takeru, saying nothing. УI heard it on the radio the other day,Ф Takeru explained, Уwhile I was monitoring the electromagnetic activity from the Sirian machines. There is this new cult that worships the Sirians, and some of them have set up camp on another island not far from here. Their leader claims he is receiving telepathic messages from Ranmotanii...Ф Takeru quickly laughed along with Mats, so as not to appear dumb. УYou fooled me there, Takeru!Ф Mats grinned, pointing a knowing finger at him. УThat is just so absurd. Is the human brain built to receive and decode radio messages? No! We have eyes and ears and noses for communication. And even if the Sirians had organs to transmit and receive thoughts, would humans be able to receive them? No! Not in any case! And I know by the simple measurements IТve done on Sirians, that their brains work on other frequencies than ours - theyТre СtunedТ differently. To them, our thoughts should just resemble static.Ф УSo the claims of the cult are not based on facts?Ф УNot any that I know of. To actually project thoughts directly into a human brain, bypassing the normal senses, demands a physical, chemical manipulation of brain cells. Please, Takeru, donТt bother with those ridiculous cults.Ф УYes, youТre right.Ф Takeru decided that Mats had to be right... yet, there was something about the cult coverage that had struck a chord within him - an uncomfortable urgency he could not quite shake. Suddenly the intercom link buzzed in MatsТ office. It was Stone Pound: УGet to the mess hall quick! The Sirians are going to address the world on TV again!Ф They rushed out across the sand, the few meters to the crowded, lit-up barrack and saw Carl talking to the group, accompanied by three Sirians. Why do those amphibians always have to announce everything at the last possible minute? Mats thought angrily. УTmmtenaa has recovered. And, according to Ranmotanii, he has been discussing the situation with the other Sirians. They are not going to leave Earth because of this one incident. In fact, they were aware of the risks and well protected. Now, they have asked to hear your advice before they inform the Security Council about their new TV broadcast...Ф УInformФ, not УrequestФ or Уask permissionФ. The scientists found themselves tongue-tied; it wasnТt every day important people asked them advice that might alter the course of history - much less people from another world. Lazar spoke up first: УIf Tmmtenaa makes a public speech to the people of this planet, there are people who, I regret to say, will see a wounded Sirian as a sign of weakness on behalf of the Sirians. Do you understand this?Ф The question was aimed at the amphibians present. They failed to understand it. УExpllainn the wwoord... Сweeeaknesss'. Yyourr conntextt iss diffiicullt,Ф said Oanorrn. УHe means,Ф Carl said, Уthe sight of a bleeding or injured human evokes an aggressive response in some humans. A primitive instinct. So in a public appearance, a Sirian should avoid to appear physically damaged.Ф The Sirian delegation eyed the humans, then each other. They replied that Tmmtenaa intended to appear fully recovered, in a few hours. A transmitter would first send the message to the Sirian mothership at Mars, where the thousand-kilometer wide sail-disk could send back the amplified signal to the entire planet - in the manner of the initial contact message. Carl immediately thought: Distrust. They wanted no human help or interference. Before leaving, abruptly, the amphibians explained that the new message was meant to reinforce the message of the first-contact broadcast. Their meaning was not lost on the scientists: You have to repeat yourself when talking to children. УWe interrupt this broadcast for an incoming message from the Sirian mothership near Mars. Do not adjust your TV set. The signals are on all channels and will override all Earth-bound transmissions...Ф
DAY 90
Ann was waiting for the chopper to arrive and take her away from Alien Beach, her bags and suitcases packed. The afternoon sky was turning a livid gray hue, and she felt a little cold. She hadnТt told the Sirians; she was afraid to, and ashamed of her fear. A scientist in any field was supposed to be cold, detached, immune to subjectivity... but that was all a myth. All her colleagues here, despite their obsessive dedication to their work, had shown great feeling at some point or other - even a control-freak like Takeru, or that cool-headed Swedish doctor... Ann tried to repress the memory of her night with Mats Jonsson. It had meant nothing to either of them; just an outlet of pent-up tensions, she told herself. She put on her sunglasses in spite of there being little sunlight, standing stiff-backed, pretending to check her pockets for eventual forgotten things. Why couldnТt they see that she was going to pieces? Why didnТt Carl just declare her mentally unfit for coming back to Alien Beach? Ann saw a movement in the lagoon, and felt her heart jump. A group of amphibians were coming up through the surf. She recognized Namonnae, Tmmtenaa... and Oanss. He was waving at her, walking faster than his friends. Ann stood dead still, afraid to move or say anything. УAann... wwill you come baaack to Allieen Beachh?Ф She nodded imperceptibly, keeping her shades on -- though she knew the Sirians had superior eyesight and could see right through them.
УYes. In two weeksТ time. I will be going to visit a friend on another island. ItТs called Sri Lanka - in older radio and TV broadcasts, the island was also called Ceylon.Ф Tmmtenaa spoke up - he had a small black patch on his head and his large oval eyes were slightly bloodshot, but he seemed to have recovered. УAnnn... do nnnoot sayy to peeeoplle theere, nooot sayyy: Tmmtenaa iis rreally dead orrr... Nnno. Saay thhat Tmmtenaa iss haappy to bee onn thiss pllaneeet.Ф Ann smiled at him; the convalescentТs thick lips widened, though his half-shut eyes seemed tired. УI promise, Tmmtenaa. IТm so happy to see you are well.Ф Oanss, who had been keeping a respectful distance to Ann, stepped forth. УAann... caan I foollow yyou to yourr timmme too Ceyllonn?Ф His friends did not seem the least surprised by his request. Ann thought: If they share all their thoughts with each other, every Sirian will know, in full detail, what Oanss thinks and feels - or what I say to him. No privacy of mind. No secrets. No shame. No self... УYou cannot go without your people to Ceylon - it would be against your agreement with the United Nations.Ф His reply caught her off-hand: УMyy peeople wwill nooot stoop mmme... We leearned sommmething nnew in Neew Yorrk... iit iis allowed to coome disguuuised aand preeetend to be frommm an otherr peoplle..?Ф
Ann looked nervously behind her; the other scientists were occupied ten meters farther away and hadnТt heard Oanss make his insane statement. HeТs being sarcastic. Must be. Some kind of alien attempt at humor... CanТt risk assuming that -
УNo, Oanss,Ф she said in a low voice, Уyou must not try to move among land-humans in disguise. It is very dangerous.Ф
УHello, Tmmtenaa...Ф Takeru called from a distance. The amphibian seemed oblivious. It reminded Takeru of a child listening to music through a headset, lost in his own reveries... or replayed dreams, maybe... Takeru moved out of TmmtenaaТs line of sight and hid behind a nearby cluster of sloping palmtrees. He produced a small camcorder with an ultra-sensitive, stick-shaped microphone, and began to film the alien from ten meters behind his back... Takeru started at a sound above, and turned to face Namonnae, looking down at him from the crown of a palmtree. She had been lurking there without him noticing it! Never before had he seen a Sirian climb a tree... how naive hadnТt he been. УH...hi, Namonnae...Ф Namonnae blinked at him with her large, deep standing ovals of eyes. Once, twice, slowly... eyelids five centimeters wide from end to end. The whites of her eyes faintly translucent, the pupils large black spots in oval gray irises. Takeru stared into them, defying her judgement. You have no right to judge me, alien! I wonТt kneel to you! He grew angry, not knowing where the courage to do so came from. УI thought your people were superior to us...Ф he half-whispered up to her. УMore intelligent, more rational, better in every way. But you are just different... different. Not even very different from us.Ф УWhhy doo yyou noow feelll angrry?Ф asked Namonnae, voice calm, curious. He giggled as if it was funny: УYes... a very good question, yes? Why do I feel so... confused when I try to... feel something about a Sirian? When I want to like you, I hate you. When I want to hate you... but I cannot feel right about something which I do not even understand.Ф УExplaain thhat woorrd againn... word СunderstanndТ in cooontextt nnow.Ф Takeru merely scowled at her. УFirst, I want you to explain something to me. Why did Tmmtenaa go out of the bus in New York? Why did he go after the man who was dressed up to look like a Sirian?Ф
УIt iis diffficullt to eexplain too lannd-huumans,Ф Namonnae said, a little uncertainly. УBut you can try to.Ф She nodded theatrically, imitating human manners. She explained that Tmmtenaa was a former criminal of sorts. Like most of his comrades, he had been born on the homeworld. When others replayed his recorded dreams they discovered that he was disturbed; he was planning to destroy and kill. So they waited until he made the attempt, stopped him, and decided to change his brain, take away the parts of it that made him want to kill. Tmmtenaa remained altered as he grew older; he would be childlike and naive for the rest of his bodily life. Her explanation might have come uncomfortably, but she showed no distress - she once cast a glance at the sitting Tmmtenaa, without blinking or lowering her voice. How obvious, Takeru thought. In a perfect society where thoughts can be recorded, where do all the killers and maniacs go? He asked Namonnae how the other Sirians had reacted to the Sirian impersonator in New York. Her answer: they had registered a living being in the suit, but werenТt certain whether the suit was a part of the being; only later had they learned about the animatronic disguises. Another obvious thing, Takeru realized - beings who never wear clothes get confused about the distinction between apparent skin and actual skin. УBut why would you bring along Tmmtenaa on a long and dangerous journey to another world? How many of you are there, out in the mothership?Ф УLesss thaan ffour hunndred peeople... sleepinnng.Ф УWhy havenТt you told us how many you were before?Ф Namonnae said nothing, climbed down the sloping trunk, and set her feet on the ground a few meters from Takeru. УBecausse itt iiis... diffiiicult too knnow whhen yoou are prrepaared ffor nnew iinforrmatioon. I muust thinnk ssmall thenn... liike yyou thinnk...Ф In spite of the warm, humid air, Takeru felt his face flush. And knew that whichever reaction he might show, sheТd take it as evidence of her supposed superiority. He clenched his fists and walked away without a word.
Chapter Eighteen
УYesterdayТs worldwide broadcast from the Sirians came with almost no advance warning; it was broadcast without agreement from the United Nations or the U.S. government. УThe broadcast lasted about one hour, during which the same message was repeated three times. This show of strength stunned many, but the message was one of reconciliation - a formal apology from the Sirian Tmmtenaa who survived the assassination attempt in New York. The Sirian plea for peace and reason was welcomed by many world leaders, including the U.S. President; the governments of Saudi Arabia and Iran declined to give any official comment. УThis just in... the management of this network has decided that CNN will set aside funds for public information on the Sirian visitors, in order to promote a spirit of trust and cultural exchange between humans and extraterrestrials in the future. УNext: Fashion goes to space. Crimson coveralls and gray bodystockings are hot... after this.Ф The cult was changing rapidly, yet predictably - and the soldier tried to conceal his growing fear to the other cult members. Discipline was slacking considerably - the overseers were getting so careless, he could easily herd food for himself and avoid unpleasant orders. But at the same time, the members were becoming so fanatical that the overseers were scarcely needed anymore. The bald-shaven cultists dyed their red robes black like their leader had done. His every whim and minutest utterances were closely observed and obeyed. And the orgies began. The soldier hid himself from the tents where the orgies occurred, but sound traveled far in this part of the world. Throughout the day and into the night he could hear the manic group chanting, the insane wails and rants of the leader and his flock, the excess of drink and debauchery that merely underlined how lost they were. The cultТs once so hypnotic cheerfulness and solemnity was gone, replaced by the exhilaration of imminent doom. The soldier kept planning in his head how to snatch Patty with him, away from the island, but every scenario stumbled on one fact: she had no wish to leave. Ever since the assassination attempt on the Sirian, Patty spent all her time following Tanii - whenever the fat, but increasingly hollow-eyed leader opened his mouth, Patty replied УYes!Ф or УOur father!Ф with an illuminated gleam in her eyes. If the soldier had dared to outright kidnap Patty, she would have the cult lynch him. He had to wait, stay sober and out of the worst, until the others were too crazed or dazed to resist. Or he could kill the leader and run; the idea didnТt make him happy. A vision from the aliens would have been a great comfort, had it come to him - all he had now were just ordinary nightmares and a daily existence like lifted from a bad dream.
DAY 93
Carl read his transcript of RanmotaniiТs taped monologue, over and over again. It was easier to grasp the words this way, than in the awkward diction of the Sirian himself. He recalled the beach, the signs they drew in the white, wet sand, and RanmotaniiТs words: I want to show you, CarlЕ like a joke? We will laugh? Because now my people has learned more how your people think. Like soЕ your people draw lines and points in the sand. And like so, you believe all the world is like lines and points in sand. You call it УsymbolsФ. Then but! My people begin their living in water. We see and know and hear and talk through water. The world is like soЕ we are in water all time. We should laugh? When we live the first years as living things, then the water is to usЕ like the air is to your kind. Like so we learn to think, we talk a water-language. We talk sound-signals that give us positions, like your dolphins - not positions like drawn in sand! Positions from one human to another, from one real thing to another. The water is onlyЕ something that hides the real things from us.Many periods time go, thousands of years. Then but! My people finally learn that the air above the water, and the space above the air, are the same type of real. We learn and then know alwaysЕ then that there is no point. No line. No space... No time. No life. No thought. No symbols. We should laugh? Not realЕ only the things are real, the small things you call elementary particles, or energy, or the smallest measurable distances. But funny! We living things are not real like the smallest things that make us, but we think and breathe unlike smallest things. So we can influenceЕ good wordЕ influence real things. Or become more like the real things, but not be dead things. Not dead, but real! Years before this, I saw a television transmission from your planet. And in that, a land-human said: УThere are things man was never meant to know.Ф It took me a long period to understand the meaning of this he said. Until this now. My young relative Namonnae understood this before I could. There is so much I want to say, but that is too early to say, and your language is too small, too young to describe. When, you can choose that, maybe your kind learns to think like my kind. The mind-recorders we gave to you are a start... one small step for a man, but a giant leap for mankind... like so a land-human said. Though he hadnТt written down his taped response to that, Carl painfully remembered his every word, once there were no others within hearing distance: I do want to learn to think more like a Sirian, if it helps me understand more, understand better. But I am old! I will die soon, too soon. Is thereЕ if you couldЕ make my life last longer, then - Carl had hid his face in his hands, ashamed to show his inner turmoil. The humiliation, the desperation was too much; he had almost begged the aliens to give him longevity. RanmotaniiТs reply had been sad: I can see you are not well healthy. Our machines have learned to read your bodies now. I saw you have been much sick, almost dead. And will be maybe similarly sick soon. You want to live a longer period of time than others.Carl had tried to defend himself: NoЕ pleaseЕ not that. Not just for me. I want all land-humans to live longer. We need it, we need more time to learn a better life. Our time of living is too short, shorter than yours. And RanmotaniiТs last comment, before he had retreated to the SiriansТ huge underwater vessel: Great much shorter. Carl reflected, as he lay on his cot with his personal computer in his lap, facing the transcript on the screen: Perhaps thereТll be no outcome of this visit at all. Perhaps all my dreams of alien contact were just delusions, confused religious yearnings like Lazar calls it. Then all the real visit could do, was to destroy those delusions. Leaving humanity withЕ But if they cannot dream themselves away from reality, how do they cope with their own inevitable deaths? What can they have to live for? He got up, and looked at his small quarters. On the wall hung photos of his wife, friends, and children. A printout of an e-mail note from his oldest son was pinned to the wall. Carl read: IТm proud of you. You are the bravest, finest person I know. We are all counting on you to make this year the one when mankind finally got out of its 100,000-year childhood. I love my father. Designing space probes and watching the stars had never seemed all that important to his kids before... not like this was. Carl had grown aware recently that the team members were impatient with him, demanding better response and support from the outside world. Yet, like him, they were also afraid to address the world with their discoveries just yet. A part of him was hoping that public interest would start to fade. In the following months, maybe the Sirian visitors would become yesterdayТs sensation? Ordinary people had a remarkable ability to adjust themselves to change. And then, not sooner, would the ECT team step down from the proverbial mountain and reveal a whole new outlook on reality to mankind... and nothing would ever be the same again. УI hope youТll still love me after IТve screwed up your entire world,Ф Carl said to the photos on the wall, and touched them. He typed down in his computer what he had to tell the group - and eventually, the world: We must go on, or be destroyed by our own fear; the fearful doubt that has beset every discoverer who ever ventured into the unknown. Not the fear of being wrong - the fear of falling, without a foothold for the mind. Take that step, and you will fall for a short while - until you find a new foothold. Because you must. Refuse to fall, and you will become less than scientists, less than human - just grunting animals who are afraid of the dark. Like Bruno Heinzhof. The last thing Carl had heard of him, was that Bruno had retreated into a small room and refused to leave it, ever. Carl thought about his sonТs respect and love. He put the silvery helmet-like device on his head and found the knob that activated it. The device squeezed tight -
DAY 95
Early in the morning, air cold and rank, the soldier sneaked out of his nightly hideout and went to see if Patty was all right. Last nightТs orgies had sounded nastier than usual; the chants had been harrowing, and a ghastly scream had pierced the air. Why donТt the local authorities raid the place? he thought. Rumor was circulating, that rich financial backers - some of them now loyal cult members - were providing legal protection against police inquiries. Or, the soldier glumly reflected, maybe just nobody gave a damn about a bunch of bald, skinny rejects on a remote Pacific island - he felt at his scalp, where his hair was just starting to grow back. If the cult members let their hair grow back, they would soon regain a bit of individualityЕ The soldier tripped on some junk and fell into the dirt - the open place at the outdoor stage was a mess after last night. If not for the loud snoring of a couple of cultists who lay unconscious at a corner of the stage, surrounded by beer cans and bottles, the silence would have been eerie. The soldier got up and peered down at the thing he had stumbled upon. His sandal-clad foot was smeared with blood - he swore, believing that he must have cut himself when he tripped. Then he saw the thing in the dirt, from which the red smear had come. A white, round object, about the size of his head. A severed human head, dirtied with sand and blood, stared up at him with glazed dead eyes. The soldier gave out a short scream, and bolted away from the open place. Flashbacks from the war rushed through his fevered mind - enemy soldiers being cut in half by gunfire, body parts lying scattered around blast craters, a blinded man screaming for help as he ran without seeing. The soldier had tried not to remember, tried to forget with booze, pills, flippancy, and cynicism. Stumbling, running, crying, the soldier shouted at the indifferent morning sky: УAliens, you! Why didnТt you warn me! I never wanted to join an army again, never join a bunch of butchers again ... I hated the war, I hated the killing... and I went and joined this atrocity they call a church! I donТt deserve any of your visions... just kill me now and put an end to the madness! Fucking high-and-mighty bastards...Ф He stopped and leaned against a tree, holding his chest and forcing his heart to pound slower. It wasnТt PattyТs head in the sand, he told himself. It wasnТt her this time. The sky, at least above this small island, remained indifferent.
DAY 102
Lazar and Carl had been discussing the question with a few colleagues, in the presence of Oanorrn, who had graciously offered his advice in spite of his weak health. They were sitting under the stars, while a soft breeze fluttered in their light clothes. A small campfire provided just enough illumination for CarlТs group to see each otherТs faces. Carl concluded: УSo you mean, Oanorrn, that all beings of the same species can replay each otherТs dreams and thoughts with no physical harm.Ф УYes.Ф УAnd your people do this whenever you feel it to be necessary, but never against your will.Ф УYes.Ф
УAnd when you gave us these devices, you assumed we would like to use them for our own good, instead of relying on our own more primitive devices.Ф УYes.Ф Carl was about to reproach his colleagues, but changed his mind. Better to act. He stood up and held out his Sirian thought-recorder for the group to see. The device, small enough to fit into his two hands, glistened in strange rainbow patterns, as if the metal surface was a soap-bubble. The pseudo-living cells of the machine were restless, waiting for the next command. Carl swallowed, and gave the other scientists an unflinching blank stare. УHere are my recorded dreams of the last two weeks. I want you to share some of them with me.Ф The others sat dead silent around him, barely breathing: Stone Pound, Mats Jonsson, Takeru Otomo, Andrea McClintock, Lazar Mahfouz, Bishop Edmund Soto and Oanorrn. Only Lazar and Oanorrn seemed less than tense. A minute passed. Carl did not move; neither did the others. Lazar stirred, somewhat disappointed: УIТll do it then.Ф УWait,Ф Andrea said, her voice rasping. УLet me.Ф The British biologist, a heavyset woman of fifty-eight with eyeglasses and a permanently pinched expression, stood up unsteadily and reached for the device. With slightly trembling hands, she fitted it over her head; it became softer, molding itself after the shape of her skull. With gestures, Oanorrn showed her how to activate it. The device gave out a sound signal. Andrea shut her eyes hard - not that it would have made any difference. The sudden input from the device completely overrode her normal senses. Carl gasped, seeing AndreaТs expression change when his sleeping thoughts and emotions invaded her mind - her otherwise tight-lipped mouth opened wide in astonishment, her face became childlike, vulnerable. She mumbled to herself, as if in her sleep... УOh, Carl, IТm so sorry I doubted in you... I didnТt understand I was being so wrapped up in myself and my petty little neuroses... I love you too... your family is so lovely, I wish I had one like you... ha ha... what a rude joke... you silly boy!... УWhat? WhatТs that? No! Mr. President, you must not attack the Sirians... stop the missiles, stop them... help!Ф Her stubby fingers fumbled blindly for the control knob; Carl stepped forward and turned the device off for her. Andrea opened her wet eyes and gasped for air, then became fully aware that the dream had been cut off. She spontaneously clasped CarlТs hand as he removed the device from her head. УI-I canТt... express... so many thoughts... so much like me, yet... It was like being youЕ I thought I was the only one who... IТll never feel... that alone again.Ф Both grinned spontaneously at each other; both experienced the sensation of being close, like having become twins; this was way more intimate than sex could ever be, yet totally different. Carl thought of his wife back home in the States, and prayed she would forgive him for sharing thoughts with another woman - and perhaps, in time they would be able to share the device too.
УYouТre very brave, Andrea. Now you have a little piece of me in you - a piece of my thoughts remembered. I trust you with it; and I trust any of you who might come across that memory from her thoughts.Ф Andrea stroked her sore scalp. УI was afraid it was going to hurt,Ф she confessed to the group, Уbut it really doesnТt feel that bad. Heh... once when I was a young student I dropped acid and thought I could read other peopleТs minds. Hippie bollocks! This is much better - much more terrifying too...Ф Andrea looked Carl in the eyes; they both saw they were thinking of the same element in CarlТs dreams. The image of the U.S. President, helpless to stop an attack on Alien Beach. Images of military aircraft, ballistic missiles, and the blinding flash of an explosion... УJust a dream, Andrea. Not reality.Ф Oanorrn smiled at them. УWwhen thiis ttechnnolooogy wass innventedd, iit chhanged mmy peoplle greeat mmuch. During manyy yyearsТ time, wee chaanged. Thhat waas beffore thee tiime off thhe rreal Annncestorrs...Ф Then suddenly the old wrinkled alien seemed self-conscious, and excused himself. They all bid him goodnight, and he wandered slowly off to a waiting transport-robot shaped like a huge metal egg.
УWhoТs next?Ф Carl asked. Takeru rose to his feet almost before the question had been finished, but faced away from Carl and remained mute. He could not bear revealing his betrayal of his colleaguesТ trust. I have failed as a scientist, he thought. I wish I were dead. Carl became curious, but assumed Takeru was simply afraid of sharing the intimacy of another personТs dreams. Then the black bishop came forth, crossed himself briefly, and bowed his head. УI believe it is my turn,Ф he said softly. Edmund Soto had no certain conviction of what would happen when the device was switched on - maybe an evil spirit would try to settle in his head - perhaps GodТs love would manifest itself through a machine - or just a more direct form of human-to-human communication would occur. He could not have predicted the more profound side effects. When the device was switched off and removed from his slightly sore head, Edmund was overwhelmed with emotion. His first impulse was that every man on Earth should try it. All his life he had been deeply sad with the awareness of the soulТs isolation. If this device had been available before, maybe the hatred and suspicion that set people against each other would never have ravaged his homeland. Then he realized something else, with a new, colder clarity of mind that he had not experienced before - as if his brain had absorbed a piece of the scientist Carl Sayers: If all it takes is this piece of metal to bring people together, there's no need to force each other to think alike to form a community. Flags - nations - parties - group characteristics - creeds - religions - might become obsolete. Love did not need words or the Gospel anymore, when it could be transmitted from mind to mind. It could even become a mere commodity, traded like dope from sleazy street-peddlers. The mind of a pervert could become instantly accessible to a decent man, and vice versa. УThis is a fantastic but dangerous invention,Ф Edmund rasped. УMankind is not ready for it.Ф УAnd who are we, us frail land-humans,Ф Lazar said, Уto decide whether others are ready or not? Do we have the right to put ourselves above the humanity we have pledged to serve?Ф УYou have both understood the significance of this technology perfectly,Ф Carl said. УBut there are other effects as well, which could be more insidious. Using the device during an entire lifetime, the border between sleeping thought and waking thought will be blurred. Life will become dream, and dream will become... I think Lazar is better suited to explain this to you. Then you must decide what weТll do. What we decide to tell the outside world can affect the entire future of our species.Ф As Lazar began to speak, Carl had the oddest feeling: for a moment, he had felt as if Lazar wasnТt a human at all, but something out of his imagination. He flicked his head to a point where he expected Oanorrn to be standing, and opened his mouth to ask about the odd sensation. He blinked, and realized that Oanorrn had said goodnight several minutes ago. Dizziness forced him to sit down. Had he been waking-dreaming that Oanorrn was present? He dared not ask the others, for fear of sounding old and senile. How silly of him, almost seeing the ghosts of the living...
Chapter Nineteen
Sri Lanka. УAnn, listen to this,Ф Arthur said in his gravelly voice, his accent sounding American in spite of him being born British. He pointed at the small portable flat screen of his laptop, which was showing a live newscast via satellite. Ann recognized the images from the island not far from Alien Beach, and the bald-shaven cultists who were increasingly appearing in the media all over the world. УTakeru told me -У УSshh.Ф УThe controversial Church of Ranmotani, which in just two months has gained an estimated one million paying members worldwide, now stands accused of crimes following the assassination attempt in New York. Rumors of cult orgies are flourishing, even reports of disappearances of members who might have been murdered. In Germany and Japan, police authorities have already raided local cult compounds and confiscated large caches of weapons and chemicals that could be used to manufacture so-called Сtruck-bombsТ. УBut it is on this small island, just miles from Alien Beach, where the core of the cult is now gathering; more than two or three thousand people according to estimates. The cultТs official spokesman and legal advisor here, James Townsend, made this statement on a press conference in the morning...Ф УThe groundless accusations against the church and its venerable leaders are part of a plot of governments, who wish to suppress free speech and thought. We condemn the undemocratic clampdown on our headquarters in Germany and Japan. The arms supplies found there were stored strictly for self-defense. The church is a peaceful movement which upholds good relations with the Sirian delegation - any attack on the church should be considered an attack on the Sirians themselves.Ф УMr. Townsend refused to specify exactly how the cult, which has been denied any contact with the Sirian visitors, could possibly СupholdТ any relations with it. But the cult leader claims to be in constant telepathic contact with Ranmotanii himself. УLittle is known of the cultТs leader, who calls himself Tanii, or Regional Elder. His real name is Marlo OТBrien, a renegade minister who founded the Church of Ranmotani the same day the first alien broadcast reached Earth. He has never given any interviews; yet, the CD recordings of his Сtelepathic sessionsТ from ecstatic cult meetings have sold a million copies worldwide. УRelatives of cult members are now organizing to put pressure on the Church of Ranmotani, which sits on millions of dollars donated by members - bank accounts, real estate, hotels, shares in large companies, and the life savings of people who poured all their hopes into the vision of Marlo OТBrien. The cult compound remains closed to journalists, and the local authorities on the island are accused of taking huge bribes from the church to leave it alone and grant mass visas. ФThe government of Fiji promised today, that it will have this little islandТs mayor and its chief of police replaced within a week.Ф УBloody fools,Ф Arthur growled, shaking his balding head. УI hope by God the Sirians donТt think that cult is representative of human behavior.Ф УI must go back,Ф Ann told him. УYeah. I wish I could go too, but the bloody doctors wonТt let me travel that far.Ф She gave him a warm smile, and moved to adjust the blanket that covered the electric wheelchair in which Arthur sat. УYouТve been living a long, rich life, Art. But thereТs nothing anyone can do to stop time.Ф УPerhaps they can,Ф he said in a lower voice. УTell me again, how old did the Sirians say they could become?Ф УIn biological time, at least two hundred years. If you count in the time they were in suspended animation during space travel, some of them may have spent centuries or more in space.Ф УItТs hard to be so close to see oneТs dreams realized, and then one is too frail to reach all the way...Ф УOh Arthur, please. Whether any of us lived one or a hundred years more, wouldnТt make much of a difference. The Sirians canТt change us overnight.Ф УI guess not,Ф he sighed. УAre you leaving soon?Ф УNo, I need another week. I want to do some more diving and find the dolphin family I grew up with.Ф
УI remember those. What did you name them... Babette, Rostand, and Cyrano, the one with the long beak?Ф УYes. CouldnТt find them yesterday.Ф УBe patient. They should still remember you after all these years - well, those who havenТt died of old age.Ф They laughed together, immersing themselves in fond memories. The dolphins Ann had played with in the Indian Ocean of her childhood were her oldest, perhaps truest friends. Until someone had told her, she suddenly recalled, that he had already talked to them and found no profound meaning or deep understanding in their minds... only a simple craving for food and play. For a moment, Ann deeply hated the amphibians for having sabotaged her childhood fantasy. This brief return couldnТt change it back to the way it was. Her nostalgia began to feel like a hollow thing, an artifact. It was time to grow up, to move on...
DAY 110
Ann Meadbourщ stepped off the motorized dinghy and splashed across the beach to dry land. Several of her colleagues were waiting for her, and she went warm inside sensing how much they had actually been missing each other. УWelcome back!Ф Carl said, hugging Ann. She responded with slightly less affection, squeezing the old astrophysicist. He was different, she noticed, more relaxed, but also less concentratedЕ УI feel much better now,Ф she assured him. УThis vacation helped me get a clearer perspective of things, of how important this mission is to us all. I doubted, Carl. I was afraid, but no more. Whatever it takes, I will not leave Alien Beach before they do.Ф УYouТre Сone of the lucky fewТ,Ф he quoted her. УYeah. This time I know what it means.Ф УThereТs something you should know. The team has taken an important decision - well, several of us - while you were away. ItТs the thought-recorders.Ф Ann froze for a moment. Then she calmed down. УI understand. IТm not ready yet. But I will be. All I ask for is time.Ф УOf course.Ф УBut right now IТm dying for a swim. Is the scuba gear ready?Ф УIn the shed.Ф Carl indicated the rusting shack nearby. Ann asked Andrea and Bishop Soto to join her. They politely declined, claiming they were busy working together. Ann was struck by how strange they sounded. Since when did a bishop and a biologist work together? It made Ann long even more to escape into the warm ocean. She got her gear ready as fast as she could, changed into her white one-piece bathing suit and ran out into the waves. Ann relaxed in the suffusing embrace of the blue-green waters, and let her tensions uncoil. She spun lazily, rolled and made loops on her way down. The underwater world of the lagoon was also slightly different now. The waters were more opaque with dust, and she recognized the signs of pollution from the fleet out to sea from lifelong experience: the corals had changed color slightly, the fish were more but smaller, the very smell of the sea was less than right. None of the pollution, however, came from the parked Sirian vessel - it lay still on its black balloon pontoons, sending out spotlights that attracted the sea life. Ann approached the underside of the dark hull, peered before her... and there, from an open airlock, two Sirians came swimming toward her. One of them was Ranmotanii, holding an oblong robot drone that pulled him along. The other amphibian was a much younger, heavier shape with wide, standing ovals for eyes. She pulled out the mouthpiece of her aqualung, briefly, and shouted his name into the water. It sounded warbled to her own ears, but Oanss seemed to start at the sound, and swam closer while Ranmotanii continued upward into the shimmering sunlight. She could faintly hear the two exchange speech between them; clicks and hums and wails which somewhat resembled that of whales and dolphins. When Oanss came close enough for her to reach out and touch him, she heard him say her name aloud. She took out the mouthpiece once more, to smile at him. He wasnТt using a breathing apparatus, just his own natural lungs and the extra oxygen supply in the adjacent sacs. Bubbles of carbon dioxide and nitrogen escaped his naked nostrils as he spoke. He made a smile that was halfway his own, halfway an imitation of a land-human - it looked so clumsy Ann had to laugh. Oanss blinked in confusion, then made series of rapid clicking sounds - he was laughing too. Ann succumbed to a childish impulse and rapidly pumped water with her legs, shooting upward and above him, then dove straight down behind his back, making a loop. She finished the loop - and Oanss had disappeared from her sight. A sudden peeping shout from behind her made her heart jump. She turned, and saw just a stream of bubbles rising where he had been. The worldТs oldest game continued; they ducked and turned as they chased each other among the corals. Ann acted more confidently now, listening and feeling with her entire body for streams and vibrations that would reveal OanssТ position in the dimming lagoon. She lost track of time, the game became everything and she became one with the element like she had once learned as a child. Finally she found him, huddling behind a large egg-shaped metal tower rooted in the coral-bed - another Sirian robot of some kind. Oanss let out another taunting shout, and bolted away with forceful treads - he was faster than her, yet he seemed to be holding back, keeping her just out of range. He dove deeper, outward to the darker, colder open sea. She slid past a stray, small white shark and felt a tinge of fear - she had passed the ultrasound barrier that the Sirians had erected to keep out large predators. She looked outward, and could just make out a two-legged, tramping shape making little twists and rolls ahead of her. Her wristwatch showed a depth of twenty meters; the pressure on her ears was starting to wear on her. She shouted into the water, as loudly as she could: УOanss, come back! You are going too far out!Ф
She knew he could hear her voice; but the shape increased its speed, and she lost sight of him in the dark-blue gloom. Ann recalled his earlier wish to follow her to Sri Lanka; had he actually intended to travel underwater? The military forces would have spotted him; she had seen the tower of at least one submarine out at sea. Fear overtook her and she swam farther out, frantically searching the gloom for Oanss. Suddenly, something large and silent appeared out of the dim dark. Another, bigger shark, cruising straight toward her. She reacted on learned reflexes and slowed to a halt, avoiding sudden movements that might provoke the sleek, primitive hunter. The shark swam past her, perhaps ten meters away, eyes like black buttons. Ann held her breath - the shark moved silently around her, cutting her off from the lagoon. Another shark shape came into view. She looked at her wristwatch again - and, too late, she saw what had attracted the sharks in the first place. A long, almost superficial cut in her leg, probably from when she swam past the coral-bed, and she hadnТt noticed it until now. Their sense of smell was far superior to that of humans, probably to that of Sirians as well. A third shark appeared, and all three circled closer. Ann panicked; she fumbled for the anti-shark powder she should have been carrying in her belt, fully aware of the protective chainmail she wasnТt wearing, the harpoon gun she hadnТt brought along. She pulled out her single weapon from her belt, a knife, and held it out before her. She would have to try and break through the circle immediately. Ann took a deep breath from the oxygen tank, bolted diagonally upward in the direction of the lagoon as fast as she could, and let her heartbeat speed to a painful rate. The sharks bolted after her, acting out their ancient program with perfectly honed precision. She would never make it to the ultrasound barrier. Then her ears were stung by a terrible piercing siren-signal, which came from all around her. The sharks scattered and fled. She rolled around to see behind her and discerned Oanss closing in, his jaw wide open as he shouted. It was the same inhuman signal-shout that had scattered the crowds in New York, only more effective against underwater life. Ann felt an incredible relief. Oanss moved up to her, took a firm hold of her arm, and dragged her along back to the lagoon. She went limp and let herself go, unable to think or protest. She barely noticed how one large, dark sphere came floating up toward them, opening itself up at the bottom. It settled at the surface, giving them a place to breathe without exposing them to direct sunlight or surface pressure. Ann crawled up on the inside of the smooth, semi-opaque bubble, pulled off her aqualung, and gulped stale air. She saw Oanss next to her, eyes wide with fear, tentatively holding out a УhandФ to touch her. She wanted him to touch her, but shrank away from the tentacle-like, soft fingers. УWhy...Ф she finally gasped, Уwhy did you go so far out? You made me afraid.Ф
The alien, his singing voice so low it approached a drone, expressed deep regret. He had also been taken by surprise by the shark attack, and said it was his fault - he should have smelled the blood from the cut on AnnТs leg, and understood it might attract predators. His preoccupation with play had jeopardized her. УI amm... a leess iintelligennt huumann thhhan otheerr. Ollderr humanns are betteer intelligeeently than yyoung ooness liike mee.Ф УHow old are you?Ф УI waaas boorn on myy homewwoorld... my thinnking lifffe is... like so, twennty-five Eearth yearsss.Ф A mere teenager by their outlook, Ann thought. She was less civilized, but still more mature in a deeper sense... or was she, really? УOanss, I was worried about you. You should not take such risks. Please come to meet me, but be more careful.Ф He made a studied nod, shut his eyes, and remained still. A Уland-humanТsФ face could express more subtle nuances that his streamlined features; yet Ann was certain what he felt, and it pained her. She reached out and touched the sleek part of OanssТ face that was his left УcheekФ. УPlease. I want to be your friend. I want... your people to stay on this planet longer than just this year. I wish you could stay here.Ф The amphibian did not move an inch. Ann removed her fingers, not too fast or too slowly; Oanss rubbed his finger-stalks against the spot where she had touched his face, and put them to his lips. She could not see them part, so minutely did they move. His eyes opened wide, instantly, as if the taste of her touch had startled him. Why were her fingers sore, almost burning? УIs your skin dangerous to touch for a land-human? Is there poison in it?Ф УIii doo not knnow. The aanswerr I thhink iss, nnno.Ф Then she understood - the moment she had touched him, the muscles of her hand had tensed so tightly she had almost went numb. УCan you please open this thing up? ItТs getting hard to breathe.Ф Oanss grabbed and twisted a thick lump on the bubble - it buckled and split open with a pop, leaving only the float-ring upon which they rested. They both squinted at the sun, moved uncertainly, undecided where to head; the southern rim of the lagoon was close.
УMyy frriend. Annn,Ф the amphibian said, fixing her with the wide slits of his squinting eyes. УHhhow ddo weee... shhhare thiss?Ф He indicated his head. УCan we just talk? I mean, with land-language? English?Ф The Sirian seemed appalled or ubewildered by the suggestion; his face was so slightly contorted, she couldnТt tell the difference. УTry it. We can begin by telling each other everything about our lives, in words, the life story from the time we were born. Can you do that?Ф
Ann was forced to explain the idea one more time before Oanss seemed to understand. No machines. Just talking. His gaze began to drift; he felt at his head. УThiss iis difficuult... neeew thingg...Ф Ann began to giggle, shameless as it was; she couldnТt help but think his reaction was so typically male. УBut my people do talk, instead of sharing thoughts directly. Take a rest now, and we can try it later. Okay?Ф УOkayyy.Ф He gave her one last puzzled glance, then slid off the floating ring and dived into the lagoon. An indistinct ache began in her stomach; she knew not what it was. Nothing about her made any sense anymore. The soldier had asked Patty to arrange a private audience with the Regional Elder; he would make one last attempt to reach through to him, before the soldier bailed out of this escalating madness. (Security was tight; he had had to abandon his plan of smuggling in a knife to kill the leader with.) To his surprise, the leader granted him an appointment. The soldier entered the ramshackle beach house, which lay apart from the main camp of tents. He cautiously looked about him for any signs of an ambush; there werenТt any. The leader, whatever he felt like being called at the present moment, sat in the gloom of a corner, dressed in a black silk robe. His scalp hair was growing back; his ruddy beard was tattered and filthy. The soldier frowned, when he saw just how much weight the leader had lost; his formerly large belly was all but gone. The cult leaderТs breath was a heavy wheezing; he refused to move from his seat when the soldier entered. If not for the much-used insecticide and flypaper, there would have been more flies buzzing around; now, there were no more than half a dozen of them in the room. УElder... are you all right?Ф he asked, more out of curiosity than concern.
It took the leader a whole minute to gather the energy for an answer. When he spoke, his voice sounded harsh and monotonous.
УThis... mortal shell... I will cast off. When the sign comes, our flock will descend into an undersea kingdom... and leave the surface to its own deserved doom.Ф УElder, please. I want to ask -У УShut up! Or IТll have you tried for heresy.Ф He sniffed petulantly, tried to reach for a bottle, and barely succeeded. He took a swig, then dropped the bottle among the others on the floor. УHave you come to seek forgiveness for your sins?Ф the Regional Elder said, sneering with open contempt. УYou have come...Ф - he farted - У...to the right place. For Ranmotani speaks through me, and I am his eyes and ears.Ф The soldier took a deep breath - and almost gagged. Somewhere, very close, there was a rotting cadaver. He put up a handkerchief in front of his nose. УElder... I must learn more about the Sirians. About their homeworld. About what it looks like.Ф УThe pictures are all over the Internet and TV channels,Ф the Regional Elder said with a gesture of irritation.
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