Yngve, AR - Alien Beach Page 9

  Ranmotanii, seated near Oanorrn, said something to the other Sirians. Namonnae, who leaned closer to Oanorrn, made a brief click-sound - most of the scientists realized she was laughing. Other Sirians mumbled, and made little gestures that were impossible to decipher. Oanss stood up, looked up at the ceiling of the dome, and said something to himself, in his own language. Ann listened carefully.

  "Chiskr-r-r-r ... chiskr-r-r-r..."

  Ann tried to remember the sounds - maybe when she had come to understand his language, she could...

  An expression of - concern? - crossed Oanorrn's wrinkled, flattened face. He seemed to be thinking hard, and blinked several times. He looked up at Soto, took a slow breath, and pressed his soft arms tightly together.

  "I doon't undeerstannd. We thinnk thiss sship iis a liviing thhing. Wee maade itt movve, aand brreathe, and thhink. It iss mostlly metal. Metal strructuure cann bee destrooyed, llike uss. Iit caan diie, like uss. Doo yoou meann therre is morre thhan oone way off beiing a livinng thinng?"

  "Yes. Hundreds of millions of people who believe what I believe, are convinced that only living, thinking beings created by God have a soul."

  Pause.

  "Exxplainn. Expllaain crreated by Godd... aand... soull?"

  "Created by God means, not built by humans - not by land-humans like us, or by humans like you. It means being born like all other living things, that is to say directly from another living being."

  The Sirians listened - intent, silent.

  "Beeing bornn frrom iinsiide aa motherr paareent."

  "Yes."

  "Annd yoou, and mme, uss haave soull... and thhe deead ffish... havve a ssoul, befffore."

  "Well - yes and no. The fish had no soul to begin with. But you and I... each of us have a soul. The part of us that thinks, feels, and wants to learn more... that is a soul."

  "I donn't underrstannd. Wheen I aam deead, I willl stiill haave a ssoul..."

  "No, no. The soul leaves the body when you die."

  Oanorrn began to say something, but stopped; he glanced at Ranmotanii, who merely blinked back. He went on: "Iff a sooul iis whatt thiinks annd wanntss... theen itt caan livve oor die. Iis thatt nnot the sammme forr thee ffish?"

  "Please... you misunderstand me. Forgive me for taking the meaning of our words for granted. What do you think we mean by the word 'dead'?"

  Oanorrn spoke faster, more urgently, voice on the verge of stuttering - almost human, if not for his off-phase intonation.

  "Wee saw mmany transmiitted imaages frrom yourr pllanet. Maany off the iimages weere oof dead laand-hummans. Sso we thhink, 'dead' iis whenn yourr bodyy doess nott mmove, breathhe... wheen boddy stopss woorkinng."

  "I also think so. Science supports that idea. But I, as a priest, I hold another view also. That, when my body stops working, my soul will move away from it and live forever with God."

  "Thhen soo God iss aan anceestorr."

  "No! God is not someone who lived and then died. God is the one eternal being that created everything."

  "I thinnk I uunderstand moorre... somme off yyour wwords meean thinngs wee do noot undeerstannd noww. Whhat happenns to the ssoul oof thee deead fissh?"

  "A fish has no soul!"

  "Whyy?"

  "Because it does not think, does not want to learn more, but us humans do!"

  "Haave you leearned aabout the fiish aas a sscientiist learrns abouut thee worlld, or doo yyou think iit wiithoout learrning itt firstt?"

  The bishop was taken aback a little - an edge was in the alien's voice, his face set hard. Now Oanorrn spoke so fast it became an uninterrupted stream of words - as if all the time, he had been slowing down his speech for the sake of humans.

  "Wwith-my-people-to-learnn-iss-too-ffind-moorre- about-the-world-by-working-iin-it-noot- onnly-thinkinng-aboout-iit-you-cann-thhink-anythinng-but- dooes-nnot-maake-iit-reall."

  One scientist asked the old amphibian to repeat what he had just said. His colleagues hushed him down, indicating the cameras and recorders in use around them.

  For the first time ever, one of the aliens had revealed himself as being impatient, maybe even angered. But he quickly seemed to gain control of himself, and his soft arms loosened up - features returning to that otherworldly serenity of his.

  What the hell was that all about? Carl wondered. Even the other Sirians stared at their elder, with eyes inhumanly wide. In the few moments of silence, one man moved to speak - Lazar Mahfouz.

  "Oanorrn! What does the word 'real' mean to you?"

  "Too mmy peoplle, rreal is...liike soo. Aa stone... iss reall. The meetal in thiis shipp... is reeal. The deead fiish iis reeal. Thhe partss thaat are inn myy bodyy - boones, cellss, lliquid, ssmall machiines - iss rreal. The staars aare reall. Thee emptyy ssea betweeen the sstars.. iss not rreal."

  "Are you real?"

  "No."

  There wasn't a moment's doubt in the alien's reply, not a raised eyelid from the ten or so gathered Sirians. They might just as well have been discussing the weather. Are you real? No.

  "Does that make you sorry... sad for not being real?" "Whhy...? Iff I wass reeal liike thhe deadd fissh, theen I coould nott learrn moorre aabout thee reeall in thhe woorld?"

  Stunning. It occurred to Lazar then, that the words "real" and "learn," or the closest Sirian equivalents, meant something special to them... something crucial to the fabric of nature itself. Seeking facts about the world, yes, but more than just that. He had to learn more.

  Namonnae mumbled something in the elder's ear-hole. Oanorrn made a strange, coughing sound and hugged her head, gently. She rocked her head slowly, while staring at the humans with narrowed eyelids - a strand of her thick dark mane fell into her eyes.

  Takeru felt a sting of compassion. He wanted to rush forward, say something to soothe her, but he was too afraid of doing anything wrong or inappropriate at this important moment. So he sat still, with his hands tightly folded.

  "So..." Oanorrn asked. "Whenn yoou bisshop Edmmund Sotoo, wheen yourr boody sstops wworkinng, your ssooul willl beecome ann Aancesstoor?"

  "No."

  Oanorrn shut his eyes, kept them shut, raised his arms, and clapped loudly into the air once.

  "I unnderstannd," he boomed. "Itt iss aas I thhink earliier. We willl not taalk about thosse worrds againn. Ranmotanii! Aall of our peeoplle! Do nnot talk aabout thhose wordss wiith laand-hummaans againn!"

  Soto, looking quite shaken, thanked the Sirian elder for the debate and turned to Carl. His voice was hoarse, and he wiped his sweat-glistening face as he spoke.

  "These extraterrestrials... such no-nonsense people... Now I'm convinced they have souls like us. But their faith is more like the ancestor worship... of my own African ancestors! How ironic!"

  "It could be," Carl suggested, "that they picked the word 'ancestor' by mistake from our TV broadcasts. It is very likely they refer to something else."

  Soto clasped his forehead in puzzlement, casting brief glances back at the alien hosts.

  "But Sayers, they believe that even fish have souls... Then how can they eat live fish so carelessly?"

  "That's not so strange," Lazar fell in. "In - pardon the expression, primitive cultures, gods and souls are not so powerful, because there are many of them. If the Sirians think there are ancestor spirits floating around everywhere, they may sort of nullify each other's influence to almost nothing. When they eat fish, the fish's 'soul' or mana is just added to their own spirits, without effort."

  "These are not primitives!" Takeru interrupted them - he had been following the discussion with increasing excitement. "Their technology is far beyond ours. You saw the solar sail. Their culture has holographic records that are six thousand years old. Can you imagine the inner strength of a culture lasting that long? Not even China is older than three, four thousand years - Egypt, perhaps five thousand. Whatever their beliefs are, they are rock-solid with age and experience!"

  "So you believe in ancestor spirits?" the bishop asked Takeru. Takeru nodded faintly, as
if embarrassed to confess it aloud. Most Westerners had trouble grasping a concept that he more or less accepted without rational reflection, but he didn't like to discuss it. Carl heard that the assembly of murmuring, whispering scientists were rambling ahead into another internal conference, and called for order. Sometimes he wished his profession didn't attract so many eggheads.

  Oanorrn retreated to the innards of the ship, too tired for further discussions. The scientists conferred with Ranmotanii the activities of the upcoming months, and the Sirians made a definite request. They explained that the time had finally come to study Earth firsthand, as soon as possible, and asked permission from the world's leaders.

  Carl promised to bring forth the message to the U.N. Security Council immediately. There were no normal means of communication inside the ship - no signals reached in or out without the Sirians' letting them - so Carl politely asked to leave for the surface. The other scientists, when raising the question, were given clearance to visit the Sirians whenever they wanted, even at night. Mutual declarations of continued communication were made, and the ECT team dived back into the water by small group.

  The last ones to leave were Takeru and Ann. Takeru came up to Namonnae, held his breathing-mask in his hand, pretending to be ready to leave, looking up furtively at her long, smooth, dark-gray face.

  "You... you looked sorry... when Oanorrn touched you. I mean, not because of him..."

  He looked at her dark, flat feet, waiting for her to answer. They were ugly, swollen and dark with capillaries - he knew this, because the first Sirian messages had disclosed details of their amphibian metabolism. Her feet were built to siphon off excess body heat that gathered under her blubber.

  She is ugly - inhuman - loathsome. He thought so, shocking himself as he looked at her immobile face, then realized that he was confusing his emotions.

  "Yes. I amm soorry. Soorry whenn I ssee yourr traansmissionss. Yoou haavve nno Anceestoors. Ass reeplacemment, you havve buiilt thesse maachiness callled 'teeleeviisionn,' thhat seend yyour mmany dreeamss throough thee worlld. Everyoone seee themmm. I do studyy off laand-humaans eenough, thhat waay. Doo nnoot wannt to goo outsside our sship, doo nnoot wannt to mmove iin yourr woorld. Ranmotanii and Oanorrn telll mme I aam too younng to unnderrstannd you. I unndersstand eenoughh.

  "Go baack to lannd, lannd-huumaan. I will staay here uuntill we go baack intoo thhe biggeer seea."

  "The bigger sea...? Oh yes, we call it 'outer space'. Goodbye, Namonnae. I was... glad that we could talk to each other."

  "Goodbyye, heello."

  There was nothing more he could say. What could a primitive land-human possibly say that would be of use, or comfort, to an advanced amphibian? Still averting her steady gaze, Takeru put on his mask and splashed into the pool.

  When he was gone, Ann stopped wandering around the dome and went looking for Oanss. He was occupied doing some work with other Sirians, holding strange metal instruments into the air.

  "Oanss?"

  The amphibian said something to his friends and walked aside with her. He gave her an attentive look.

  "When you go outside this ship, to study our planet... can I come with you? I can help you learn more..."

  "You cann heelp mme. Thhank you, yess, muuch. Aann, you mmove in thiis ssea...like nnot aaa lannd-huumaan at aall. Liike yyou werre oone oof myy peoplle."

  The thirtysomething biologist-anthropologist giggled like a moronic teenager, and blushed slightly.

  "Thank you... I have been working close to dolphins for years... you know, dolphins? The animals that swim around your ship and look a little like Sirians?"

  Oanss made an undulating gesture with his arm, like imitating a swimming animal.

  "Dollphiins, yees. Wwe talk too themm soometimess, annd theey tallk to uus. They assk forr fissh, alwaays almosst. Thhey aare frieendlyy, noot but soo intelliigennt aas yourr peeoplle."

  In an instant, a lifetime's aspirations collapsed in Ann's mind as she realized that the Sirians could communicate with dolphins - and had found nothing to talk about except food.

  "I have so much to think about now, work I must do... But please... come and talk to me tomorrow. Okay?"

  "Muuch okaayy, Aann. Now yyou slleep wwith yourr peeoplle...?"

  She shook her head, motioning toward the pool with the oxygen-tubes strapped to her back, blond hair held in place by a sweatband.

  "No, we sleep alone... I mean, in separate rooms. Up on the island, in the barracks. At least - at least I think most of us do." At least, she knew, she did. Always alone, with or without company. "Goodnight, Sirian humans."

  She made a sudden, smooth drop down into the pool and was gone with just a small splash.

  "Good -"

  Oanss began a reply, but stopped. He turned away from the pool and walked away to join his flock.

  During the evening, just as the sun was setting, Carl left the communications building - exhausted again. The world was pushing for his attention, from his wife to the President himself. God, if only he could escape it all somehow - preferably into space, with the next Sirian ship...

  Carl stumbled into the door of his barrack - he had left it unlocked; the only thing he kept locked up was his Sirian dream-recorder. Then he noticed Ann was in there, sitting on his bed by the lit bed-lamp. She wore the same Bermuda shorts and white t-shirt as earlier during the day.

  But she had combed her hair and set it up in a way that framed her face beautifully, just like on the day she first entered Carl's JPL office in Pasadena.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hi... please get off my bed, I'll crash on it now if you don't mind."

  "A hard day, hmm?"

  She moved aside, so that he could slump backward onto the bed and close his eyes. He sighed deeply... and felt her warm hand on his forehead. Carl opened his eyes and looked up into Ann's face. He understood what was on, all right.

  They were close friends, but that issue had somehow never been raised between them - until now. Ann had always struck him as a very lonely person...

  "I'm a happily married man, Ann."

  "The kids grown up, flown out?"

  "Yeah."

  "Never had any brief flings with female colleagues?"

  "Yeah... it led to my current marriage."

  "I envy her."

  "Don't. Please."

  "For old friendship's sake?"

  Carl sighed, and merely turned his head away from Ann's hand. She stood up and went out the door without a sound. He knew he had hurt her, and it felt shitty. For a moment, he had contemplated a brief fling... hell, they had all been spending too much time holed up on this damned island.

  As he fell asleep, Carl thought of how great it would be to guide the Sirians around the globe for a change... and then get home to see the family a few days, before returning to Alien Beach. He missed his wife so much, missed the way they could talk for hours. And there was plenty to talk about...

  Meanwhile, Ann sat on the beach, watching the ships and aircraft pass by... and she cried silently.

  Meanwhile, Takeru dreamt something strange but significant; the next morning, he wished he had recorded the fading memory.

  Meanwhile, in his barrack, bishop Soto kneeled by his bed and prayed alone, crucifix in hand, until he collapsed to sleep.

  Meanwhile, in the medical barrack, talking to Mats Jonsson, Lazar said: "They showed us nothing that gave us a sense of change, of their history, nothing we didn't know from their first messages... I am not paranoid. They are deliberately hiding things from us."

  The Swede shrugged: "Sure. I have accepted that they are superior to us. The Sirians are talking down to us, like we were children... wouldn't you?"

  "Do you remember Oanorrns's debate with the bishop today?"

  "Sure. Never seen one of them angry before."

  "Oanorrn made a mistake... out of eagerness or perhaps senility, and then he corrected himself. He very nearly broke some kind of taboo. It has to do with their view of reality, their
faith. I should really discuss this with my colleagues all over the world, but..."

  "But?"

  Lazar exploded: "But the Sirians are right, damn them! It's too dangerous to let loose an alien philosophy upon this primitive civilization! Ancestor worship. Living beings who are convinced they are not real. Living metal in symbiosis with living flesh, yet without surgical implants. Giant spaceships. A culture older than Egypt. And that's what they do tell us. What they're hiding must be so fantastic it could destroy us... like Christian missionaries destroyed the pagan cultures they encountered."

  "We're all scientists here, Lazar. I don't like censorship any more than you do. But this is going too fast. We have to keep the outside world in ignorance, until we know more. Don't go public just now."

  Lazar nodded. From the pocket of his khaki jacket, he picked a small liquor bottle and took a swig. Mats refused to have a taste - with all the medical alcohol in his office, he had to stay sober.

  "Go to sleep, Lazar. That's my medical advice. And don't use that dream-recorder again. You're getting circles under your eyes."

  "It's hard to resist once you've learned to use it. I can already control my dreams to a certain extent. Some dreams are good enough to replay..."

  The Egyptian moved to the door and grinned knowingly, as if to say he was self-destructive and proud of it. Mats waved him away, not saying what he was thinking: The proud American Indian was destroyed by the white man's whiskey... and now the proud Earthman is being destroyed by an electronic toy. I wish I could help you, Lazar, but I'm afraid I can't.

  Mats dug out his own recording-helmet, went outside, and took it to the edge of the darkened beach. He stood there for a while, unable to toss it into the ocean. Then he noticed a figure sitting nearby with her back to a palmtree, looking at him. He walked up to the cluster of leaning, arching trunks and saw that it was Ann.

  "Ann? It's getting awfully cold. You'd better go inside and -"

  Before he could react, Ann leaped up and locked her arms around his head, hard. He dropped the Sirian device in the sand and held her, patting her shoulders reassuringly. When she started kissing him, he didn't turn her down. They both lay down in the sand - oblivious to the distant rumble of jet engines from the aircraft carriers at the horizon... and the subtler rumble from the circular clouds in the sky above. And the satellites above the atmosphere, which sent pictures of every square inch of the island to the military...