"Kukulkan! Kukulkan! Quetzalcoatl!"
* * * *
Aranead finally stood still, relieved. He finished the ceremony and it had worked, for him anyway. He'd had to do it twice before returning to his senses. Still not quite trusting himself, he kept his eyes closed. The sight of the fleeing primates might tempt him again. A series of repeated sounds broke the silence. There were consonant clusters and glottal stops that sounded almost like Cheorka. A lone human stood not fifty meters away, shouting at him. It was trying to communicate with repeated sounds. The ceremony had worked for them, too. The communication would start here. Aranead jumped to the ship's hatch to retrieve the message sphere.
* * * *
The creature looked directly at him and then jumped back into the hatch it had come from. Maybe it had been insulted and was leaving. An alien arrives, and people scatter into the forest like deer. Outraged at his colleague's conduct, Pascual ran toward the ship, yelling, “No, No, Kukulkan! Stay!"
If these aliens were Kukulkan's historical basis, no one would ever mistake him for a Mexican again. The world would open their eyes to the Guatemalan government's persecution of the modern Mayan people. He got as close to the ship as he dared, watching the hatch above him.
The ship's surface was dimpled. Looking closer, Pascual saw it was covered in a thin, gray honeycomb. Each cell was etched with thread-thin loops of chatoyant wire. It occurred to Pascual that no one had seen or heard this starship until the moment it appeared. What must these creatures know about the nature of light, space, and time? A starship. It was possible this ship could take him this afternoon to settle the argument of the origin of asteroid 2005 CR37's structural complexity. What other arguments could be settled with the technology inside this ship? It couldn't just leave. It couldn't.
"Kukulkan!” he shouted in frustration. He swore the name had gotten the alien's attention before.
The giant head appeared in the hatchway. The plumes on the top of its head fell forward when it looked down at him. It turned its head a little, the way birds do when they look at things close up. Pascual imagined the big teeth clamping down on both his legs and being whipped to the ground.
He could not be afraid. Too much was at stake.
Its mouth was so big. He realized he'd been stepping backward. Gathering courage, he tried again to speak the only name he could place on this creature.
"Ku, Ku, Ku..."
The creature hopped lightly down from the hatch, landing five meters from Pascual. Its hawklike feet were thick with muscle. He had to calm down. Closing his eyes, he counted days.
"One Quej, two K'anil, three Toj...” He continued through the twenty day names. Familiar as childhood, it calmed his mind.
When he looked at the alien again, it nodded, then began to reach toward him. The long, blue fingers slowly got closer. Black feathers brushed the ground. The single talon was huge and sharp. Pulled back from the hand, it looked poised to strike. Pascual's heart accelerated. He remembered the other instruction Kukulkan gave to the ancient Mayas. He'd taught that the gods required human sacrifice. The world blurred, then went black.
* * * *
The Earth creatures were better prepared than he'd expected. They kept a diplomat at their radio transmitter. They must have been expecting an answer. The small human was obviously well trained. He was persistent. He repeated a simple message, careful to avoid misunderstanding. He'd approached the ship as though he wanted to come aboard. It would be easier for him to see the message sphere inside where the light was better. Aranead could set the sphere on the floor near the hatch. The human could sit there to watch it. He looked out and saw it still there, making those sounds.
They looked so much like khulon, though this one's actions showed an obvious self-awareness never seen in Cheorka livestock. He could control himself. He would bring it aboard. He glanced toward the door of the shuttle's dining area to reassure himself that it was closed, then hopped from the hatch to face the human. He reached toward the little creature, slowly. He kept his talon drawn back from his palm to reassure that he didn't intend to use it.
The man fell to the ground unconscious. Aranead chuffed. He'd seen this reaction before on other planets, with other creatures. The mammal's sympathetic nervous system apparently worked the same as every other sentient creature's. He gently picked the human up and jumped aboard. Aranead laid the human near the message sphere. Then he took a place across the room, behind the control console, to reduce any perceived threat. As he waited for the human to regain consciousness, he couldn't stop looking at the drawer with the wooden handle. The handle was unique on the ship, the wood carved to look like an outstretched Cheorka hand. The drawer held the ceremonial blade. If all went well, he would take that hand soon. The thought made every feather on his back stand up.
* * * *
Pascual became aware of stiff lumps pressing into his shoulders and back. He lay on a floor covered in a rough woven mat. An acrid smell, like rotting papaya, filled the air. The alien stood behind what looked like an altar, across the wide room from him. Pascual's body went tense with dread. He rolled to hands and knees and sprang to a crouch.
The creature flicked a finger once at the side of its neck. It opened its mouth, but the lips did not move when it said, “I am Aranead, of the Cheorka, representing the Universal Council. Your name, please?” It spoke in American English, with pauses just a little too long between the words.
Pascual took a full minute to catch his breath. Then he pointed to his heart and said, “Pass-qual."
Aranead flicked at his neck again, raised his eye plumes and repeated, “Rass-qual.” His lips weren't quite flexible enough to make the “p” sound. He gestured toward a spherical screen, as wide as Pascual was tall.
Pascual looked at the screen and a silent moving picture began. The pictures were line drawings, like a cartoon. A blue planet surrounded by the darkness of space resolved on the screen. Brown and green continents massed in familiar shapes, but their locations seemed wrong. The view zoomed past the planet into space, where two giant spherical ships engaged in a slow-motion battle. Each would fire what looked like a laser at a meteoroid near the other. The meteoroid would then sail slowly toward the opposing ship, sometimes hitting it and causing massive damage. The ships themselves did not move. One meteoroid sailed past the opposing ship and toward the planet. It hit in the ocean near a broad arm of land. Dust and vapor rose to cover the planet's surface.
The sequence on the screen accelerated. In an instant, the dust cloud disappeared. Blotches of dark green grew and shrank repeatedly on the land's tan surface. Pascual realized the shifting colors were forests and savannahs, growing, then dying off. They shifted and traded places on the landscape so quickly they looked fluid. More slowly, the seas retreated, revealing the location of the meteor strike: the Yucatan Peninsula. The giant oval crater had weathered and was mostly buried.
The rapid change to the landscape then stilled. Thick jungle covered what remained of the crater. The view zoomed in to the Yucatan's Gulf Coast. An egg-shaped ship, just like the one he now sat in, descended from the sky toward a cleared patch in the jungle. Figures, just dark flecks from this height, crowded a plaza between two stone pyramids. The figures resolved into human beings as the ship and the view drew closer. A shiver raced up Pascual's spine. His people's history was being flashed before his eyes. The screen faded to black.
"Ah!” Pascual cried out. He desperately wanted to see what came next. It couldn't be over yet. He turned to see the alien's hands hovering over the altar. It stared intently at its surface and then raised its bright green eyes to meet Pascual's.
* * * *
Pascual made a noise. Aranead looked up from the computer screen. He'd imaged and modeled the human, to include him in the next set of glyphs. The human stared at him wide-eyed. He was very impatient; the history glyphs must have just completed and already he wanted more. Things were moving along much faster than Aranead expected. This mammal was
a quicker study than reptilians he'd worked with in the past.
The human would have to wait just a few minutes longer. Aranead raised his hand, slash talon stretched forward. Pascual screamed and curled up against the wall, and Aranead felt guilty. The creature was not a saurid, who could at least chance escape in a fight with a Cheorka. It was a little mammal. Of course it would be terrified at the slightest gesture. While the computer finished rendering the glyphs, Pascual stayed curled against the wall, trembling.
"Rasqual, Rasqual,” he cooed, pointing to the screen. The sound visibly soothed the human. He sat up and looked at the screen again. Aranead watched Pascual's reactions. This part would be more difficult.
The screen showed the Universal Council chambers, a giant ovular room with a large multilevel stage in one quarter and a gallery extending from floor to ceiling on the remaining walls. The view zoomed in to show the individual boxes along the top row, the observer's gallery. Each box held seven beings from the planet depicted by a globe hovering in front of it. Some boxes were filled with a variety of species, others contained just one. Pascual made short, sharp “huh” noises as he saw the alien beings there. Most were saurid, though there were reptilians among the observing planet's representatives. Aranead wondered if the human noticed the total lack of mammals. Was that why he had wrapped his arms protectively around his body? He was ashamed to find himself wishing the little mammal would panic. If it was hopeless, he could justify returning to the clutch. But Pascual remained still and calm.
An empty box was shown close up. Earth was recognizable hovering before it. Pascual's model faded in, sitting in one of the seats. The rest of the seats were filled in with generic line drawings of Earth humans.
He turned the translator back on by flicking the switch embedded in the base of his neck.
"Representative, your planet is invited to observe at the Universal Council. After observation you may choose to accept the charter and join as full members. As members, the Council's technologies and libraries will be available to you. Commerce with other members will be encouraged and regulated by Council treaties. The charter chiefly requires that war on your planet be abandoned as a method of diplomacy. You must also agree not to wage war against any other planet, Council member or otherwise."
Pascual began to shake and bark. Water leaked from his eyes and ran down his face. Aranead didn't know the meaning of it.
"Do you understand me?"
"I do. I understand.” He spoke while gasping for breath. “But I'm not the one to make this decision. You should meet with our leaders and tell them these things."
"You will take me to them?” Aranead pulled up a globe on their screens. The feathers on his back lay down a little. The wooden drawer handle still reached for him. He was glad to step away from it for a little while. “Point to the location and we will go there now."
* * * *
Involuntary giggles shook Pascual's body as the tension left him. The alien didn't want a sacrifice; he wanted to be taken to the leader!
With deep breaths, Pascual worked to regain his composure. “We need to let them know we are coming."
Aranead nodded, but didn't say anything. Apparently, the alien expected he would immediately arrange a meeting with the president or the State Department or somebody. Maybe he could call them? He grabbed his cell phone off his belt and flipped it open with no idea how to call the White House. Staring at the phone, he remembered another call he needed to make first. He dialed home.
Because it was the middle of the day, no one was there and the answering machine picked up.
"Mama, Papa, turn on the television to see the news. I'm with the alien. We're going to Washington. I'm safe. I'll call again after I leave him with the president.” He spoke in Q'anjob'al.
Then he browsed for the White House phone number and called it. He got an automated message. They listed many options, all of them directed to tourists and visitors. Pascual listened through the entire list, praying the last choice would be To Speak to An Operator. It wasn't.
He flipped the phone shut and looked at Aranead, who asked, “What was the language?"
"Q'anjob'al, my native language. But I speak English when I'm not at home."
The red feathers that lay flat over Aranead's eyes stood forward. The alien scrutinized him, perhaps realizing Pascual was not the man he needed for this job.
"Home is where your clutch lives. Your clutch is not here?” Aranead gestured with a wing to the door.
"My clutch? Um, no, it's my family. Mother, father, and sisters, they live in a different place."
"Live? Live in a different place?” Aranead cocked his head.
"Yes. Maybe, as you are here now, without your ... clutch, so I am away from my family. They work, eat, and sleep far from here."
"My clutch is far away, but I can sense them completely at any time using the sensorium.” His long claw pointed to the alcove behind him.
Pascual held out the cell phone, “I can hear and speak to my family with this, sometimes.” Nervous energy drained, his arms felt heavy. He stared at the phone. It was smaller than the palm of his hand and his family was often not home when he called. A low-frequency coo penetrated his body as a light vibration. It felt good, comforting. He looked at Aranead. The feathers on the crest of its head tipped down to one side. Pascual understood it meant to comfort.
"It is ... sad to be away,” Aranead said and cooed again.
Pascual said, “Yes,” wishing he could coo back. “But now, we must contact the President.” He moved to look out the still open hatch.
The people who'd fled to the forest had moved to its edge and now stared at the egg ship. A news crew had arrived and was setting up cameras. A woman with a microphone spoke with Dr. Leinster.
Pascual shouted, “Hey! Over here!"
Every person in sight yelled and pointed. The news camera, hastily hefted to a shoulder, aimed at him.
"It wants to meet the president. We will leave here to go to the White House soon. Tell President Stewart we are on our way.” He shouted as loud as he could. The newswoman moved closer with her microphone.
"You can hear me?” Pascual shouted.
The woman nodded, “Loud and clear! Keep talking! What's your name? What's going on in there?"
"I am Pascual Teotalco. Please contact the president immediately! It wants to meet with her now! Is she in Washington?"
The newswoman chopped her hand toward her crew; one man was on the phone already.
Pascual summarized what he'd seen so far until the crewman approached the newswoman.
"The president's office says the visitor is welcome to meet with the president. They beg you not to land at the White House. Have him put it down on the National Mall. The president will communicate with him there."
After he'd closed the hatch, Aranead pointed to the control console. “Please, point to the location."
Pascual looked at the place on the wall where the open hatch had been. Once closed, there was no outline to mark it. The rotten papaya smell was heavier in the air, and Pascual fought the fear tightening his stomach. This creature is kind. It brings only an invitation, he reminded himself.
"Please, Pascual, we need the location to begin traveling.” Aranead extended his slash talon to beckon, then seemed to reconsider. He curled that finger into his palm and gestured with his whole hand. “Do not be afraid. I would not hurt you."
Pascual nodded, stood up straighter, and walked to Aranead. They stood together, not at an altar, but at a control panel covered in switches surrounding a round screen. North and South America were shown, as if photographed from space. He could point to any place, take Aranead to anyone, and tell him this was the president, an important world leader who would make decisions for them all. For a few seconds, he considered pointing to Guatemala. He'd have to take him to Guatemala City, to meet the president who persecuted his family. The alien would sense something was wrong if he took him to a Mayan village, especially after se
eing the buildings and technology at Arecibo. No, taking him to the American president was the only thing to do.
He pointed to North America's east coast. The view zoomed in. Pascual touched the screen to zoom even further until he could point to the Mall in Washington, D.C.
"When will we leave?"
* * * *
"We're already underway,” Aranead said. “Pascual, there are things we should discuss, diplomat to diplomat, before I meet your president."
"I'm not a diplomat. I'm an astronomer, a scientist who investigates the universe."
Aranead nodded in a forward to back circular motion. “Did the diplomat run into the forest during the ceremony?"
"Ah, yes, I think he did."
"Why didn't you run?"
"You looked familiar to me. My culture, the Mayans, descended from the people you visited so long ago. Some of us still live in the place where the meteor hit. We have stories and pictures of a god who looked like you: Kukulkan. Later people called him Quetzalcoatl. I was fascinated when I saw you. I thought you were this god."
Aranead clucked softly. “To those who met us back then, the Cheorka were gods. Some in the Universal Council still regard us so. We prefer to think of ourselves as coordinators and caretakers. We hold the universe's conscious beings together; keep peace, seed, and nurture young races.” Aranead clucked again. “Just as some treat the Cheorka as gods, I will treat you as a diplomat: because you act like one. I have several questions. I assume your answers will represent only your own opinion."
"I'll answer what I can."
"We assumed, because of the message you sent, Earth is ready to join the universal community. Is it correct?"
Pascual frowned, “I couldn't guess. We'd sent messages before and gotten no answer. It's a surprise to get an answer to this one. I think we'll need time to consider joining anything."
Analog SFF, December 2007 Page 9