Guided in by both land-based and onboard instrumentation, the shuttle performed a near-perfect final approach and touchdown. As it did so, the morning cloud layer began to clear, dropping the humidity level somewhat and alleviating the discomfort the diplomatic staff felt in their hastily donned dress uniforms. After slowing, the shuttle turned at the far end of the artificial runway and taxied slowly over to the reception hall, bypassing the main terminal.
As soon as it stopped, several of the senior diplomats strode forward to await disembarkation. They were dressed neatly but not flashily, having no wish to overpower the traditionally disoriented visitors with an overabundance of personal color and light. They wore no arms, nor was any sort of formal military color guard in evidence. Everything about the ceremony had been designed to put cautious, hesitant visitors at ease while impressing upon them the friendliness as well as the determination of the united peoples of Earth.
The forward door opened, and a disembarkation ramp was lowered. The diplomats waited expectantly, naturally curious but far from anxious. After all, the explorers had already communicated the fact that the aliens were unaggressive nitrox breathers. Shape and size and the style of visible organs of perception were no longer a novelty to the team of experienced professionals.
No one was prepared for what they saw, and the shock that ran through the small cluster of official greeters was almost palpable enough to set the seismographs located at the base of Mount Agung to stuttering. Despite intensive training, despite the presence of men and women who were experienced as well as highly qualified, despite the cushion of written procedure and the absence of a need to improvise for virtually any conceivable situation, for a long, long moment no one in the clutch of official greeters and welcomers had anything to say. It was extraordinary. It was unprecedented.
Most remarkably of all, the temporary paralysis extended even to the perpetually jaded representatives of the media who were on hand for the occasion.
Siringh Pranchavit, the leader of the survey team that had been exploring Argus V, led the way, accompanied by several of his top aides. Not all were present, a number having been chosen to remain behind to continue the work on that promising new world. Accompanying the scientists and researchers were officers of the Chagos itself. Behind them and in advance of representative members of the ship’s crew were the aliens. As attested, there were twelve of them. Half were male, the other half female. It could have been otherwise, of course, but among the diplomats and media reps present none would have bet half a credit on the separation of alien genders being anything other than what it appeared.
The Pitar were gorgeous. Drop-dead, overpoweringly, stunningly gorgeous. As beautiful as they were human. More properly, they were humanoid, but none present, least of all among the media reps who were now frantically scrambling to make certain their equipment was functioning properly, was prepared to bring up that distinction.
The males were magnificent. Without exception they were tall, though not intimidatingly so, with finely finessed lean musculature and faces that were devoid of blemish or whisker. Their countenances demanded revision of all previous descriptions of “chiseled” features. They were, as far as both the human men and women present were concerned, visually perfect.
As for the Pitarian females, the females were…The representatives of the media competed among themselves in a desperate search for superlatives that were neither jejune nor overworked.
Neither Pitarian gender manifested visible discomfort, though a certain understandable nervousness was reflected in their initial comments. After all, despite the reaction of the greeting team, they were participating in initial representations with a newly contacted space-traveling species, physical similarities notwithstanding. The warmth of the greeting that followed as soon as the dumfounded diplomats and their associates recovered their senses soon put the visitors at ease.
Their skin was a homogenous, unvarying bronze hue, made all the more striking by the extreme variance in hair and eye color that the Chagos’s scientists assured the members of the receiving team was natural. Blue hair and violet eyes were not uncommon. There were combinations of white and yellow, green and red, lavender and pink that would have seemed shocking on a human but which on the entirely perfect Pitar appeared utterly natural. Their voices, hastily trained in basic Terranglo during the space-plus journey from Argus, were uniformly resonant and mellifluous. They moved with the easy, pantherish grace of natural athletes and politely tolerated the wide-eyed stares of media and diplomatic personnel alike. Only occasional indications of nervousness betrayed what otherwise would have been a confrontation between two species completely at ease with one another.
As the shock wore off, the visitors were escorted into the receiving area. While stunned personnel took over and began processing the Pitarian representatives, Pranchavit and the senior members of his team were quickly drawn aside and hurried into a small conference room whose atmosphere was filled with disbelief mixed wildly with speculation. Kept outside, the desire of certain media reps to gain admittance bordered on the hysterical. Through it all the chief of the Chagos’s scientific complement maintained a calm, though clearly amused, composure.
“What kind of a joke is this?” As an assistant general secretary specializing in human-alien protocol, Dosei Anchpura carried more weight than her slight frame suggested. Presently she had parked her diplomatic skills just inside the door. Immediately behind her, on the other side of the soundproof barrier, media representatives fought to aim their pickup lenses over the shoulders of immovable security personnel.
“Joke?” Smiling absently, Pranchavit considered her question rhetorically. “What joke?” Next to him Werther Baumgartner, a sober xenologist pushing an active seventy, smirked and nudged his companion. “There is no joke.”
“This is impossible!” Anchpura looked to her colleagues for support. “These Pitar—those people out there being guided through the processing lines—aren’t aliens. They’re human. Where’d you pick them up? From a live show on one of the orbiting stations before you came down? Without clearance, I might add, and here instead of across the strait at Lombok, where you belong. Although now that I see the joke, I understand your reasons, if not your motivation.”
“Aye,” Colin Brookstone put in. “What’s come over you? It’s a fine joke, I admit, but you’ll soon have to call a halt to it.”
“Siringh is telling you the truth.” Smirk gone, Baumgartner was all serious now, and all scientist. “Believe me, the first time we set eyes on them our reaction was, if anything, more disbelieving than yours.”
Ambassador-at-large al-Namqiz, who until now had been silent, sputtered a response. “But how can this be? They are as human as you or I, as anyone in this room.” His attention shifted to the tightly packed horde of frantic media representatives who were still fighting to gain entrance to the meeting room. “More human.”
Lionel Harris-Ferrolk, Baumgartner’s companion in subdued mirth, was the possessor of a reputation that exceeded even that of his two nominal superiors. “Remarkable how after all these years of contact with sapient extraterrestrials we are still hostage to the superficiality of appearance.” His reconstructed eyes, small but penetrating, swept over the diplomats assembled in the room. “You are all right, and you are all wrong. They are human to a remarkable degree—and yet not. Not quite.”
Al-Namqiz sighed as he took a seat. What had promised to be a traditionally impressive yet routine meet-and-greet had turned into something extraordinary. Eventually he was going to have to face the media. He was not a man, after thirty-four years in the diplomatic service, who desired to do so without answers.
As his two slightly senior colleagues appeared willing to let him do the explaining, Harris-Ferrolk continued. “What we have in the Pitar is either the most remarkable instance of convergent evolution ever encountered, much less demonstrated, or else possible proof of the old theory that the dispersal of the origins of at least certain ki
nds of life throughout the galaxy, if not the universe, was by some form of seeds or spores, whether aboard meteorites, comets, or some as yet unidentified vector. The Pitar have been very cooperative. I ask you to keep in mind that despite the astonishing physical similarities, which I might add include internal as well as external features, preliminary studies reveal significant differences in DNA. As well, there are other factors at work that would never permit a Pitar to pass for human, or for that matter a human as Pitar.”
From the back of the tense, crowded room, a terse question. “What about interbreeding?”
When Harris-Ferrolk looked nonplussed, the more relaxed Pranchavit spoke up. “That is a question I would have expected to come from a representative of the general media, not a member of the diplomatic corps. However, since it has been asked, based on our studies to date we do not believe that would be possible. The mere act of intercourse, which requires nothing more biologically complex than crude physical coupling, is another matter.” For confirmation he glanced at his two colleagues, who both nodded.
“Physiological similarities extending beyond physical symmetry and external features suggest the latter should be possible. As we have explained, the Pitar have been most cooperative.” He added drily, “You understand this is speculation only. There has been no experimental confirmation of any of this.”
“They seem very subdued,” someone else ventured.
“They are not demonstrative by nature. Certainly less so than a comparable group of humans would be,” Pranchavit replied. “We do not know if this is a representative social trait or if they are simply being restrained in our presence. I can tell you that this is not a function of their isolation here on a strange world. Their manner was identical on Argus V, when they were in the company of their own people. Do not make the mistake of confusing their appearance with that of comparable human counterparts.” The researcher shrugged. “Perhaps they are simply quiet by nature. Personally, I find it refreshing.”
“Life spans?” someone else wondered aloud.
Pranchavit did not miss a beat. “From what we have told and been able to glean, they are more long-lived than humans. Perhaps on the order of ten to fifteen percent.”
“This may not be a properly framed scientific or diplomatic query,” inquired one of the younger staff members restlessly, “but—do they all look like that?”
Baumgartner nodded somberly. “This group could be taken as typical, yes.” In the back, someone whistled softly.
The others could indulge their curiosity. Al-Namqiz, charged with officially welcoming these unexpectedly attractive representatives of an alien species to Earth, was compelled to consider more practical concerns.
“What do they want? Have you talked with them about such things?”
Pranchavit nodded. “Good relations with us and everyone else they may meet. Beyond that we did not much go. Cultural exchanges, tourism, economic cooperation—my colleagues and I felt that these specific concerns did not fall within our purview to discuss.”
Then he had not been cut out of the loop. Al-Namqiz felt much better. “I take it these are not formally accredited ambassadors, and therefore they cannot speak for their government on such matters.”
“Only informally,” Harris-Ferrolk admitted. “Remember that they were as surprised to encounter us at Argus as we were to see them. They no more had diplomats on board their vessel than we did on board the Chagos. Both our ship and theirs were on journeys of exploration. But it was felt by them that contact would be expedited if some of their people returned with us to present themselves to the rest of humankind.”
“Expedited isn’t the word.” Al-Namqiz gestured in the direction of the door, against which the representatives of the media continued to throw themselves like seals heaving themselves up onto a beach. “As soon as they are presented on the tridee, there’s going to be a frenzy of volunteers to go and ‘visit’ Pitar. Or accommodate their representatives here.”
“We know.” Pranchavit smiled thinly. “Most of our waking hours may be devoted to our research and the rest of our work, but my colleagues and I are not strangers to the human condition. We have been just as affected by their appearance as you all were when they stepped down from the shuttle. They are forthright and accommodating, but somewhat shy. They are willing to cooperate in mutual studies and learning, but only via formal, academic, accredited channels. They have no desire to stroll casually among us, or to allow us to do so among them. At least, that is the situation as it was explained to us. Whether it will change in the future or whether that is a firm and unalterable expression of the Pitarian social ethos it is much too early to say.”
“When can you introduce us to them?” The face of the youngest member of the diplomatic team was alert and anxious.
In lieu of Pranchavit’s sigh, Harris-Ferrolk responded. “We understand your eagerness. Following the usual final medical checks they must be officially welcomed and then queried. All this they have readily agreed to.” He eyed the junior staff member sternly. “We must insist that they be treated no differently than the representatives of any other sapient species, such as the Quillp or the thranx.”
“The thranx!” Someone in the back hooted in a reflexively derisive manner.
“Sure,” another staff member murmured. “I’ll treat them just like I would a thranx. Especially the one with the turquoise hair and the—”
“Quiet, all of you!” Turning in his seat, al-Namqiz glared at his clustered staff. “Difficult as it may be, we will do exactly as Mr. Harris-Ferrolk says. You are all of you professionals. Or at least, I have been given to believe that is the case. A position in a different service can readily be found for anyone who prefers to demonstrate otherwise.” For the first time since the visiting scientist-explorers had arrived, there was complete silence in the conference room.
“That’s better.” The ambassador turned back to the grateful researchers. “If there is anything we need to know before commencing official interaction, however disagreeable or difficult it might be, I will rely on you to inform us and we will deal with it accordingly. Your work must be the foundation upon which we build our relations with these people. Thranx or Pitar, Quillp or anything else, the government of Earth and its colonies treats equally with all other intelligences.” For the second time he glared at his staff. “Anyone here have a problem with that?” A single strained, uneasy cough was the only response. “Thank you.”
Rising from his seat, he smiled at the three scientists and gestured toward the door. “Gentlemen and lady, if you will lead the way, we will make an attempt to deal with what I expect is by now a rapidly swelling and frenziedly impatient clutch of representatives of the world and off-world media. Meanwhile the immigration and medical people will have a chance to complete their work, and then you may introduce me to our newest interstellar friends. I would appreciate any additional information you can give me that might aid in my dealing with the media, not to mention the government, and that might facilitate the subsequent exchanges between myself, my staff, and our visitors.”
It was not easy. While the ambassador took the podium and parceled out answers, the junior members of the diplomatic team and the crew of the Chagos were assailed by media reps promising ever-ballooning rewards for any information on the Pitar. Names, statistics, histories, preferences, dislikes, interviews, recorded images—small and then large fortunes were promised to those staff members who could provide them. On an exclusive basis, of course. Bidding reached a fever pitch when it was disclosed by one harried member of the starship’s crew that at least a few of the Pitar had mastered a minimum of Terranglo on the journey out from Argus. The prospect of a first interview with one of the magnificent humanoids who could actually respond to questions sent the media reps into a veritable feeding frenzy.
Despite their best efforts and their most enticing blandishments, nothing came of their desperate entreaties. The aliens remained isolated and in media quarantine until such ti
me as ambassador-at-large al-Namqiz and his staff felt they would be ready to meet the general public. Having been placed under the strictest of injunctions, none of the other members of the Chagos’s crew would talk, and the diplomatic staff had little hard information to dispense. As they learned more about their visitors, and with their permission, tiny dribbles of information were passed on to the salivating media.
Not everyone was instantly welcoming. There existed among the population of Earth a sizable minority whose opinion of intelligent aliens could best be described as cautiously paranoid and a smaller segment that was openly and vociferously xenophobic. The revelation years earlier of the secret thranx colony-base in the Reserva Amazonia had not hurt their cause, and they railed continuously and loudly in the media and in the hallways of government against forming anything like a close relationship with any alien species.
But even they were hard-pressed to find much mud to sling at the Pitar. Superficial it might be, but physical appearance went a long way toward swaying public opinion. In that respect humankind had changed little since the dawn of civilization.
Rightly or not, it was much easier for people sitting before their tridee to envision welcoming a Pitar into their home than a thranx whose appearance might well put them in mind of a cockroach or a giant ant. Still, there was commendable caution and a desire to proceed slowly and carefully among members of all pertinent scientific and governmental agencies.
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