"I believe it is my turn," he said softly.
Edmund Soto had no precise idea of what would happen when the device was switched on. Perhaps an evil spirit would try to settle in his head. Perhaps God's 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 soul's 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.
"This is a fantastic but dangerous invention," Edmund rasped. "Mankind is not ready for it."
"And who are we, us frail land-humans," Lazar said, "to decide whether others are ready or not? Do we have the right to put ourselves above the humanity we have pledged to serve?"
"Both of you have understood the significance of this technology perfectly," Carl said. "But 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 we'll do. What we decide to tell the outside world can affect the entire future of our species."
As Lazar began to speak, Carl had the oddest feeling: for a moment, he had felt as if Lazar wasn't a human being at all, but something created by Carl's 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, to almost see the ghosts of the living...
Chapter Nineteen
Sri Lanka.
"Ann, listen to this," 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.
"Takeru told me -"
"Sshh."
"The 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 'truck-bombs'.
"But 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 cult's official spokesman and legal advisor here, James Townsend, made this statement on a press conference in the morning..."
"The 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."
"Mr. Townsend refused to specify exactly how the cult, which has been denied any contact with the Sirian visitors, could possibly 'uphold' any relations with it. But the cult leader claims to be in constant telepathic contact with Ranmotanii himself.
"Little is known of the cult's leader, who calls himself Tanii, or Regional Elder. His real name is Marlo O'Brien, 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 'telepathic sessions' from ecstatic cult meetings have sold a million copies worldwide.
"Relatives 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 O'Brien. 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.
"The government of Fiji promised today, that it will have this little island's mayor and its chief of police replaced within a week."
"Bloody fools," Arthur growled, shaking his balding head. "I hope by God the Sirians don't think that cult is representative of human behavior."
"I must go back," Ann told him.
"Yeah. I wish I could go too, but the bloody doctors won't let me travel that far."
She gave him a warm smile, and moved to adjust the blanket that covered the electric wheelchair in which Arthur sat.
"You've been living a long, rich life, Art. But there's nothing anyone can do to stop time."
"Perhaps they can," he said in a lower voice. "Tell me again, how old did the Sirians say they could become?"
"In 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."
"It's hard to be so close to see one's dreams realized, and then one is too frail to reach all the way..."
"Oh Arthur, please. Whether any of us lived one or a hundred years more, wouldn't make much of a difference. The Sirians can't change us overnight."
"I guess not," he sighed. "Are you leaving soon?"
"No, I need another week. I want to do some more diving and find the dolphin family I grew up with."
"I remember those. What did you name them... Babette, Rostand, and Cyrano, the one with the long beak?"
"Yes. Couldn't find them yesterday."
"Be patient. They should still remember you after all these years - well, those who haven't died of old age."
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 couldn't 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 Meadbouré 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.
"Welcome back!" Carl said, hugging Ann. She responded with slightly less affection, squeezing the old astrophysicist. He was different, she noticed, more
relaxed, but also less concentrated...
"I feel much better now," she assured him. "This vacation helped me get a clearer perspective on things, 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."
"You're 'one of the lucky few,'" he quoted her.
"Yeah. This time I know what it means."
"There's something you should know. The team has taken an important decision - well, several of us - while you were away. It's the thought-recorders."
Ann froze for a moment. Then she calmed down. "I understand. I'm not ready yet. But I will be. All I ask for is time."
"Of course."
"But right now I'm dying for a swim. Is the scuba gear ready?"
"In the shed." 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 wasn't 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 world's 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 Oanss' 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 an 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: "Oanss, come back! You are going too far out!"
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.
Ann 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 hadn't 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 wasn't wearing, the harpoon gun she hadn't 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 "hand" to touch her. She wanted him to touch her, but shrank away from the tentacle-like, soft fingers.
"Why..." she finally gasped, "why did you go so far out? You made me afraid."
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 Ann's leg, and understood it might attract predators. His preoccupation with play had jeopardized her.
"I amm... a leess iintelligennt huumann thhhan otheerr. Ollderr humanns are betteer intelligeeently than yyoung ooness liike mee."
"How old are you?"
"I waaas boorn on myy homewwoorld... my thinnking lifffe is... like so, twennty-five Eearth yearsss."
A mere teenager by their outlook, Ann sensed. She was less civilized, but still more mature in a deeper sense... or was she, really?
"Oanss, I was worried about you. You should not take s
uch risks. Please come to meet me, but be more careful."
He made a studied nod, shut his eyes, and remained still. A "land-human's" 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 Oanss' face that was his left "cheek".
"Please. 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."
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 feeling sore, almost burning? "Is your skin dangerous to touch for a land-human? Is there poison in it?"
"Iii doo not knnow. The aanswerr I thhink iss, nnno."
Then she understood - the moment she had touched him, the muscles of her hand had tensed so tightly she had almost went numb.
"Can you please open this thing up? It's getting hard to breathe."
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.
"Myy frriend. Annn," the amphibian said, fixing her with the wide slits of his squinting eyes. "Hhhow ddo weee... shhhare thiss?" He indicated his head.
"Can we just talk? I mean, in land-language? English?"
The Sirian seemed appalled or bewildered by the suggestion; his face was so slightly contorted, she couldn't tell the difference.
Yngve, AR - Alien Beach Page 18