A.R.Yngve
ALIEN BEACH

Chapter Twelve

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.

The Sirians had seen the Vietnam War on TV, along with newscasts stretching back to the 1950s.

After having concluded their brief visit to New Guinea, they asked to see the country that had been mentioned so often in human broadcasts - broadcasts that were more recent to them, given the long distance to Sirius. The Vietnamese government aired a few objections to stall the unexpected visit, but the U.N. Security Council could clear the group in a few hours.

As the Osprey closed in on the green Vietnamese coastline, the seven amphibians seemed to act and talk with greater confidence; they made detailed requests to meet certain persons who had been mentioned in old TV broadcasts from around 1970. They even handed out a printed list of names on a slate, with still images taken from TV. Black-and-white images, blurred, of men and women in uniforms, some staring into the camera - others just walking past.

The Vietnamese government received the list, and could soon respond that most of the men and women mentioned were dead, or in one case did not exist - at some point in the past, the Sirians had confused a fictional film with live news footage. Only one man on the list was still alive and prepared to encounter the extraterrestrial visitors at such short notice.

The group met him in the secluded park of a retirement home in Ho Chi Minh City. The bus carrying the visitors was taken to a back entrance; the passengers were moved into the park without being seen by outsiders. After a half-hour wait, the requested man came out into the little park. He was a frail old ex-soldier with thin white hair and thick eyeglasses. When the old man first saw the seven tall, gray aliens, he gasped and tried to escape back indoors. Two younger police officers stopped him, insisting that he should come forth to greet the visitors.

The four ECT scientists were embarrassed. Carl wanted to ask Ranmotanii to spare the poor old Vietnamese from being frightened by strangers from space. And why him? Just because they spotted his name in a grainy TV broadcast sent out twenty-five, thirty years ago?

It took a few minutes, but the old man gathered some courage and made the government men let go of him, by shouting and wielding his walking-stick. Trembling terribly, he staggered the twenty meters down to the benches where Ranmotanii and the others sat waiting - all except for Tmmtenaa, who was preoccupied with studying the layout and architecture of the park.

The old man stopped two meters away from Ranmotanii, who rose to greet him. That was a misjudgment - at two meters' height, he loomed over the little old man and frightened him even more. Yet somehow Ranmotanii did not need instructions. He showed his narrow palms to the old man, a universal gesture saying: I come in peace. The old man stood frozen. A few mutual opening phrases were uttered, with the British linguist interpreting Ranmotanii's broken English to the old man.

The old man knew about the alien visit - everyone knew. He only asked to know why the Sirians were here, and why they wanted to meet him. Ranmotanii explained about the list, the few people whose names they had been able to pick out of old broadcast newsreels. Then he asked the old man if he had witnessed the real war. The man nodded. Ranmotanii asked him if all the killings they had seen in the broadcasts were real or staged. The old man answered that most of them had been real. Ranmotanii then wondered if the casualty rates mentioned in the enemy broadcasts were accurate. The man replied, not without bitterness, that far more people had been killed than mentioned in any broadcasts.

Ranmotanii thanked him for the information, and sat down on his bench - visibly paler than before, his big old eyes more bloodshot than before. His final question came after a minute's pause: Was all information of the war broadcast in the full knowledge that someone outside Planet Earth might intercept them? The old man began to shake again. He demanded to be let back indoors and left alone. Carl conceded, and asked the Sirians they should leave to avoid an incident.

Lazar took Carl and the linguist aside, and told them in a hushed voice: "Carl, this could be a bad sign. The Sirians don't trust us completely - that's why they dug out a list of old witnesses, to confirm that the war broadcasts weren't fakes."

"Where does that leave us in relation to the Sirians?" Carl wondered. "None of us were directly involved in that war. I actively protested against it."

"From their perspective, that doesn't matter! First we let every advanced civilization within a light year's radius or so know about our wars. Then they come over here, and we're suddenly dying to show how peaceful and civilized we are... what would you make of it, had you been one of them?"

Carl shrugged; Lazar went on. "That our hospitality might turn into open hostility at the slightest notice. Put simply, they now have witness proof that they are among savages. They've got guts, Carl."

They looked in the direction of the Sirians - who were studying the park, as if they hadn't noticed the discussion. Tmmtenaa ran around chasing butterflies.

DAY 66

Delhi, India.

The bus stopped by a minor Hindu temple. A newly built shrine, garishly painted, stood by the entrance, adorned with flowers and offerings.

The shrine, two meters high, showed a stylishly sculpted figure of a blue-gray Sirian, wearing a red spacesuit. Apparently excited, Moanossoans pointed it out to the others, talking in her tongue that no human had yet deciphered.

Takeru, studying Moanossoans' moving lips, tried to perceive the breaks in her speech that should come between each word - but her speech came too fast, making it sound like uninterrupted song to Takeru's ears. He stopped the small tape-recorder in his pocket, connected to a near-invisible mike in his clothes, and replayed the Sirian speech in his earphone. Still it sounded too rapid for him. He replayed it again, slowing down the speed of the tape with the adjustment dial. At very slow speed, he could clearly make out the breaks between her words... strange indeed. Some words were profoundly different in structure, containing several compressed signals in a second... surrounded by words that were almost like human syllables.

The Sirians really did have several languages, sometimes using all three at one time. One ultra-rapid, radar-like signal language for conveying information about distance, size, shapes... then one archaic, unchanging language made up of basic word concepts... and finally what they called the "land-language" with its phonetic alphabet, modern and flexible. As if their brains housed three different stages of development simultaneously. He couldn't take his eyes off Moanossoans' mouth, so beautifully formed yet strange like Namonnae's...

"Takeru? I said we'll leave the bus and have look at that temple! Are you coming?"

Takeru, blinking, grinned at Carl. "No, go ahead, I... I can't stand the air outside."

It was partly true; the hot air of the overpopulated metropolis was overripe, compared to the antiseptic climate of his lab. The driver, an impassive Indian security officer, stayed inside; so did seven amphibians, and Takeru. He made an attempt to join the alien conversation, by asking them what they were talking about. The amphibians almost stopped talking, wording a few clipped phrases and sounds to each other. Then Tmmtenaa, the male who appeared to be the reclusive tech-head of the group, looked at Takeru and made some sort of explanation. His English was stuttering, awkward, rapider than Ranmotanii's.

"I speeeak dooo nnnot... riiight oonnehundrred perccentt... I tryy sooo. Siriaaann humansss... uuus nnnow regissster speecialll braiiin patternnns ffrom come lannd-humans iiin name 'temmple' houuseee... I see brain patteeernss wwith our machinesss... see patternns thaaat imiiitate patternss in otherr plllaces timmes wwe meeet lannd-humans outsiide busss.

"I try say sso... Them innn temple think same aas when they lllook at that statuue, aas time llland-humans saaw uss realll. Takeeruu... know more like whhy?"

Takeru felt as if his stomach had dropped through his abdomen and into his legs. He was used to separating science and faith razor-sharp - there was one Takeru praying before the ancestors' shrine (given time), and another Takeru performing tensor analysis on composite-metals for the industry. But these simple, artless creatures (he suddenly thought of them, annoying himself yet again) saw human 'faith' as just another scientific phenomenon, a distinctive pattern in the brain's higher functions.

"I have a question. In your own brains, can you measure patterns that resemble those patterns in land-humans?"

Tmmtenaa closed his large eyes suddenly, stuck his "hand" into a socket in his vest, and produced an instrument similar to the thought-recorders that the scientists had received. He put the device around his head and did something to activate it, eyes still closed. The other Sirians studied him silently. After an interval of roughly half a minute, Tmmtenaa opened his eyes, let his fingers dance across the knobs of his vest, and addressed Takeru. He sounded livelier, less awkward now.

"I maade regiister off mmy ownn brrain wwhen thinnkiing oof my Aancestorss. Thhose patternns arre nnot muuch differennt, mmuch thhe saame aas. Takeerru thiink llike gooood. Thhank-you-very-muchh for your heeelp."

"What are these 'Ancestors'? You have mentioned them before."

Tmmtenaa blinked rapidly, turned away from the Japanese engineer, and moved closer to the other Sirians.

"Tmmtenaa?"

Tmmtenaa sat still, eyes shut, clutching one of the female Sirians like an overgrown child. A complete change of behavior for someone who seemed the least inclined to hug any other being. Had the amphibian made a slip, had Takeru frightened him? Maybe these beings weren't quite as superior as he had taken for granted. Maybe they could be outsmarted after all, if one pandered to their high self-confidence. He had to find a way to make them confide in him... but how? If there was anything on this planet the Sirians valued highly enough, to do as a bribe... Gold? Metals? Food? (They had enjoyed his sushi at the welcoming party.) More music? Pure groveling? Affection, friendship? Secret deals, power bids? Takeru's mind raced, finding no possibilities...except friendship. He had to try harder.

He couldn't talk to the others about this, they must not know that he had been offered a fortune, if he could bring back some valuable Sirian know-how exclusively to Japan. The whole world might benefit from what the scientists learned from this alien visit - but he could make his nation a favor and himself rich, if he learned something more. He ought to have no moral qualms about it. Surely, he assured himself, wouldn't every scientist on Alien Beach also be a citizen and a patriot when required to?

The inner voice that called him a corporate whore returned, but so faintly he could shut it off almost without effort. Takeru checked his watch and realized that the away team had been out for half an hour. He asked the security officer to contact his colleagues over the radio and check how they were doing.

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