A.R.Yngve
ALIEN BEACH

Chapter Twenty-Five

The battleship was bustling with activity in the middle of the night. The handcuffed soldier was led past metal corridors into a small room with a bunk, and allowed just an hour or so of sleep in his cell. He was awakened when a general, flashing his NSA badge, entered with two guardsmen. The brass grinned at him.

"Good morning, soldier! I'm General Harrod of the ECT Security Committee."

The soldier didn't recognize Harrod; they had never met before, as far as he could remember. He sat up on his bunk, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, not quite sure what to say. He hardly expected his mysterious benefactor to help him out of this mess, and he did not deserve more help.

The general ordered the guards to free the soldier from his handcuffs, and began an all-too-familiar prisoner routine. The soldier remembered it from his old combat manual. He had no secrets they would believe, anyway. A brain-damaged vet talking about his 'visions'? Better to say nothing.

Over coffee and cigarettes, the general made the requisite small talk before getting to the point.

"You seem reasonably stable-minded, soldier," Harrod stated with less-than-convincing sympathy. "What made you join this... cult?"

"I was... curious. About the Sirians, too."

"Of course, who isn't. But... you survived the brainwashing and the rigorous controls of the cult. Could you explain how?"

"I have a thick skull."

The general laughed, too hard. "I see. I just heard about how they found you in the cult camp... this may come as a shock to you, but you're the only survivor the troops found."

The soldier realized that he must have been in a state of shock, for only now he felt anything like sorrow. Women and a few children, more than three thousand people, had drowned themselves. Such a pitiful waste... and he hadn't been able to save a single one of them. Patty was dead. He wondered why he didn't cry for her sake, and it slowly dawned on him: though he had tried, he had never really known Patty as a person - just as a brainwashed, sermon-spouting mouthpiece for the cult. He clenched his fist and pounded his other hand.

"I guess what you want to know is: 'How could such a level-headed person have joined that crazy cult to begin with?'" He sounded bitter. The general looked at him with cool appraisal, no doubt evaluating his body language. "I knew it was crazy, from the day I joined. I was looking for answers, okay? I wanted to get closer to the real aliens, get to understand them. Like you."

The general nodded thoughtfully: "Right. We have something in common. I've been briefed on your background... undistinguished service in the Gulf War, retired after possible injury from chemical weapons or antidotes to such... look, if you're bitter at the Army, I understand. I'm an Army man myself..."

"Did you ever see any action?" The question contained a unspoken accusation: Did you ever put your life on the line, or was it just deskwork and sending others to the slaughter?

The general blinked, revealing his unease. "Try to put old grudges aside for the moment; there are bigger things going on. The alien spaceship. Just a few miles from this vessel."

That got the soldier's attention.

"Your country, no, the world needs you," Harrod said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Right now, the Sirians have brainwashed the ECT to do their errands and gain the confidence of the President himself. Meanwhile, the Arabs and Iranians have for the first time united against a common enemy - the Sirians, whose technology could render their oil industry bankrupt. This is an extremely dangerous situation. An unexpected move from the aliens could trigger a nuclear world war."

The soldier went cold with anxiety; the general was telling the truth.

"But the Sirians can be talked to... I've seen it on TV... they can help us with their superior technology, right?"

Now it was the general's turn to show bitterness: "And if they had, the whole conflict would have blown over. But these are a devious, inscrutable lot. We're monitoring them as closely as possible - you couldn't drop a fart on Alien Beach without my people hearing it. They have revealed nothing that could be of use to us in the coming conflict - they don't trust us with their technology. Yet I know, I just know, that if I had one of their machines under my command, we could stop the approaching Arab fleet dead in its tracks..."

Gee, what a surprise, thought the soldier, seeing in the soft-faced general a two-bit Napoleon with little concern for the future of humanity. He couldn't believe Harrod hadn't drawn the obvious conclusion: the Sirians would not give us their machines because they knew us too well.

Harrod said: "If we had an insider on Alien Beach, who could withstand their mind-control like you did with the cult, he might learn about their real plans. But I should warn you - it's quite a dangerous mission. I wouldn't suggest this if we weren't so short on time and information."

"I've got nothing to lose," the soldier said.

"You start tomorrow. My staff will brief you until then."

As the general moved to the door, the soldier made a request. "Can you fix me a TV and Internet? I gotta catch up."

They quickly brought him a TV set with a browser, and some food. The CNN news explained, among other things, why the crackdown on the cult had come so late.

"In the middle of the night, on orders from the ECT Security Committee, American troops under the U.N. stormed the cult compound of the Church of Ranmotani. This move came after a wave of suicides in other cult camps over the world. The cult's lawyers had for a long time been able to stall an impending search warrant, and the local police authorities have confessed to taking bribes to allow more cultists. Unfortunately, the troops came just too late to prevent another, the largest mass suicide to date. Three thousand cult members had drowned themselves. No survivors have been reported found yet..."

The soldier thought of his invisible benefactor, who had been absent for so long, and who might or might not be connected to the alien visitors: If you can see all this violence and misery we keep inflicting upon each other, please don't judge us too harshly. Man is but an ape, that aspires to godhood... and so am I.

Alien Beach was finally within the soldier's reach. And the funny thing was, he could no longer get excited about it. Because he would still be trapped on Earth, and - was he the first one to understand something so obvious? - as long as the Sirians stayed on Earth, they too were trapped there, besieged by mankind.

I'll ask you to take me with you. I know you will have to say no. But I'll ask anyway, he thought.

"The head of the ECT team left the U.N. Headquarters among much turmoil, and is said to be returning to Alien Beach in the Pacific Ocean as soon as possible. The U.N. Security Council has now decided to step up the military presence around Alien Beach, in the face of increasing threats against the Sirians. A small security force will be dispatched to 'ensure the safety of the ECT and the Sirians against direct terrorist attacks.'

"Though the original agreement with the Sirians expressly forbids any weapons inside the island's perimeter, the Council has managed to sidestep the no-arms clause: a platoon of U.S. Marines equipped with unloaded, plugged firearms will soon be stationed on the island. Analysts assume that the aircraft circling the airspace will be on permanent standby to drop ammo and weapons supplies to the troops.

"Today, political analyst Gore Wyndham made this statement..."

"The extra troops are obviously an intrusion on the agreement with the Sirians. The real reason for their presence is for the Pentagon to keep a closer scrutiny of the scientists and the visitors. The issue is control, and of course espionage. I'd like to warn the Sirians; their safety cannot be guaranteed, in spite of - or because of the military presence."

The soldier had missed out on the live broadcast of Carl Sayers' speech to the General Assembly. Bits and pieces of it were being re-run constantly, jumbled and incoherent, but - he understood enough.

The visions had a real outside source. And the source had a center.

"I'm dreaming. This must be a dream."

DAY 118

"You must believe me when I say I tried to stop them," Carl told the assembled team. "We must be strong now, and not let ourselves be intimidated."

The team members were silent, sullen. His voice, his drawn face betrayed a sense of defeat; the chaos in the U.N. had drained a little of his spirit. Yet a little more spirit had gone upon Carl's return to Alien Beach: half the team had handed in their resignations.

Everywhere he turned, it seemed to him now, people were lining up to betray him. He was unprepared, however, for the blow that followed after the meeting. Lazar, also showing signs of burn-out, asked to see him in private.

"My government has pressured me to resign," he confessed. "The Egyptian president just sent me a personal message... said I would be a blasphemer and a traitor to mankind if I stayed here. And General Harrod's people are making phone calls to me each day, insinuating I must be a spy for the 'Arabs'."

The old psychologist's hands were shaking. He seemed like eighty years instead of his sixty.

"What? Has the Security Committee been threatening you?"

Lazar nodded imperceptibly; Carl saw now, how bloodshot his friend's eyes were.

"It isn't safe for me to return to Cairo either; the fundamentalist factions are telling the public that I am a fifth-column, and the government can't or won't stop them from trying to kill me."

Carl struck the wall of his barrack with his fist. His anger was amplified by his own memory of Lazar's recorded dream from a week ago. He had shared Lazar's own emotions and aspirations, felt his private pain literally.

"Damned idiots! I tried to make them understand. I showed them, the leaders of the world, the tape of the Ancestors... and they started to shout 'humbug' at me. They don't want to trust the evidence! And now the troops are landing on this island, without even asking the Sirians permission first... what will they think?"

"You could always bail out in protest," Lazar said, his voice weak. "You look exhausted."

Mats had already warned Carl that he ought to take a vacation, but Carl dared not. He would not give up this great responsibility.

"If I quit, Harrod would grasp the opportunity to step in with his jackbooted morons. I warned the President about that man, but I'm not sure he listened."

Lazar laughed. "I'll stay! You've convinced me..." He gave his friend a hearty hug. "...that you need all the support you can get. I'd be a coward to let you down now."

Carl shook his hand. "Thanks, Lazar. Just give me a nudge if I start to go ga-ga, okay?"

His phone vibrated, and he picked it up. It was General Harrod again. Carl listened through the message, and hung up.

"The reinforcements are on their way in," he told Lazar. "Let's come and greet them."

Carl announced the news over the intercom system, and asked everyone human to gather at the lagoon's northern edge.

Less than an hour later, Carl and his team stood and witnessed as two military landing vessels hit the beach.

The stern hatches opened into ramps; out marched a platoon of soldiers in khaki uniforms and flak jackets, carrying heavy backpacks. From the second vessel, prefabricated barracks were unloaded, not unlike those the scientists were using. A truck unloaded a few tons of bottled water. Last came a camping trailer with the text CAPTAIN'S OFFICE stenciled on it.

The soldier was equipped just like the other Marines. He had been "officially" reinstated in service as an ordinary grunt, but technically speaking he was still a retired soldier. Only General Harrod and his aide should know that the soldier was an undercover agent for the ECT Security Committee.

The moment the soldier stepped onto the beach, his stomach twisted into a knot and his legs felt unsteady. The other soldiers looked nervous as well, casting anxious glances around the beach. There were no aliens in sight, no blue dots zipping by - just a few scattered metal artifacts standing here and there in the open places. He told himself to calm down - maybe he would become disappointed and think that they were smaller than they had seemed on TV.

Carl thought to himself that by now, the Sirian machines had probably learned to read the emotions of all humans in the vicinity - so the amphibians would stay down in their ship, until their instruments read "land-humans have stabilized" or the like.

A captain came up to Carl and introduced himself, asked to use the northern edge of the lagoon for the platoon's barracks, and handed over some documents from General Harrod.

"Just some formal questionnaires he'd like you to fill in and send back, Mr. Sayers," said the captain. "Don't worry about us, we won't disturb your important work. If you need a few extra hands, don't hesitate to ask. We're here to help, you know."

"Yes, of course," Carl said indifferently.

"By the way, when do the Sirians usually come up to... you know, communicate?"

"When they feel like it. A lot of the time it's we who come down to see them. If you feel like diving in the lagoon, there's scuba gear over there in the shack."

"I see... is Bishop Soto here?"

"That's him over there."

The captain peered past the pointing scientist and spotted the bishop. Carl noticed the surprise on the captain's face. Had Edmund really lost that much weight?

The soldier couldn't help but ogle the scientists and the bishop as he marched past. He recognized most of their faces from the media, including the famous astronomer Carl Sayers. The soldier had seen the man's television programs and even read some of his books. If there was anyone who had spent a lifetime preparing for contact with extraterrestrials, it had to be Sayers... though he did seem weary.

The sergeant shouted at his platoon to start helping out with assembling the barracks. All the time during work, the soldiers kept looking for aliens, but none showed up.

After sunset, Ann sneaked out behind her barrack, making sure none of the soldiers saw her, and made her way to the southern cape. There she waited throughout the night.

DAY 119

Ann woke up at daybreak and she was still alone.

She started back toward the barracks, when a peep came from the ground. Ann discovered a small silvery blob, no larger than her thumb, clinging to her canvas bag like a leech. The miniscule device sent out another tinny peep. She touched it, and felt it stir minutely.

A recorded, tinny voice came from it: "Of course, you have so much better things instead. Metal pets..."

Her own words. Ann plucked the thing from the bag and held it to her lips. It was silly and weak and pointless of her to cry; and maybe someone, someone she couldn't see was watching... someone who had flown right through her hand... a being in a state of neither energy nor matter... the next phase in Oanss' existence.

He had always seemed to be quite pleased with his present form; no Sirian showed contempt for being flesh and blood and blubber. Maybe to them life was just... an education of sorts. What then, would Oanss learn from his visit to this planet, this island? Ann couldn't think of anything except sadness. She wiped her eyes and put the metal blob in her pocket.

Standing on a low cliff, she could see how the landing vessels were pulling back into the sea, leaving the camouflage-painted new barracks at the northern cape, nearly half a kilometer from her position. She thought of her father, whom she had only seen on an old photograph - a negative space in her memory - who had impregnated her mother more than thirty years ago, then abandoned her and Ann, to go and get killed in some stupid, senseless war.

Then, Ann wished she could chase away the soldiers; she resented them for always taking orders, and the officers for giving the orders. There seemed to be no escape from soldiers; her work had taught her that all primates were that way. Ranks, orders, hierarchies... the leader of a pack of chimps wasn't much different in behavior from a general. (There was a rare species, the bonobi, who were much less aggressive and militaristic, but African natives were exterminating them and would probably succeed within the next fifty years.)

Dolphins were comparatively less aggressive than primates... and so were the Sirians. Only, they hadn't really originated from Sirius. They called themselves "humans," or their equivalent of that word. Andrea had shown the team her own research with gene samples donated from a Sirian. They had DNA molecules in their cells, no different in form and function than any other life on Earth; all genes were written in the universal language of chemistry. Andrea was hoping to decode the gene samples and make a model of the previous species that the Sirians had evolved from.

In Andrea's working hypothesis, the amphibian ancestor was a seal-like creature that could breathe either water or air. Roughly the size of a man, it sported a pair of long, fleshy appendages on its sides. Its legs were probably no more than two knees and feet at the time; the creature lived among the rocks and reefs of long, shallow lagoons and spent most of its time underwater.

Then, perhaps twenty million years ago or less, the amphibians began to develop legs; the appendages grew stronger, the amphibians learned to crawl, and could make progressively longer inland treks.

The factors that triggered this development could have been many - fierce competition for space and food underwater, or the need to escape predators by switching terrain fast, or just the need to migrate by land during periods of cold, unstable seas. Time took care of the rest... Yet, that was all guesswork: the Sirians had said nothing of their origins and maybe hadn't found out themselves - their sights were set elsewhere.

Ann made herself a promise: she should not distract Oanss from his life's path. She would not make him feel sad for her. But she couldn't quite shake the sensation that his gift was getting warmer in her pocket, and she stuck her hand there to hold the little metal blob.

It briefly turned warmer, close to her own body temperature. Maybe it was a spy microphone. It didn't matter. Maybe those Ancestors were swirling around her at this very moment, reading her every thought. Didn't matter.

In time, they would head elsewhere; there was nothing here for them to dwell on.

His gift spread warmth through her hand.

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