A.R.Yngve
ALIEN BEACH

Chapter Thirty-One

Carl had finally fallen asleep inside the protective capsule, when it began to stir again.

"We're moving upward!" Lazar said hopefully.

The machine had served them some water, but done nothing else for hours - they badly needed to visit a bathroom. The machine vibrated and burred madly for several minutes, then lurched and turned over. The two round exit hatches sprung open, and the morning sun blinded the two men. All was calm outside, save for the sound of the gently rolling seas, the rustle of a faint wind in the trees, and flocks of seagulls circling the area.

The sky was a bright, uniform blue - as if last night had been but a dream... They awkwardly climbed out of the pod, onto the surface of the island, right where they had escaped into the pod the night before.

"Look!" gasped Carl, pointing to the huge submarine wreck on the northern side of the beach.

There was another wreck sticking up from the water out at the lagoon. Palmtrees were burned; scores of uniformed Arabs were squatting down in the shadow of the stranded submarine. Next to Carl and Lazar, several other pod-machines dug themselves up like busy ants - the other scientists were let outside, squinting in the sun. Carl was happy to see that Takeru, Edmund, and Mats came out safe and sound, if a little wobbly.

"Where's Ann?" he asked them; she had never appeared when the machines opened. "And Andrea, and Bruce?"

"Use their cell phone numbers!" suggested Takeru, already pulling out his own phone. Carl punched in the code and waited... No answer from Ann's number. Maybe she had lost her phone in the commotion.

"I've found Bruce and Andrea!" Takeru called out to Carl, phone to his ear. "They were evacuated by the troops just in time!"

"Good! It was great of them to volunteer for that little diversion. But maybe it wasn't necessary after all, fooling the troops into thinking we were in the submerged lander. Send my thanks. I've got to look for Ann..."

As he spoke, Carl and the others hurried back to their barracks.

Takeru stayed to watch the stranded newcomers. It unnerved him to see so many military people on the island, but they seemed passive. The noise of approaching helicopters, several of them, came from the sea. Was the military going to land and take over the island after all?

Takeru's concerns were answered by an uproar from the lagoon. The sound of the surfacing lander vessel was deafening - every man felt the vibrations in the air and in his feet. It rose on a bed of hot jet streams, forcing Takeru to run for cover even from a hundred meters away; the huge dark manta-shape hovered in a plume of clouds, and slowly moved in toward the beach.

The submarine castaways panicked. Some rushed into the water and tried to swim away, but soon gave up. Others just stared at the weird vehicle, that to them must have vaguely resembled a futuristic submarine. The lander vessel settled down on the lagoon's beach, throwing up clouds of sand; huge black pontoons were rapidly inflated under it to support its weight.

The vessel came to a rest several meters above ground, the pontoons creaking gently in the breeze. The arriving helicopters, a dozen of them, made a sweep around the island and retreated back to their base.

Carl, alerted by the thunderous noise, ran up to the lagoon's edge and stopped. He arched his neck backward to see the top of the sleek black hull - when a metallic sound came from up there. A Sirian peered down from the top of the vessel, and waved at the scientists standing below on the ground. By way of some sort of elevator, eleven Sirians descended to the beach.

First came Namonnae, somber-looking and holding one hand on the shoulder of Ranmotanii, beside her.

Then the young-looking Mnmnonns, carrying a bundle of flutes in a pouch.

Aonasann, communicating to someone (maybe the ship itself) via a small device clasped onto his blocky head.

Moanossoans, the tall female who smiled so much, pointing excitedly at the group of stranded newcomers.

Snaoosnee, the aged flat-chested female, her sleek face filled with wonder at the sights around her.

Tmmtenaa, shy but smiling furtively at the scientists as he set his feet on the ground. After him came a few others - only Oanss was missing.

And last came Oanorrn, the oldest one, sitting on the descending elevator, supported by... a soldier?

Carl vaguely recognized the uniformed stranger as one of the platoon members who General Harrod had posted out on Alien Beach. The man came up to Carl and extended a hand for a shake; he seemed controlled and upbeat. Carl mutely shook hands, frowning at the bulge in the soldier's forehead and his gray hair. How old was he really?

"Where are the other soldiers?" Carl asked him.

"They won't come back, Mr. Sayers. We just picked up a newscast; General Harrod resigned from his ECT post a few hours ago. The President has promised the amphibians, in public, that no more military personnel will come near the island for the rest of the one-year period. He apologized on behalf of mankind for the attack, and pledged to start immediate peace negotiations with the attacking states."

"Peace negotiations? You mean... negotiating for the Sirians?"

The soldier laughed. Oanorrn merely seemed puzzled.

"As if the amphibians were ever at war with anyone on this planet! They'll just go back to their schedule."

Carl took a deep breath; the situation was unreal.

"But... Oanorrn. They tried to kill you... what if they try again?"

"'Theey' wwill noot trry againn. Noow we wiill mmake musiic wwith thhose peoplle. Bee haappy, and llike soo wee thhank the Aancestooors!"

The old amphibian made a few click-sounds - a chortle? and slowly walked away, the soldier supporting his gait. The two were heading for the submarine wreck, conversing in English like old friends - Carl heard with increasing amazement that the soldier was using some amphibian sounds as well.

The man laughed with click-sounds and spoke a few land-language phrases with a hint of singing intonation. The female Sirian with the flute bundle hurried after them, joined by Moanossoans.

What was going on here? At least Carl knew what the flushed, burning sensation in his face and gut was - raw, selfish envy. But he ignored that and called his wife on the phone; she was overjoyed to hear he was alive and well.

They both spent two hours talking. Twice during their conversation, Carl saw a message flashing on the phone's tiny screen: the President was trying to call him. Carl happily ignored him as well, and kept talking to his wife. He felt so certain all danger was over, he even promised to try and get her a pass to visit the island.

"That would be wonderful," Carl's wife said, "you think they would grant us that privilege?"

"My dear - in an infinite universe, anything is possible!" He forgot about Ann, wherever she was - probably in a safe place.

"Today's program will be several hours long, concentrating on the many aspects of the aborted standoff between the Sirian visitors and the Khadi alliance.

"During nighttime in the Pacific Region, the awaited attack on Alien Beach was stopped under mysterious circumstances. Several unnatural storms have raged through the region all night, causing enormous damage to the Saudi-Iranian fleet. None of the fired missiles appear to have reached their intended targets - they disappeared from radar view just as they were about to hit Alien Beach.

"Even stranger, no casualties have been reported from either side; civilian ships are now picking up distress calls from all over the Pacific, from Saudi ships that have been wrecked. Several black balloons of unknown origin are being found, which appear to have helped wrecked aircraft carriers and sailors to stay afloat and shielded them from injury.

"From the capital of Saudi Arabia, this just came in: King Khadi has been declared unfit for office, and the parliament has taken over control of government from the ruling family. All military forces are now being ordered withdrawn from the Pacific. From Iran, Iraq and Kuwait, similar orders are being issued. No explanation has come from either country, except the usual rumor mill..."

As the day passed, the boats that Carl had requested from the fleet came in, with new food supplies and equipment to house the castaways until they could be shipped home.

Edmund, Takeru, and Mats took time off from their scientific work and joined the Sirians at the submarine wreck. Later in the afternoon, Carl came over and saw the strangest sight. The almost one hundred stranded castaways - Saudis and Iranians from the submarine crews, judging by their different uniforms - were peacefully gathered around the amphibians, with several bonfires, eating together... and singing.

Mnmnonns was playing an improvised flute quartet with three other flute-playing sailors. Aonasann was learning Arabic song from a grinning officer.

Carl strolled about the place until he located the soldier, sitting next to Oanorrn. They stopped talking when he came - Carl felt excluded, though he sensed something profound was going on. In spite of his doubts and misgivings, he spontaneously greeted the soldier with a smile.

"I see you're making progress with the newcomers. Congratulations!"

The soldier turned his attention to Carl, calm and benevolent. "Mr. Sayers, you're wondering what I'm doing here, who I'm working for - you deserve an answer. I assure you, I'm no longer working under governmental or military jurisdiction. This is a private matter entirely. In due time, I might be able to explain, but - as it is now, I suggest you just let things happen the way they happen and worry later. The Ancestors are still with us."

"I thought so. Thanks, whoever you are. Now, have you seen a blond, rather tall woman named Ann Meadbouré? She's been out of sight ever since last night."

"The Sirians told me she was meeting Oanss over at the southern cape."

Carl was about to go there, then realized it would be pointless. He opened the suitcase he had brought along, produced his violin, and began to play along. The jam session included several elements - Arabic folk music, English pop music from the 1960s, amphibian song and chanting-calls, and Bach by violin. The looming submarine wreck caused an interesting resonance effect, which gave the tones more volume.

For a few hours, before the outside world gathered the courage to approach, the island was a happy place to be - almost like the first feast between amphibians and humans. If the Sirian lander vessel, which lay still at the beach facing the lagoon, was alive like the amphibians had hinted, it might have heard the music being played.

It lay silent, though, like a stranded sea creature from another world guarding its eggs.

At the southern cape, Ann sat with Oanss and watched the sun set - and listened to the music and laughter from the other side of the small island.

A great melancholy overcame Ann, for the sounds reminded her of the first party on Alien Beach, when she had first shared a meal with an amphibian. She sat at arm's length from him on a flat, curved rock, perfectly still. Oanss was equally immobile; they had been that way for two hours.

Both knew what separated them. One would never die, the other might live perhaps fifty or eighty years more; they were too genetically diverse to have children, and belonged to cultures so different in age and customs that the situation bordered on the absurd. Both also knew, now, what attracted them to each other. Neither had touched the other once during the two hours; what had happened, had happened - but it changed nothing. The situation remained impossible.

Some part of Ann, the part that had made her cut her hair like a Sirian, refused to accept the obvious. That part was thinking up what she ought to tell him:

You can persuade them let me come with you! To hell with the rest of mankind - you can make one exception. I know I'm not as good a person as you, but I don't want to become an Ancestor.

I'd settle for a limited life, as long as it is with you! Why don't you stay here, with me! You would eventually see me die of old age before you become an Ancestor, and that would destroy you - your kind are no longer used to seeing their loved ones pass away... not for real. But you'd still have the memory of me! To hell with eternity. You said you wanted to die like me, you liar - if you really love me, you'd do that for me!

All the same, she hated herself for thinking so selfishly. Of course she had no right to demand that kind of sacrifice. She couldn't know what Oanss was thinking as they sat there - she had learned to read his face better, but this time it was particularly expressionless. Then, as if he had spent the day considering what to say, Oanss spoke - slowly, without meeting her gaze.

"Lllittle laand-hummman... thee Anccestors haave nevver spokeen to mme. Aand noot nnow, whhen I need theirr aaadvice. Haave theey comme to yyou Aann, inn paast timmme?"

Ann cleared her throat, hardly able to speak. "No. Never. But... I never asked them for advice."

She wasn't a religious person - and this wasn't quite religion. The Sirian Ancestors were real - and not in the everyday sense of the word. "How... how do you get contact with Ancestors? Can I... contact Ancestors who were related to you?"

"The Annceestors caan ssee eneergy iin all itss fforms... iff yyour thhoughts aare... cannoot translaate... llike so - a raadio cann abssorb the raadio signalls if iit iss tuuned to thhe rright ffrequennnciess... yyou uunderstannd?"

"I think I understand."

Her "radio" was PAL, his was NTSC. Different systems... and the Ancestor "station" didn't broadcast in her language. As long as her mind remained that of a land-human...

"I could have my body changed, mix your DNA with mine, and become more like your people. It could be done."

"Doo yyou wwant liike soo?"

Their eyes met. She wanted him to believe - tried to make her face neutral. There was a tiny metal blob lodged next to Oanss' left ear opening. He put one fingertip to the device; it made tinny sounds in his ear, and his eyes changed. He shook his head; they both knew.

"This is where I'm supposed to get all sentimental," she said, as if to herself. "The violins start playing."

In fact, they could hear the faint tones of Carl's violin playing in the distance - but it was a rendition of a partita by Bach, stringent and rational, not exactly romantic ambience.

"I can't cry any longer," she said. "Do your people cry? I mean, are you physically capable of weeping?"

"No."

"Are you sad now?"

"I aam maany kindss nnow."

"Same for me."

"I wwant youu to uunderstaand thhis diifficulty I haave nnow. I waant to liive, buut not. I amm noot uused too thhis paainn."

"My people are."

"Yyour peoplle haave thhings mmy peeople nnot haave. Too maake ssmaller oof painnn."

"Yes."

"Moost of alll thhe musiic."

She nodded. And finally, they managed to hold each other tightly, and held on until the sun had set. Then they parted ways, without a word. He walked up along the beach, to the huge silhouette of the lander vessel; she walked off to the barracks. The violin music kept playing Bach for a while, accompanied by flutes and song, until that too ceased.

At least, she thought (hoping he thought so too), they would be able to see each other for eight more months. The memory of that night before was still unfocused in her memory - she had not been injured in any way, yet... she could not quite recall what had happened, or would not let herself remember. A restraint that went beyond mere shame.

She cried then, in frustration over what could not be resolved.

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