Arrival

They're either a sinister bunch or utter fools. I suspect the
latter.


Naturally, meetings were called when the craft's trajectory
was first picked up by long-range transmitters. Meetings, always
meetings. The first decision was obvious - the public were not to know.
Now we only had to hope that these fools didn't plan to make a big show
of things, that they might contact us, that they might know who to
contact, that there might be even the tiniest possibility that we could
understand each other. Slim odds indeed.


The Parn religion centres on the belief that we are the sole
caretakers of this universe. Things could get messy, especially when
one considers that nearly twenty per cent of people of this planet are
Parnim There's a few minor cults of small numbers but far too many
armaments who could get overexcited by this whole deal.


Needless to say, the media sniff out something. 'Honoured
High Priestess of Science Qimak,' they begin, 'can you confirm or deny
that long-range transmitters have picked up signals of an interstellar
craft apparently on course for this planet?'


The only appropriate answer seems to be 'No.'


Before we're even sat down Prebis is off with the questions
'Do we have a planet of origin? What is the size of the craft? How many
beings might it be holding? Does it appear to be armed? Can we
establish communication with the craft?' Never stops.


Transmission beams are being swept across the atmosphere in
the hope that something will be picked up that our systems can
interpret, the background hissing projected into the Temple of Science
meeting room. 'Are they likely to employ anything like the Lenk
Resonance Principle?' Prebis continues.


His question is answered with a snatch of noise - it appears
to be a voice. A strange, rumbling sound, quite unpleasant. Then it is
gone. We freeze. It was, in fact, a terrible sound. Then comes another,
so kind of music, percussive, strange. The beams are focussing in on
the trajectory of the craft. The music becomes shockingly clear, as if
it were being played in the room itself. Alien music. Prebis looks icy,
Jecsa begins to smile 'It almost reminds one of the music of Bartis
Kren?' she says softly. The snob! Always dragging out the name of some
obscure composer to show her learning. Still, she is my lover and it's
moments like this that remind me of why. She always sees something good
even in fear.


The meeting drags on inconclusively, although the less
militarily-inclined of us offer the suggestion that the transmission of
music indicates a non-aggressive stance. The transmission has changed
now - it a selection of different voices, all saying just one word,
sometimes two. After a while the message seems to loop - again and
again the odd sounds, things like 'slam alkum', 'bonyor', 'shlom',
'drasvee' 'hehlo'. Ber, Priest of Psychology, is the first to suggest
that these are all greetings, but whether many from one tongue or many
we cannot tell. The Priest of Linguistics will have to be called up
from the university 3,000 miles away to see if he can shed any light
upon the situation. The propulsion technicians reckon that it is three
to fives days away from landing, depending on the craft's braking
method.


Jecsa, bless her, is all for some kind of big welcome party
with the great and the good invited, as if we were truly qualified to
say who that is. The military, of course, want heavy weaponry in the
area. This is the result of two life-cycles of peace - generals with
their finger aching on the trigger.


Eventually it is decided that most of the Priest-Council is
to stay away, that it could be dangerous for all of us to be present.
Over-Priestess Gulchum will be present in fractal-projection form, I
myself physically present. Jecsa now gets a little nervous but I assure
her that I consider myself highly unlikely to be vapourised by some
outlandish weapon when the craft's occupants seem to be attempting to
send us greetings.


It becomes apparent that the starcraft is heading for a
landing point on the desert plains near the trading post of Ghij
Harimuh and I will need to hurry to be present in time. More
importantly, the military and police must hurry to clear Ghij Harimuh
and think of some convincing reason for doing so; a return of the Qun
virus to the water supply is settled on as a plausible one. Fortunately
the planetary trade conference has recently passed, making clearance a
far easier task than usual - the post will be in semi-hibernation
already.


A cruiser is obtained from the military to glide me to my
destination. As I watch its elegant bulk drift towards me I am seized
by the sudden feeling that whatever emerges from the craft will be
nothing we expect, or could expect. The suns are low in the sky and the
dying constellation of Jin casts its dismal light across the hills. It
is believed that the alien craft will land shortly after minor dawn
tomorrow.


The minor sun is creeping its white light over the edges of
the desert when the dot in the sky is first sighted by eyes alone. We
rush to the hastily erected platform, excited, frightened, angry at
this unasked-for intrusion on our happily predictable
lives.


The descent is quick - the craft is small and unimpressive,
dwarfed by the cruiser. In fact, it is quite shabby, the coating
material is tarnished, panels appear to be hanging half off. In fact, a
small part of its landing struts detaches itself and falls to the
ground, steaming as the craft settles itself. It is not a grand
entrance.


The underwhelming effect is completed when what appears to be
a walkway hatch squeals slowly downwards with a painful noise then
appears to become stuck halfway. We're all too nervous and puzzled to
laugh and we give it some time to see if it becomes operational or if
any beings appear to rectify the situation.


They don't. It's hard to know what to do - any attempt to
force the hatch may be taken as aggression from the beings inside. A
wailing noise can be heard from within, the sound of a stuck mechanism.
Then there's a crash and the walkway thuds into the ground. Blue light
eminates from within. No one appears. Presumably there's supposed to be
a complete line of red lights down the walkway, but some are broken and
the line is jagged. The face on the fractal projection of the
Over-Priestess is non-plussed.


After some dragging, awkward time, I decide, as the most
senior official there, that I will board the craft with a cadre of
guards. There is some concern that it may be a trap, but I doubt that
this craft or its makers are that ingenious.


There is a design stencilled towards the front of the craft;
a set of red stripes and some images that seem to suggest white stars
against a blue square. I climb up the stairwell, the scale of which
suggests beings of a similar stature to us. The interior is minute.
Most of the vessel must be taken up by engines and machinery. There is
some kid of chair-frame at the front, but it is empty. Lights flash
coldly. It would appear that it landed automatically, something we have
not managed to programme for our meagre spacecraft. One of the guards
shouts. I turn round to see a form in a translucent cavity in the wall.
It looks atrophied. It is dead. Another is next to it, then, in smaller
cavities, some other forms, evidently of some animals, quadrupedal like
many of ours. But exactly how they looked in life we may never quite
know. A ship of corpses? initially I wonder who would send out such a
ship, until the obvious conclusion dawns.


This ship has come too far, or its mechanisms have failed its
occupants too soon. Gods! The questions will be maddening! Did they
come from a thriving world? Were they outcasts? Survivors of a dead
place? Corpses are taboo in most of our society, but I turn to one. A
woman, more or less the same in form as myself, but, it would appear,
lacking a coat of fur. Purely covered in skin, now shrivelled like a
dried fruit. Maybe she was once beautiful. Though I am of no religion
myself, I mutter a Parn death-oath prayer on their
behalf.


I descend to a wide-eyed crowd and tell them 'They are dead'.
The craft and occupants will be taken to a facility beneath the desert
for study.