Chapter 3 – The Alien Assembly
“Who could guess the museum was so large? I've never seen so much green.”
Contrary to the impression I realize exists outside the museum, one does not immediately face a stranger after entering the inner chambers. The strangers' inner chambers represent an engineering marvel, both to the brood and to the strangers. The ceilings hide far above sight and shadows and disguise any enclosing wall. Plant life native to the strangers' home world grows throughout the rooms and shades the inner chambers in soothing green hues. The strangers work with us to closely monitor the status of their indoor ecosystem to decrease the chances of their biological systems mingling with ours, and to guard against contaminates that might threaten our two distinct natures. As the strangers say, science is sometimes a cruel study of separation.
“The sights flood the eyes,” I offer. “Close your eyes, Ah'Wren, and listen.”
Ah'Wren follows my advice and lets the sounds take her attention.
“The sounds are recorded,” I explain. “The strangers tell me the noises help them sleep.”
I hold Ah'Wren's hand once more as I notice her colors rapidly blanch, a natural defense mechanism the brood evolved in the wild to help camouflage our scales during danger. I squeeze a little reassurance into her fingers. I too felt afraid when I first met the strangers. The strangers would not be offended. Their native world also held danger and fear.
“It's always good to see you, Un'Yhe.”
The mechanism that rolls along a path to us is not a stranger. Rather, the mechanism is a shell of wheels and appendages through which the strangers view much of the museum. The strangers are too fragile to move about our chambers. They would break if they attempted to move through our halls without assistance. Thus the strangers directed us in the construction of the mechanisms that whirl about the inner chambers to extend the strangers' senses to any corner that attracts their curiosity. A pair of camera lenses mounted to a robotic arm nods a greeting towards Ah'Wren.
“Good morning,” Ah'Wren swallows her anxiety to speak to the nodding machine.
Laughter floats from the speakers mounted on the mechanism.
“Good morning,” returns the voice. “You honor us, Un'Yhe, with yet another astute archivist. We look forward to meeting her.”
I smile and tap my tail upon the floor to show both parties my pleasure.
“Hello, Marcus,” I speak. “Let me introduce you to Ah'Wren of the azure brood and first degree archivist of the silver robes.”
“We're sure her colors will do us proud,” Marcus responds. “I make the others jealous by first meeting the two of you along the path, but I couldn't wait to meet your new archivist. We're a lot to take in, and I thought I might make the trip a little easier if I first introduced myself in the mechanism.”
“Forgive me if I seem overwhelmed,” Ah'Wren pleads.
I nod to the mechanism. “She is ready, Marcus. She has worked hard to learn of your kind.”
The mechanism folds and twists its appendages in a gesture of struts and gears that I have come to recognize as a sign of respect. “Then, Ah'Wren of the azure brood and the silver robes, I hope we do not disappoint. Give me the pleasure of escorting you to our most intimate of rooms.”
Marcus' mechanism twirls and we follow the device further down the path. We twist around shady corners and duck beneath green branches. My scales deepen in color. Today will be a crimson day for me, a happy day for a descendent of my brood, a day when my color shines brightly. I have known the strangers since their arrival. I have overseen the construction of our museum. I have supervised the acquisition of its greatest relics and treasures. And still, the wonder of seeing those strangers firsthand does not abandon me.
The vibrant and blooming flowers of the strangers' home world tell me we near the innermost rooms. Marcus's mechanism folds upon itself as its inhabitant's spirit retreats. Another set of giant, double doors swing open as we near them. I slow my steps so that Ah'Wren will have the honor of stepping first into the chamber.
My scales shine when I hear Ah'Wren gasp in wonder.
I have known the strangers for so long, but still, I too hold my breath.
All fourteen of the surviving strangers are gathered to greet us. The lights are dim so that the strangers shimmer in the tall cylinders that house them. They are incredible creatures to behold. Each stranger's height well exceeds any of the brood's, and their length is further emphasized as the protein fluids that bath them float their forms in the middle of their tall tanks. Their alien heads are uncannily large and appear out of place atop their slender, wisp-like bodies. Dark eyes greet us. Such large eyes suffer in bright lighting so that we take care to keep their chambers’ lighting dim for the strangers' comfort. Though they show no signs of a tail, like us, the strangers possess a pair of arms and legs, long appendages each ending in a dozen, thin fingers that extend from the limbs without the structures of palms or feet. Their arms extend well beyond their slender waists and stop just shy of the knees of their long, slender legs. If ever forced to vacate the cylinders of fluids that house, feed and protect them, our planet's gravity would easily crush the strangers. They wear no clothing, and their smooth, unblemished skin casts a blue pallor. Strands of silver hair stream from the heads of the females to cascade over their shoulders and helped us, before we learned to discern the slight difference in their forms, determine female from male. They have no scales.
The strangers tell us that their forms have evolved from far different shapes, that their bodies had not always been so weak. They tell us that their kind had been strong before they left their home world to explore the vast spaces between the stars.
The strangers shimmer as they float in their nutrients. The effect reminds me of the way the sands of the White Shore sparkle within the museum. I have often quietly watched the small pinpoints of light circulate beneath the strangers' skin as they pulsate in their tanks. They never seem to mind when I so closely watch them shimmer. They tell me they have nothing to hide. They encourage Seh'Ulk to chart the lights to see if a change in their twinkling beat might betray any ailment.
No matter how many times I view them, I cannot prevent the feeling that I am gazing more intimately upon them than I ever have upon any of the broods.
“Welcome.”
I do not need to read the name tablets attached at the base of each cylinder to recognize Lisa's voice. The strangers look very much alike, but I have learned to distinguish them from the smallest characteristics of shape, light and voice.
“I speak for all of us, Ah'Wren, when I say we are looking forward to the stories you have to tell us. That we are excited for what you might show us.”
Ah'Wren's scales blush a deep purple. “But I am only an archivist.”
Lights flash and pulsate among the strangers. Illumination passes from one cylinder to the next. Their long bodies bob and swirl as if they swim and chase to catch the flowing light. Ah'Wren's response has pleased the strangers, who often show mirth in such games of glow.
“Everyone owns a story,” I hear Isaiah’s voice giggle from a cylinder in the middle of those gathered tubes.
The light dances further among the cylinders, and I hear the stranger named Madeline. “It's why we so love Un'Yhe. He has told us so many stories to lighten the weight of our age.”
The voice of Thomas speaks as his light blinks. “We love the stories of the broods. I often dream of taking those first steps from the sea upon the White Shore.”
“From the seas onto the land,” Marcus replies, with longing swirling in his voice.
Ah'Wren's tail taps the ground behind her, matching the beat of the lights leaping between the strangers' cylinders. I think of the old dances of the crimson brood, the dances born of the first age when those of the crimson scale waged war against the other colors. Ah'Wren's dancing seems so much more wonderful. Hers is a dance bringing two kinds together rather than apart.
The light bouncing
between the cylinders slows, and some of its illumination fades so that shadows again dominate the chamber. The room feels more solemn as the strangers slow in their cylinders.
“We forget ourselves, Ah'Wren,” Lisa speaks. “We are aliens upon your shore. We forget that we too have the obligation to tell stories. We should first give one of our own before we ask for so many of yours.”
Marcus' shape twinkles. “What story should we tell her?”
I step forward. “Tell her the story of the stars.”
“Un'Yeh asks for our best story first,” Isaiah chuckles.
The strangers in their cylinders share another round of lights before the chamber's luminescence fades to hardly any more than dark, as, one by one, the cylinders withdraw their glow until only Lisa's tube shimmers. Inside, Lisa's long arms and legs hardly sway as they float within their fluids. Her shimmering slows, and I feel my heartbeat calm.
“Un'Yhe has been telling his kind about our stars again,” Lisa speaks, “Stars, Ah'Wren, that twinkled and pulled us out of the water upon land, and then from land into the heavens.”
Marcus laughs. “Stop teasing, Lisa. Tell the story.”
I peek at Ah'Wren and do not need to judge the colors of her scales to see she is captivated. She will make a fine archivist.
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