Brin, David - Those Eyes

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2024-12-24 0 0 143.35KB 6 页 5.9玖币

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THOSE EYES

David Brin

“… So you want to talk about flying saucers? I was afraid of that.

“This happens every damn time I’m blackmailed into babysitting you insomniacs, while Talkback

Larry escapes to Bimini for a badly needed rest. I’m supposed to field call-in questions about astronomy

and outer space for two weeks. You know, black holes and comets? But it seems we always have to spend

the first night wrangling over puta UFOs.

“… Now, don’t get excited, sir … Yeah, I’m just a typical ivory tower scientist, out to repress

unconventional thought. Whatever you say, buddy.

“Truth is, I’ve also dreamed of contact with alien life. In fact, I’m involved in research now … That’s

right, SETI … the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence … And no, it’s not at all like chasing UFOs! I

don’t believe the Earth has ever been visited by anything remotely resembling intelligent …

“Yes, sir, I bet you’ve got crates full of case histories, and a personal encounter or two? Thought so. I

got an earful when some of us tried studying these ‘phenomena’ a few years back. Spent weeks on each

case, only to find it was just a weather balloon, or an airplane, or ball lightning …

“… Oh, yeah? Well, I’ve seen ball lightning, fella. Got a scar on my nose and a pair of melted

binoculars to show just how close. So don’t tell me it’s a myth like your chingaso flying saucers!”

We commence our labours this night in England, near Avebury, braiding strands of yellow wheat in tidy,

flattened rings. It is happy work, playing lassos of light upon the sea of grain. These will be fine circles.

Humans will see pictures in their morning papers, and wonder.

Our bright ether-boat hovers, bathed in the approving glow of Mother Moon. The sleek craft wears a

lambent gloss to make it slippery to mortal eyes.

To be seen is desirable. But never too well.

Fyrfalcon proclaims, “Keep the edges sharp! Make each ring perfect! Let men of science jabber about

natural phenomena. We’ll have new believers after this night’s work!”

Once, he might have been called ‘King’. But we adapt to changing times. “Yes, Captain!” we shout, and

hurry to our tasks.

Our Listener calls from her perch. “We are being discussed on a human radio programme! Would all like to

hear?”

We cry cheerful assent. Although we loathe Mankind’s technology, it often serves our ends.

“Let’s cover your second question, caller. Are UFO enthusiasts so different from we astronomers,

probing with our telescopes for signs of life somewhere? Both groups long to discover other minds, other

viewpoints, something strange and wonderful.

“We part company, though, over the question of evidence. Science teaches us to expect – demand –

more than just eerie mysteries. What use is a puzzle that can’t be solved?

“Patience is fine, but I’m not going to stop asking the universe to make sense!”

The boy drives faster than he wants to, taking hairpin turns recklessly to impress the girl next to him.

He needn’t get in such a lather; she is ready. She had already decided when the night was young. Now she

laughs, feigning nonchalance as road posts streak by and her heart races.

The convertible climbs under opal moonlight. Her bare knee brushes his hand, making him muff the gears.

He coughs, fighting impulses more ancient than his race, swerving just in time to keep from roaring over the

edge.

I sense their excitement. He is half-blind with desire. She by anticipation.

They are unaware of our approach.

At a secluded Cliffside, he sets the brake and turns to her. She teases him playfully, in ways meant to

inflame. There is no ambiguity.

We circle behind, enjoying such simple, honest lusts. Backing away, we dip over the cliff, then cruise along

its face until directly below them.

We turn on all our pulsing glows to make our craft its gaudiest!

We start to rise.

No one will believe their story. But more than one kind of seed will have been sown tonight.

THOSE EYES

“There’s a saying that applies here. “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.” While Project

SETI hasn’t logged any verified signals from the few stars we’ve looked at, that doesn’t prove nobody’s

out there!

“… Yeah, sure. The same could apply to UFOs, if you insist.

“But while SETI has to sift a vast cosmos for radio sources – a real case of hunting needles in

haystacks – it’s harder to explain the absence of decent evidence for flying saucers on Earth. It’s a small

planet, after all. If ETs have been mucking around here for as long as some folks say, isn’t it funny they

never dropped any clear-cut alien artefacts for us to examine? Say, the Martian equivalent of a coke

bottle?”

We are flying over eastern Canada on key-patrol … creating temporary, microscopic singularities in random

houses to swallow wallets, car keys, homework assignments. Meanwhile some of us reach out to invade the

dreams of sleeping men and women, those most susceptible.

Gryffinloch plays the radio show in the background as we work. We laugh as this idiotic scientist talks of

‘alien artefacts’.

Such stupid assumptions! We do not make things of hard, unyielding matter! I have never held a coke

bottle. Even those human babes we steal, to raise as our own, find painful the latent heat in glass and metal,

which were forged in flame.

Men have built their proud new civilisation around such things. But why, when they had us? Can iron

nourish as we do? We deal in a different heat. Ours inflames the heart.

“Yes, yes … For those of you who don’t read the Enquirer, this caller’s asking my opinion of one of the

most famous UFO tales – about a ship that supposedly crashed in New Mexico, right after World War II.

‘They’ have been clandestinely studying the wreckage in a hangar at an Air Force Base in Dayton for

forty years, right?

“Now, isn’t that news to just boil the blood of honest citizens? There goes the big bad government,

keeping secrets from us again!

“But wait, suppose we do have remnants of some super-duper, alien warp-drive scout ship from

Algerdeberon Eleventeen. Do you see any technologies pouring out of Ohio that look like they came from

outer space? I mean, besides supermarket checkout scanners – I’ll grant you those.

“Come on, would our balance of payments be in the shape it’s in if …

“… Oh yes? It’s just being kept top secret? Okay, here’s a second question. Just who do you suppose

has been discreetly studying the wreckage all this time?

“… Government engineers. Uh-huh. Have you ever met an engineer, pal? They’re not faceless

drones like in some stupid secret agent movie. At least most aren’t. They’re intelligent Americans like

you and me, with wives and husbands and kids.

“How many thousands of people would’ve worked on that alien ship since ’48? Picture these retired

coots, playing golf, pottering in the garage, running Rotary fundraisers … and all this time repressing an

urge to blab the story of the century?

“All of ‘em? In today’s America? Come on, friend. Let’s put aside this Hangar 18 crap and get back

to UFOs, where at least there’s something worth arguing about!”

I yearn to swoop down and give this talk-show scientist a taste of ‘proof’. I will curdle the milk on his

doorstep and give him nightmares. I’ll play havoc with his utilities. I will …

I’ll do nothing. I don’t wish to see this golden ship evaporate like dew on a summer’s morn. Our numbers

are too small and Fyrfalcon has decreed – we must show ourselves only to receptive ones, whose minds can still

be moulded in the old ways.

I look up at the moon’s stark, cratered landscape. Our home of refuge, of exile. Even there, they followed

us, these New Men. An ectoplasmic vapour is all that remains where some of our kind once tried putting fright

to their explorers. We learned a hard lesson then – that astronauts are not like argonauts of old.

Their eyes were filled with that mad, sceptical glow, and none can stand before it.

“This is Professor Joe Perez, sitting in for Talkback Larry. You’re on the air.

“Yes? Uh huh? … Well folks, seems our next caller wants to talk about so-called Ancient Visitors.

I’m game. Let’s pick apart those ‘gods’ and their fabulous chariots.

“Ooh, they taught ancient Egyptians to build pyramids! And golly, they had some of my own

ancestors scratch stick figures on a stony plateau in Peru! To help spaceships find landing pads, right? I

guess the notion’s barely plausible, till you ask … why?

“Why would anyone want such ridiculous ‘landing pads’, when they could’ve had much better? Why

not open a small trade college and teach our ancestors to pour cement? A few electronics classes and we

could’ve made arc lamps and radar to guide their saucers through anything from rain to locusts!

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THOSEEYESbyDavidBrin“…Soyouwanttotalkaboutflyingsaucers?Iwasafraidofthat.“ThishappenseverydamntimeI’mblackmailedintobabysittingyouinsomniacs,whileTalkbackLarryescapestoBiminiforabadlyneededrest.I’msupposedtofieldcall-inquestionsaboutastronomyandouterspacefortwoweeks.Youknow,blackholesandcomets?Buti...

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Brin, David - Those Eyes

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