There was more light back there. A small washroom was at one side, and someone had left the light on in it and the door ajar. There were several mismatched chairs behind the screen, and the usual hodgepodge of lighting equipment, microphone stands, anaconda-like ropes hanging from the ceiling, and lots of dust.
Ewell dropped his jacket, revealing the small submachine gun he’d had concealed under it. Tired of lugging it around, he placed the gun on the floor, then sat in one of the chairs.
Falsey took a different chair, intertwined his fingers behind his head, and leaned back, waiting patiently.
28
It was now 10:00 P.M. and traffic here, downtown, had dwindled to almost nothing. Hollus’s shuttle dropped silently from the sky, and landed not as it had the first time, out front of the planetarium, but rather behind the museum, along Philosopher’s Walk, a grassy U of T parkette that snaked from Varsity Stadium over toward Hart House. Although the shuttle’s descent had doubtless been observed by some, at least the ship wasn’t in open view from the street.
Christine Dorati had insisted on being here for the arrival of the aliens. We’d talked about the best way to handle security and had decided that simply keeping everything quiet made the most sense; if we asked for police or military support, that would have just drawn crowds. By this late date, we only had a handful of nut cases hanging around the museum, and none were ever seen this late at night — it was public knowledge that Hollus and I kept normal business hours.
Things had been strained between us ever since Christine had tried to oust me, but I rather suspected, looking at me today, that she knew the end was getting near regardless. I still avoided mirrors, but I could see the reactions other people were having to me: the forced, insincere comments about me looking well, looking fit, the handshakes that were free of pressure, lest my bones might shatter, the involuntary ever-so-slight shaking of heads as people who hadn’t seen me for weeks caught sight of my current state. Christine was going to get her way soon enough.
We’d watched the shuttle land while standing in the alleyway between the ROM and planetarium; Philosopher’s Walk was not the sort of place you wanted to hang around after dark. Hollus, a second Forhilnor, and two Wreeds quickly emerged from the black, wedge-shaped ship. Hollus was wearing the same bright-blue winding cloth she’d worn when we first met; the other Forhilnor was clad in a black-and-gold cloth. All four aliens were carrying pieces of elaborate-looking equipment. I walked over to greet them, then quickly hustled the group down the alleyway and into the museum through the staff entrance. That entrance was at street level, which really was the museum’s basement (the main public entrance had all those outdoor steps leading up to it, putting it really most of a story above street level). A security guard was on duty there, reading a magazine instead of looking at the constantly changing black-and-white images from the security cameras.
“Better turn off the alarms,” said Christine to the guard. “If we’ve got to be in here all night, I’m sure we’ll be wandering around to various parts of the building.” The guard nodded and pushed some buttons on a console in front of him.
We headed into the museum, most of which was dark. The Wreeds were both wearing yellow utility belts like the ones I’d seen before, but they were also wearing something else: strange harnesses that crisscrossed between their four arms. “What’s that?” I asked Hollus, pointing at one of them.
“A repulsor-field generator; it helps them walk around here. The gravity on Earth is higher than that on the Wreed homeworld.”
We took the elevator up to the first floor — it took two carloads to transport everyone, as only one Forhilnor could fit in at a time. I went with the first group; Hollus, who had seen me operate elevators repeatedly came up in the second (she had said getting Wreeds to understand that floors might be represented by numbers would have taken too long to explain). The two Wreeds were particularly impressed by the giant totem poles made of western red cedar. They quickly scooted all the way up to the third floor on the staircases that wrapped around the poles, then returned to the main floor. I then led everyone across the Rotunda to the Garfield Weston Exhibition Hall. As we walked along, Hollus had both mouths going a mile a minute, singing in her native language. She was presumably playing tour guide to the other Forhilnor and the Wreeds.
I was intrigued by the second Forhilnor, whose name, I was told, was Barbulkan. He was larger than Hollus and had one discolored limb.
The locks were at the bases of the double glass doors. I bent over, grunting as I did so, used my key to unlock them, then pulled the doors until they clicked into their open positions. I then stepped in and turned on the lights. The others followed me into the hall. The two Wreeds conferred quietly. After a few moments they seemed to reach an agreement. Of course, they didn’t have to turn to talk to somebody behind them, but one of them was obviously now saying something to Hollus: it made rock-grinding sounds, which, a moment later, were translated into the musical Forhilnor language.
Hollus moved over to stand next to me. “They are ready to set up the equipment for the first case.”
I moved forward and used another key on the display case, unlocking the angled glass cover and swinging it up. The hinge locked into place at the maximally open position. There was no chance of the glass sheet coming crashing down while people worked inside — museums might not have always taken appropriate precautions to safeguard their employees in the past, but they did do so now.
The scanner consisted of a large metal stand with a dozen or so complex-looking articulated arms coming off it, each one ending in a translucent sphere about the size of a softball. One of the Wreeds was working on deploying the arms — some above the case, some below, more on either side — while the other Wreed made numerous adjustments to an illuminated control panel attached to the supporting stand. He seemed displeased with the results being displayed, and continued to fiddle with the controls.
“It is delicate work,” said Hollus. Her compatriot stood silently next to her. “Scanning at this resolution demands a minimum of vibrations.” She paused. “I hope we will not have problems with the subway trains.”
“They’ll stop running for the night soon,” Christine said. “And although you can feel the trains go by downstairs in the Theatre ROM, I’ve never really noticed them making the rest of the museum vibrate.”
“We will probably be fine,” said Hollus. “But we should also refrain from using the elevator while the scans are being made.”
The other Forhilnor sang something, and Hollus said, “Excuse us,” to Christine and me. The two of them scuttled across the gallery and helped move another piece of equipment. It was clear that operating the scanner wasn’t Hollus’s field, but she was useful as an extra set of hands.
“Extraordinary, said Christine, looking at the aliens milling about the gallery.
I wasn’t inclined to make small talk with her, but, well, she was my boss. “Aren’t they?” I said, without much feeling.
“You know,” she said, “I never really believed in aliens. I mean, I know what you biologists say: there’s nothing special about the Earth, there should be life everywhere, yatitty-yatitty-ya. But still, down deep, I thought we were alone in the universe.”
I decided not to contradict her about whether there was anything special about out planet. “I’m glad they’re here,” I said. “I’m glad they came to visit us.”
Christine yawned expansively — quite a sight with her horsey mouth, although she tried to hide it behind the back of her hand. It was getting late — and we’d only just begun. “Sorry,” she said when she was done. “I just wish there was some way to get Hollus to do some public programming here. We could—”