strange, silent stance. Ada repeated his order, and after a few more silent moments, Loul caught the slightest turn of a head of the second figure from the end closest to him. He waved a hand back toward Mamu. “Give me a microphone.”
“What?” Mamu whispered. “Why?”
“Give me a microphone. A long one.” He kept his eyes on the two figures closest to him. “I think they’re talking to each other.”
Mamu handed him a wand mic with a slip-on padded windscreen. The wind from the Ketter Sea pounded across the plain and the padded cover helped block out the sound of it. Trying to be inconspicuous, Loul leaned forward, holding the wand mic out. All eyes were either on the generals or the five strangers and Loul was several feet clear of the barricade before anyone noticed him. When they did, several things happened all at once.
Someone shouted, an MP probably, as well as a few catcalls of “moron” and “what the hell.” Loul couldn’t hear them over the pounding of his pulse when the five strange beings before him also noticed him and turned their heads in perfect unison to face him with those strange gray shaded visors. And vying for even more terrifying, at that moment the wind shifted, catching the slip-on windscreen of the microphone, popping it off the end of the long wand, and sending it sailing like a bouncy ball directly to the feet of the figure closest to Loul, the alien at the end of the chevron. Loul could hear nothing then but his pulse and the sucked-in breath of the stunned group behind him.
He couldn’t have moved at that moment if he’d been shot in the gut by a pom-cannon. The wind made the only sound for several long moments. The figure closest to him, the figure he had just shot the windscreen at, just barely moved its head. As one, the five figures shifted slightly, and another surprised gasprose from the barricade as the gray shaded visors lifted, folding into themselves faster than his eye could follow. The helmets of the strange gray suits seemed to evaporate from the suits, revealing long, narrow but human-looking faces staring back at them. Each figure moved its arms and detached the gloves on each side, revealing even skinnier hands with long, flexible fingers that looked impossibly fragile. In perfect synchronization, the five figures slipped the gloves into unseen pockets and brought their hands to rest at their sides.
Loul didn’t know where to look. His eyes moved from face to face, taking in the thin cheeks, the large wet eyes, the strange pelt-like texture of what could be hair. All Loul could hear was his pulse, his rasping breath, and the pounding of the sea wind over the open plain. All he could see was the collection of alien life in front of him, and all he could think was “This isn’t Baga Baga.”
The figure at the end of the chevron moved slowly, bending its long legs in that waterbird-like way, lowering itself with an odd grace. Thin, pale fingers wrapped around the windscreen, their fragile grip delicate enough that it made no indentation on the soft foam. It brought the screen up closer to its face, and the wide wet eyes watched as the deft fingers turned the foam over and over. As slowly as they had bent, the legs straightened, bringing the creature up to its full height. It stared straight into Loul’s face, and he found he couldn’t blink, couldn’t turn his face away. He wondered if it was hypnotizing him or reading his mind or taking over his body, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be afraid.
It made a sound, a soft whispering sound that blew away in the Ketter wind, and Loul sensed a ripple of movement through the five tall beings. He felt his pulse quicken and knew his mouth hung open as the creature stepped forward. They moved so slowly,he thought. It took one step, then another, its spindly hands cradling the windscreen, its eyes locked on Loul’s, until it stood less than two feet from him. Now Loul could hear weapons cocking
“What?” Mamu whispered. “Why?”
“Give me a microphone. A long one.” He kept his eyes on the two figures closest to him. “I think they’re talking to each other.”
Mamu handed him a wand mic with a slip-on padded windscreen. The wind from the Ketter Sea pounded across the plain and the padded cover helped block out the sound of it. Trying to be inconspicuous, Loul leaned forward, holding the wand mic out. All eyes were either on the generals or the five strangers and Loul was several feet clear of the barricade before anyone noticed him. When they did, several things happened all at once.
Someone shouted, an MP probably, as well as a few catcalls of “moron” and “what the hell.” Loul couldn’t hear them over the pounding of his pulse when the five strange beings before him also noticed him and turned their heads in perfect unison to face him with those strange gray shaded visors. And vying for even more terrifying, at that moment the wind shifted, catching the slip-on windscreen of the microphone, popping it off the end of the long wand, and sending it sailing like a bouncy ball directly to the feet of the figure closest to Loul, the alien at the end of the chevron. Loul could hear nothing then but his pulse and the sucked-in breath of the stunned group behind him.
He couldn’t have moved at that moment if he’d been shot in the gut by a pom-cannon. The wind made the only sound for several long moments. The figure closest to him, the figure he had just shot the windscreen at, just barely moved its head. As one, the five figures shifted slightly, and another surprised gasprose from the barricade as the gray shaded visors lifted, folding into themselves faster than his eye could follow. The helmets of the strange gray suits seemed to evaporate from the suits, revealing long, narrow but human-looking faces staring back at them. Each figure moved its arms and detached the gloves on each side, revealing even skinnier hands with long, flexible fingers that looked impossibly fragile. In perfect synchronization, the five figures slipped the gloves into unseen pockets and brought their hands to rest at their sides.
Loul didn’t know where to look. His eyes moved from face to face, taking in the thin cheeks, the large wet eyes, the strange pelt-like texture of what could be hair. All Loul could hear was his pulse, his rasping breath, and the pounding of the sea wind over the open plain. All he could see was the collection of alien life in front of him, and all he could think was “This isn’t Baga Baga.”
The figure at the end of the chevron moved slowly, bending its long legs in that waterbird-like way, lowering itself with an odd grace. Thin, pale fingers wrapped around the windscreen, their fragile grip delicate enough that it made no indentation on the soft foam. It brought the screen up closer to its face, and the wide wet eyes watched as the deft fingers turned the foam over and over. As slowly as they had bent, the legs straightened, bringing the creature up to its full height. It stared straight into Loul’s face, and he found he couldn’t blink, couldn’t turn his face away. He wondered if it was hypnotizing him or reading his mind or taking over his body, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be afraid.
It made a sound, a soft whispering sound that blew away in the Ketter wind, and Loul sensed a ripple of movement through the five tall beings. He felt his pulse quicken and knew his mouth hung open as the creature stepped forward. They moved so slowly,he thought. It took one step, then another, its spindly hands cradling the windscreen, its eyes locked on Loul’s, until it stood less than two feet from him. Now Loul could hear weapons cocking
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