“There is no paleontologist with more experience?”
I frowned. “Well, there’s Jonesy, the senior invertebrate curator. He’s damn near as old as some of his specimens.”
“Perhaps I should speak with him.”
“If you like. But what’s wrong?”
“I know from your television that there is much ambivalence about God in this part of your planet, at least among the general public, but I am surprised to hear that someone in your position is not personally convinced of the existence of the creator.”
“Well, then, Jonesy’s not your man; he’s on the board of CSICOP.”
“Sky cop?”
“The Committee for Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal. He definitely doesn’t believe in God.”
“I am stunned,” said Hollus, and his eyes turned away from me, examining the posters on my office wall — a Gurche, a Czerkas, and two Kishes.
“We tend to consider religion a personal matter,” I said gently. “The very nature of faith is that one cannot be factually sure about it.”
“I do not speak of matters of faith,” said Hollus, turning his eyes back toward me. “Rather, I speak of verifiable scientific fact. That we live in a created universe is apparent to anyone with sufficient intelligence and information.”
I wasn’t really offended, but I was surprised; previously, I’d only heard similar comments from so-called creation scientists. “You’ll find many religious people here at the ROM,” I said. “Raghubir, whom you met down in the lobby, for instance. But even he wouldn’t say that the existence of God is a scientific fact.”
“Then it will fall to me to educate you in this,” said Hollus.
Oh, joy. “If you think it’s necessary.”
“It is if you are to help me in my work. My opinion is not a minority one; the existence of God is a fundamental part of the science of both Beta Hydri and Delta Pavonis.”
“Many humans believe that such questions are outside the scope of science.”
Hollus regarded me again, as if I were failing some test. “Nothing is outside the scope of science,” he said firmly — a position I did not, in fact, disagree with. But we rapidly parted company again: “The primary goal of modern science,” he continued, “is to discover why God has behaved as he has and to determine his methods. We do not believe — what is the term you use? — we do not believe that he simply waves his hands and wishes things into existence. We live in a universe of physics, and he must have used quantifiable physical processes to accomplish his ends. If he has indeed been guiding the broad stokes of evolution on at least three worlds, then we must ask how? And why? What is he trying to accomplish? We need to—”
At that moment, the door to my office opened, revealing silver-haired, long-faced Christine Dorati, the museum’s director and president. “What the devil is that?” she said, pointing a bony finger at Hollus.
2
Christine Dorati’s question stopped me cold. Everything had been happening so quickly, I hadn’t had time to really consider how momentous all this was. The first verified extraterrestrial visitor to Earth had dropped by, and instead of alerting the authorities — or even my boss Christine — I was sitting around with the being, indulging in the kind of bull session university students have late at night.
But before I could reply, Hollus had turned around to face Dr. Dorati; he rotated his spherical body by shifting each of his six legs to the left.
“Greetings,” he said. “My” “name” “is” “Hol” “lus.” The two syllables of the name overlapped slightly, one mouth starting up before the other had quite finished.
Christine was a full-time administrator now. Years ago, when she’d been an active researcher, her field had been textiles; Hollus’s unearthy origins might therefore not have been obvious to her. “Is this a joke?” she said.
“Not” “at” “all,” replied the alien, in his strange stereophonic voice. “I am a” — his eyes looked briefly at me, as if acknowledging that he was quoting something I’d said earlier — “think of me as a visiting scholar.”
“Visiting from where?” asked Christine.
“Beta Hydri,” said Hollus.
“Where’s that?” asked Christine. She had a big, horsey mouth and had to make a conscious effort to close her lips over her teeth.
“It’s another star,” I said. “Hollus, this is Dr. Christine Dorati, the ROM’s director.”
“Another star?” said Christine, cutting off Hollus’s response. “Come on, Tom. Security called me and said there was some kind of prank going on, and—”
“Have you not seen my spaceship?” asked Hollus.
“Your spaceship?” Christine and I said in unison.
“I landed outside that building with the hemispherical roof.”
Christine came into the room, squeezed past Hollus, and pushed the speaker-phone button on my Nortel desk set. She then tapped out an internal extension on the keypad. “Gunther?” she said. Gunther was the security officer at the staff entrance, located off the alley between the museum and the planetarium. “It’s Dr. Dorati here. Do me a favor: step outside and tell me what you can see out front of the planetarium.”
“You mean the spaceship?” asked Gunther’s voice, through the speaker. “I’ve already seen it. There’s a huge crowd around it now.”
Christine clicked off the phone without remembering to say goodbye. She looked at the alien. Doubtless she could see its torso expanding and contracting as it breathed.
“What — um, what do you want?” asked Christine.
“I am doing some paleontological research,” said Hollus. Surprisingly, the word paleontological — quite a mouthful, even for a human — wasn’t split between his two speaking slits; I still hadn’t figured out the rules governing the switchover.
“I have to tell someone about this,” said Christine, almost to herself. “I have to notify the authorities.”
“Who are the appropriate authorities in a case like this?” I asked.
Christine looked at me as if surprised that I’d heard what she’d said. “The police? The RCMP? The Ministry of External Affairs? I don’t know. It’s too bad they shut down the planetarium; there might have been someone there who would have known. Still, maybe I should ask Chen.” Donald Chen was the ROM’s staff astronomer.
“You can notify anyone you wish,” said Hollus. “But please do not make a fuss about my presence. It will just interfere with my work.”
“Are you the only alien on Earth right now?” asked Christine. “Or are others of your kind visiting other people?”
“I am the only one currently on the planet’s surface,” Hollus said, “although more will be coming down shortly. There are thirty-four individuals in the crew of our mothership, which is in synchronous orbit around your planet.”
“Synchronous above what?” asked Christine. “Toronto?”
“Synchronous orbits have to be above the equator,” I said. “You can’t have one over Toronto.”
Hollus turned his eyestalks in my direction; perhaps I was going up in his esteem. “That is right. But since this place was our first goal, the ship is in orbit along the same line of longitude. I believe the country directly beneath it is called Ecuador.”
“Thirty-four aliens,” said Christine, as if trying to digest the idea.
“Correct,” replied Hollus. “Half are Forhilnors like me, and the other half are Wreeds.”
Excitement coursed through me. Getting to examine a life-form from one different ecosystem was staggering; to get to examine lifeforms from two would be amazing. In previous years, when I’d been well, I’d taught a course on evolution at the University of Toronto, but everything we knew about how evolution worked was based on one sample. If we could —
“I’m not sure who to call,” said Christine again. “Hell, I’m not sure who would believe me if I did call.”