that.
"Yes," I lied.
"She is in charge of the ship that brought me here, but I am the Ambassador."
He bobbed his head affirmatively, a gesture he had learned from us.
"One of my functions is to find the truth, and report that truth to my people."
Mozart piped surprise.
After six weeks, his English was good enough that I knew the capitalization was not accidental. "Yes, I am a Seeker of Truth." And I'm willing to lie in order to get it.
"What you have told us about Alla Beeth is causing arguments among my people. I must find a way to resolve those arguments. I must find the truth. Is there anything more you can tell me or show me about Alla Beeth?"
He tapped the tips of his tentacles against his forelegs for a few moments.
I suppressed a grin and replied gravely, "I would be most honored."
Commander Gutierrez had one of the pilots take us in the blimp, so we arrived in Metropolis before sundown.
It took him nearly half an hour of consultation with members of his order before he came over to me and began typing on the portable computer we'd brought with us.
"I thank them."
He led the way, and I followed him into the cathedral.
I probably hadn't been in a church more than a dozen times since I stopped going with my mom, mostly as a tourist. I could tell that the Aurorans had spent years of painstaking effort in creating this building, carving delicate patterns into solid stone. We passed through various archways and doors, and I started to hear Auroran voices harmonizing. Finally we entered a round room; about twenty Aurorans stood in the middle, singing.
I felt a chill on the back of my neck, like I used to get sometimes listening to the choir at my mom's church. But there was something more; there was something about this tune that made me nostalgic, homesick even. It felt like a memory that I couldn't quite pull from the depths of my mind.
Then Mozart walked to a curtain that hung on one of the walls and pulled it back.
There, in violation of one of their commandments, was a painting of a man -- definitely human -- dressed all in white.
My childhood Sunday memories came flooding back, and between the music and the picture there was no doubt in my mind as to who had been the first ambassador from Earth.
"Alla Beeth" was the Aurorans' way of saying "Elvis."
Anyone else on this expedition would have to be taken seriously. But not me. I'm a proven liar. Even worse -- I'm a tabloid reporter. I would be accused of fabrication, of planting the evidence, of corrupting Auroran culture as part of some tabloid hoax.
The biggest story of my career had fallen in my lap, and I couldn't tell anyone without ruining whatever credibility I had managed to regain. Whatever powers that be must not want the publicity.
Of course, my mom would say this was punishment for having lied.
"Thank you for sharing the secrets of Alla Beeth with me," I told Mozart as we left the cathedral.
"You were right: Alla Beeth is
"Yes," I lied.
"She is in charge of the ship that brought me here, but I am the Ambassador."
He bobbed his head affirmatively, a gesture he had learned from us.
"One of my functions is to find the truth, and report that truth to my people."
Mozart piped surprise.
After six weeks, his English was good enough that I knew the capitalization was not accidental. "Yes, I am a Seeker of Truth." And I'm willing to lie in order to get it.
"What you have told us about Alla Beeth is causing arguments among my people. I must find a way to resolve those arguments. I must find the truth. Is there anything more you can tell me or show me about Alla Beeth?"
He tapped the tips of his tentacles against his forelegs for a few moments.
I suppressed a grin and replied gravely, "I would be most honored."
Commander Gutierrez had one of the pilots take us in the blimp, so we arrived in Metropolis before sundown.
It took him nearly half an hour of consultation with members of his order before he came over to me and began typing on the portable computer we'd brought with us.
"I thank them."
He led the way, and I followed him into the cathedral.
I probably hadn't been in a church more than a dozen times since I stopped going with my mom, mostly as a tourist. I could tell that the Aurorans had spent years of painstaking effort in creating this building, carving delicate patterns into solid stone. We passed through various archways and doors, and I started to hear Auroran voices harmonizing. Finally we entered a round room; about twenty Aurorans stood in the middle, singing.
I felt a chill on the back of my neck, like I used to get sometimes listening to the choir at my mom's church. But there was something more; there was something about this tune that made me nostalgic, homesick even. It felt like a memory that I couldn't quite pull from the depths of my mind.
Then Mozart walked to a curtain that hung on one of the walls and pulled it back.
There, in violation of one of their commandments, was a painting of a man -- definitely human -- dressed all in white.
My childhood Sunday memories came flooding back, and between the music and the picture there was no doubt in my mind as to who had been the first ambassador from Earth.
"Alla Beeth" was the Aurorans' way of saying "Elvis."
Anyone else on this expedition would have to be taken seriously. But not me. I'm a proven liar. Even worse -- I'm a tabloid reporter. I would be accused of fabrication, of planting the evidence, of corrupting Auroran culture as part of some tabloid hoax.
The biggest story of my career had fallen in my lap, and I couldn't tell anyone without ruining whatever credibility I had managed to regain. Whatever powers that be must not want the publicity.
Of course, my mom would say this was punishment for having lied.
"Thank you for sharing the secrets of Alla Beeth with me," I told Mozart as we left the cathedral.
"You were right: Alla Beeth is
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