You are Magnificent Pt. 01

Asha Chakrabarti was, as ever, nervous.

She was so fresh from Calcutta University that you could probably still smell the celebratory buttermilk from graduation on her breath. And now, almost by accident, she was here -- standing on the empty helipad of a South Bombay skyscraper, the city skyline stretching out beyond here, a galaxy of lights, and the winkling Arabian Sea past that. Above, though, was the thing which held her attention -- which held everyone's attention. A starcruiser, purest white and shaped like a gigantic nautilus, hovered silently above the city. Golden lights emanated from its many windows and, though its engines must have been burning unimaginable amounts of energy to keep the thing floating there, not a noise could be heard. For once, she didn't feel that stupid for being nervous.

It had been six years since the long-fabled First Contact took place -- when the iliri found Earth and, after eight months of painfully slow progress at establishing a language, these nervous humans were welcomed to the universal community. Or so they were promised -- iliri, with lifespans stretching many millennia, rarely saw a need to rush. Instead, it was meeting after meeting after meeting. Ships would appear over great cities, delegations would arrive, and little would end up being discussed. The United Nations was frustrated but, also, aware that they were in no position to make demands on a civilisation stretching across thousands of star systems. We had barely figured out how to get someone to our own moon. So, they counted their blessings that the iliri were friendly and played the game by their rules. Maybe some future generation would get to enjoy the cures for cancer or secret to faster-than-light travel which the iliri held back.

Asha's place in this story was, though, minor. She was barely an assistant -- just somebody to carry the papers of the senior aide for the Indian ambassador. He, along with the rest of the staff, stood around the helipad in nervous anticipation. Asha wondered if her own nerves were the strongest -- for, in a few moments, the delegation would arrive and she would see her first iliri. Everyone knew what they looked like, of course, but to see one in the flesh was a nerve-wracking experience. Some fainted from the sudden culture shock of it all. Asha desperately, desperately hoped she wouldn't be one of those.

From the dark sky, she now saw, there appeared a little black dot. As it grew bigger, Asha saw it to be an Mi-17 helicopter of the Indian Air Force -- and it was coming straight towards her. Gradually, the roar of its rotors louder with each passing second, it approached and landed at the helipad -- Asha had to turn her head away and cling onto the stack of papers lest they fly off into the streets of Mumbai. She watched, her stomach doing somersaults, as the rotors slowed, the engine powered down, and a pair of soldiers appeared to open the passenger bay doors and lower its steps. She looked around at the others and was glad to see plenty of nerves on display -- even the ambassador, seeming almost regal with his white beard and turban, shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot.

Then, suddenly, there they were, stepping gently down onto the helipad. Three iliri, each identical but for their different tattooed face markings, dressed in flowing black robes which collected at their feet. Asha took a deep breath. So it was true -- they really were like us. There was little to differentiate an iliri from a human, really, given their similar evolutionary backgrounds. Indeed, their faces were essentially human, though their bodies were entirely hairless and their skin, obviously, was teal. All three had the grace and delicate poise which man had come to expect from the iliri. They all appeared female though, really, that was applying human standards to non-humans for iliri were genderless and reproduced asexually.

Asha watched as the ambassador stepped forward and, with hands clasped together, bowed and offered a "namaste." The three iliri returned the greeting -- Asha suddenly realised that she didn't know what their traditional way of saying hello was. She'd seen them on television shaking the American president's hand and bowing to the Japanese emperor but hadn't a clue what they did between each other.

A conversation was going on between the ambassador, his senior staff, and the three iliri -- it all seemed perfectly friendly and, then, the ambassador turned and gestured the way into the building. Asha took several steps back, well out of the way of the three visitors as they followed inside -- but the third gave her a glance as she passed by. Her eyes were brightest green and pierced right into Asha as they met her -- and then the three were gone and Asha, with some quietly aggressive reminding from a colleague, was also trooping into the building. Asha wondered what had invited that look -- it couldn't have been her outfit, which was just ordinary dark business attire, and it couldn't have been much else. She was a very average sort of person.

"What pleasant architecture," Asha heard one of the iliri remark at the bland corridor, and she stifled a laugh at how sincere it sounded -- though her Hindi was very good. Their voices were feminine, too -- it really wasn't fair to expect her to use gender-neutral pronouns on these beings, she thought. The ambassador, she also overheard, was already pushing for the iliri to show their hand on biotechnology transfers. So the small talk was over already, then.

The group assembled, after an endless parade of photographs with the world's media, in a circular conference hall. The iliri seated themselves at the head of the semi-circular table while perhaps a hundred others, ambassadors and delegates from around the world, sat everywhere them. Many more, including Asha, stood beside the walls, not needed until the meeting was done but required to be present. Asha spent most of her time fiddling with her plastic lanyard as the first meeting went on, and on, and on, and nothing much came of it beyond the iliri offering salutations to the globe and promising to wipe out maize streak virus. That was an achievement for day one -- but everybody knew they were capable of wiping out every disease afflicting all beings, never mind a virus targeting corn. Frustration, as usual, mounted -- but one of the iliri, the one who had looked at Asha, silenced the hall when she spoke in response.

"We have not taken responsibility for your well-being," she said, smoothly. "If we were to resolve your every problem, cater to your every need, you would soon regard us as gods. We think this unacceptable."

The meeting soon wrapped up and, slowly, the hall cleared. Asha was ready to return to her office and transcribe her notes but, just before she was out of the door, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A security officer, dressed in sharp suit and sunglasses ("we're indoors, you know," Asha thought) with a curly wire protruding from his ear, held her. Two others stood either side of him.

"Miss," he said bluntly, "could you come with us, please?"

"What?" Asha squeaked -- but she was already being led away from the door and down another one. The door the iliri had exited via. "What's this about?" she insisted -- but she got no answer. Instead she was brought down a long corridor and into a smaller room where a small group of people were gathered, talking energetically, with the bearded ambassador at the centre. All fell silent and stared at her when she entered.

"Mister ambassador," said one of the guards, "Miss Chakrabarti."

"Thank you," he replied, and the three left, closing the door behind them. Everyone stared at Asha.

"I..." Asha's mouth felt dry. This wasn't a room she ought to be in.

"You're not in trouble, Miss Chakrabarti," the ambassador suddenly said, stepping towards her. "Far from it."

"I don't quite understand what's going on, sir," Asha stammered.

"Then permit me to explain." He glanced at an aide, who nodded. "One of the iliri party would like to speak with you, privately." Asha's stomach fell out of her belly.

"But..." She blinked hard. "But I'm not important. Nobody speaks to them alone except, like, the president! Who am I?"

"Exactly," said the ambassador, kindly. "Who are you? You are anonymous and yet they have an interest in you. I know this is a lot to ask -- but will you meet them in their suite? A breakthrough could be on the cards. This sort of request is unheard of."

"Well..." Asha realised, immediately, that she didn't have much choice. Imagine saying no to the iliri! "I better get paid extra for this." The ambassador laughed.

The iliri suite wasn't anything special -- their needs were very simple. They didn't eat, gaining all their energy from the photovoltaic solar cells which constituted their skin, and needed only water -- dirty or fresh, they could digest it. They slept, but only for an hour every four days, and even then didn't require blankets as they could effortlessly regulate their own body temperature. Given they only consumed liquids, so did they only excrete odourless steam which emanated at times through their skin. Yet, out of curiosity towards human lifestyles, the iliri had often requested that their accommodation remain suited for human needs -- and it was this which Asha found.

Meeting a trio of alien ambassadors in a mid-budget hotel room wasn't how Asha had ever expected her life to pan out -- but it definitely seemed to be happening. She stood at Room 33, chosen by the visitors as it was apparently a lucky number in iliri culture, and, after glancing to the end of the corridor where a small army of officials watched, knocked three times. No answer came.

"Hello?" she murmured. "This is Asha Chakrabarti. I was sent for?" At this, the door clicked and opened. Before her stood that same iliri which had looked at her when they first arrived. She was just over six foot tall and, like all the others, beautiful, with dark and irregular tattoos across her cheeks and forehead, looking as if they'd been designed to be asymmetrical. She had forsaken her robes and now wore what may as well have been a black evening gown. She looked ready for the red carpet -- Asha supposed that, when your physiology was almost identical, human and iliri fashion might be, too.

"I bid you good evening, Miss Chakrabarti," she said. Her voice, smooth as silk, made Asha want to melt into the floor. "Please -- step inside." She moved to allow Asha to pass her and, after a moment of wondering if she ought to run away, Asha did so.

The room was everything you'd expect of a five star hotel trying to impress some very high-standard aliens. Huge windows -- replaced a few days earlier to be bulletproof and mirrored from the outside -- overlooked the city. A pair of ornate cream sofas faced each other, divided by an antique coffee table, a granite kitchen unit in another corner and an aquarium of darting tropical fish in another. Two doors led, presumably, to the unnecessary bedroom and bathroom.

"Please take a seat," said the iliri, gesturing to the sofas. Slowly, Asha walked to them and lowered herself to sit, staring as the being went to the kitchen unit.

"Thank you for having me," Asha said or, rather, stammered, finding herself transfixed by this beautiful creature.

"I thank you for accepting my invitation," she replied. "May I offer you a drink? Your human predilection for toxic liquids is very confusing -- but it is your culture."

"Oh, um..." Asha couldn't imagine anything ruder than refusing the offer. "Just water, please."

"A wise choice," said the iliri, fiddling with the tap to pour water into a glass. She seemed to have some trouble figuring out the mechanism -- it was an odd sight.

"Are your friends joining us?" Asha asked, noticing that they were alone.

"No," replied the iliri, as she filled Asha's glass. "They felt that conversing with a subordinate such as yourself was beneath them. I happen to disagree." She turned, handed Asha the glass, and then sat opposite her.

"So it's just the two of us?"

"Correct." The iliri sat back, sinking into the sofa. "May I call you Asha?"

"Of course."

"Delightful. I am called Takes Long Breaths. But I know that you humans like to shorten names -- so you may call me Take. Or Breath. Whichever you prefer."

"Breath is nice," said Asha. She wanted to say it sounded like a Final Fantasy character but kept that to herself. "But I think Takes Long Breaths is a pretty name, too."

"Pretty?" Breath pondered on that word for a moment. "Perhaps. My people are named according to our behaviour on the day of our birth. My clanmates have rather less flattering names -- but it would be the height of rudeness for me to reveal them to you."

"Yes, of course," said Asha, nodding quickly and politely sipping the water. "But then why are you telling me your name? Isn't that something quite person for an iliri?"

"It is," said Breath. "However, I feel it necessary to establish a bond of trust."

"I see." Asha looked around the room before looking back to meet Breath's piercing eyes. "So... what's the topic of conversation?"

"You." Asha stared at her.

"I don't understand."

"I have spent this period of my life interacting solely with the most esteemed of your people. Your leaders and diplomats. In doing so, I believe that I, and my race in general, have failed to comprehend humanity. We disregard all except the most elite. To us, the rest of you are drones. You may have heard my comment in today's meeting -- that you are not our responsibility. A statement I was required to make. But it does not originate from my heart. It is my desire to help mankind in all ways we can. My colleagues..." Breath sighed. "...disagree."

"That must be very frustrating," said Asha, feeling more than a bit useless.

"Yes. I hoped that, perhaps, if we were to meet with an ordinary human, my clanmates would see that you are beings worthy of our help. That we can do more for you."

"But they don't want to meet me."

"That is their choice and their failing. Tell me, Asha -- what would you do if all three of us were sat here? How would you try to convince them that your race is worthy of our help? We have the power of life and death. Anything you gods could do, we can do as well. Every ailment cured. Every wrong righted. How would you earn that?"

"Well..." Asha paused -- but she didn't need to think about it. Not really. She didn't know the answer but she did know her answer. "I'd say we don't need to earn it."

"No?" Breath tilted her head in curiosity.

"I'd say that our existence entitles us to your help. Because we're alive and that gives us value."

"You speak of a moral imperative, then?"

"Yeah," said Asha, nodding. Breath smiled.

"My clanmates would reply that you are mistaking human morality for universal truth."

"And I'd tell them to shut up." Breath snorted -- it wasn't a sound becoming of such a beautiful being. Asha couldn't help but admire her -- her sparkling eyes, her delicate poise, even her slim physique. If she were human...

The conversation drifted on, through philosophy, with Asha and Breath regularly finding themselves in agreement. Breath, to Asha's infinite surprise, had quite a sense of humour. She didn't joke herself but she registered Asha's and laughed at them all. Maybe she was just being polite.

"You are Indian, are you not?" asked Breath, suddenly.

"That's right," said Asha. "But I consider myself Bengali more than anything."

"I see," Breath replied, nodding. "The iliri sense of nationhood vanished long ago. I wonder if we lost something as a consequence."

"You probably ended up with fewer wars."

"That is true. But our skin is the hardest substance currently on this planet -- it would be quite difficult to kill each other."

"It must be nice feeling so secure."

"It is normal for me," Breath said. "Just as it is normal for you to be so... delicate."

"We must seem very weak to you."

"You could crush a beautiful flower if you wished. But you won't. Because it is beautiful." Asha stared at her.

"You can't be telling me that you think humans are beautiful."

"You are magnificent." The words hung in the air like music. For something like that to come off the tongue of an iliri was, well... it would send shockwaves if heard by the world.

"That's quite something to say. Especially from an iliri." Breath smiled.

"Sit with me," she said. Asha felt a strange tingling in her stomach but, almost obediently, she stood, and sat beside Breath. It was funny how, so close to an iliri, you realised they weren't as big as the television made them look. Nor as scary. They were just people.

Once Asha was sat there, Breath turned and examined her face with the concentrated expression of a doctor.

"What's happening?" asked Asha, a touch nervously, trying to hold back a giggle.

"You have many imperfections," replied Breath -- Asha's face fell.

"Oh, well, thanks."

"It is a compliment." Breath pulled back -- her hand rested on the sofa's armrest. "Look at me. I am perfect. Humans will not stop saying so. That iliri are divine. Without fault. And each of you are cracked and withering and dying. I see it etched on your face, too. The faint pimple on your nose. The crack in your bottom lip. The spot above your eyes where I suspect you mistakenly stabbed yourself with an eyebrow plucker."

"Oh, come on, no way you can see that," sniggered Asha.

"I see it all. And it is magnificent." Then, to Asha's utter shock, Breath raised a hand and cupped her cheek. She felt the warmth of her skin, soft as any human, and realised this might be the first time anyone had ever been touched in this way by an iliri. Something was happening.

"You're touching me," Asha whispered, internally begging her not to let go, feeling her hands shaking.

"Is that an acceptable thing for me to do?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper, now. "But I don't think my superiors would be happy with it."

"Oh, I'm sure they'd batter down the door if not," said Breath with a grin. Her teeth were, of course, perfect. "Is there any chance this room has not been bugged?" Panic surged, suddenly, through Asha's body.

"I didn't think about that."

"Only one of us needed to." Breath withdrew her hand -- Asha was stunned at how sorry she felt to feel it go. Then, Breath laughed.

"What is it?" asked Asha, tentatively.

"I thought of something to say to you -- but it is quite inappropriate."

"No, say it," Asha insisted, leaning forward.

"I cannot."

"Yes you can -- what harm is there in just saying something?"

"Your people consider words often as harmful as actions."

"Well, just pretend I'm not people!" Breath laughed again and, when it subsided, regarded Asha with a confident look.

"I wanted to tell you that I would like to see you naked."

"Oh." And Asha thought she felt nervous before -- this was something else entirely. Her whole body was a volcano.

"As I told you," said Breath who, to Asha's frustration, displayed none of the anxiety which was erupting throughout her, "it is inappropriate."

"Why..." Asha awkwardly cleared her throat. "Why do you want to see me naked?"

"I have seen humans unclothed, of course," said Breath. "I am familiar with your biology. But I have only ever seen human beings naked as presented in the form of scientific information. Diagrams and medical charts. Never have I experienced it in the context you humans experience it -- with risk and emotion and uncertainty and excitement. Further, I want to see all of you, not just some of you. I want to see just how beautiful you are."

"Well..." Asha looked down and stared at her feet. This was absolutely not in her contract. "Maybe some other time."

"Of course." Breath smiled.