The Grey's Song 
 
 
 

 Prologue 

The Grey sat uneasily in the chair, 
He was as uncomfortable with our creations 
As we are with his. He was flanked by four men in black, 
Sombre looking creatures with no lives, no faces. 

We filed into the room very quietly, very apprehensively, 
As should be expected on such an occasion. 
The Grey was to sing, after all. 
Outside, the word went on its noisy way.

The first thing I noticed was that the Grey looked sad, 
Sadder than usual. Those great almond eyes have shown 
Vast emotion in the past, but he was calm now, at peace, 
As if he'd done this before. I think I realized then that he was leaving. 

The President nodded security to leave us, 
Meaning the the tapes downstairs will start recording 
In a couple of minutes. He nodded again, to the Grey, 
Who merely lifted a long, slim finger in acknowledgement. 

All was silent for a moment, as if the Grey was 
Allowing us the time to get the tapes moving. At last, 
He moved. Resting his scrawny grey elbows on his scrawny grey knees, 
He began to sing. 
 

The Song 

He first sang the history of the Song, 
It was an old song, sung many times, 
A Song of many partings, many changes, 
Of birth, death, and joy. 

Downstairs, the tape machines whirred, 
Recording every alien nuance. 
The Faceless ones in this room lost clarity, 
Almost became transparent, as if the Grey needed their substance for the Song. 

I must have missed the beginning; he's been singing 
Deep, then high for a while now, and the tempo is building, 
Increasing until it seems there are two simultaneous notes held steady, 
In harmony, I'm either seeing real stars, or I'm about to pass out. 

Subtle changes around the sound in this room, weaving, 
I have passed out - either that, or we're all Martians, 
Going about our daily doings, the Song weaves Sister Worlds, 
But none of us are ready for this, thank god for the tapes. 

Now the voice is discordant, changing, scared, 
Just like all of us here in this chill room, 
Darting frantic glances at the door, impossible voice 
Saying impossible things! Relax, it's only the Grey, singing. 

The Song sweeps broad, then homes in on a single hair 
Of my eyebrow, startling me. Something has struck home, 
Somewhere; the President straightens in his chair, 
Looks around as if he's wondering where he is. 

Me, I'm the anecdotal Martian parachutist who jumped in March, 
And landed in December. Things changed as I fell, 
My fall slowed with every minute, every inch, 
Visions of the Martian landscape blended with Earth. 

The Song passed over me, I straightened in my chair, 
Wondering where I was; I looked around as the Grey blinked, 
Eyelids like stage curtains, closing inwards together. Alien. 
Disturbing visions gathered like predators, and I wanted to run. 

At the very last, the Grey's voice once more became singular, 
The high notes and the low became distinct from each other, 
And slowed. The Men in black regained as much of a prescience as they ever had, 
And somehow we were all touching, without touching. 

I hope no other race in the universe is insensitive enough 
To conclude a centuries old relationship with a mere handshake, 
I suppose I should be grateful we didn't offer the Grey 
Wine and cheese and finger food for a goodbye. 

Play it again, Sam 

The transcript was ready the next day. 
I didn't know how to react; whether to jump for joy, 
Or cry for the end of the World. I would only live 
To see the fun begin, two generations down the track it will get serious. 

The Greys must leave, the transcript read, 
In a few short years their craft will no longer 
Be able to land on Earth, 
Due to a slight decrease in Terrestrial gravity. 

The transcript continued: "In a few years, the gravitational 
Reduction will be measurable - a few years after that, it will be 
Self-evident. Within the next century, Luna will have drifted away, 
The Earth will not have the gravity to keep her captive any longer." 

That scared me, until I read what the Grey had sung, 
"But fear not, evolution is not blind - she served the Martians 
As she will serve you, your needs will not be unheeded". 
It seems my great-grandchildren will have some serious adapting to do. 
 

Epilogue 

I fell asleep today, in my dotage, and sent a glass 
plummeting down upon marble tiles. It bounced. 
When I opened my old eyes, I saw afresh the 'antigrav' toys, 
The 'floating' chairs, and remembered the Grey's last words: 

"Welcome. At last, welcome. All intelligence comes to this, 
Eventually. We made this Song for the people of Mars, when 
This happened to them. It happened to my people aeons ago, 
You now give our home planet the flattering name of 'Asteroid Belt'". 

"So be it, then. Welcome, welcome, but we must go, 
Join us if you will, in a hundred years or more, 
To begin The Watch on Venus, next in line." 

I velcroed the glass back on to the place mat and went back to sleep. 
 


(C) Copyright 1999
DRAGGIE
All Rights Reserved


The Nexus Collection: 
DRAGGIE


Feeding the Alien

Biscuits
Michael

Another Use for a Pizza

Playground Earth

Second Opinion

Hymn to Ubiquity

The Watch on Venus: Introduction

The Grey's Song

The Watch on Venus: One

The Watch on Venus:  Two

The Watch on Venus: Three

The Watch on Venus: Four

The Watch on Venus: Five

The Watch on Venus: Six

The Watch on Venus: Seven

The Watch on Venus: Eight




CONTENTS