Invaders From Space, page 11
Once a platoon of Somnambulists was driven past where I was. In the plaza fronting the palace I observed what appeared to be an array of Clowns unfolding some sort of sparkling netting of a military look. By one flash of lightning I was able to see a trio of Rememberers soaring aloft on a gravity plate, making copious notes of all that elapsed. It seemed—I was not sure—that the vehicle of the Prince of Roum returned, speeding across the sky with its pursuer clinging close. “Avluela,” I whispered, as the twin dots of lights left my sight. Were the star-ships disgorging troops? Did colossal pylons of force spiral down from those orbiting brightnesses to touch the surface of the Earth? Why had the Prince seized Avluela? Where was Gormon? What were our Defenders doing? Why were the enemy ships not blasted from the sky?
Rooted to the ancient cobbles of the courtyard, I observed the cosmic battle in total lack of understanding throughout the long night.
Dawn came. Strands of pale light looped from tower to tower. I touched fingers to my eyes, realizing that I must have slept while standing. Perhaps I should apply for membership in the guild of Somnambulists, I told myself lightly. I put my hands to the Rememberer’s shawl about my shoulders, wondering how I had managed to acquire it, and the answer came.
I looked toward the sky.
The alien starships were gone. I saw only the ordinary morning sky, gray with pinkness breaking through. I felt the jolt of compulsion and looked about for my cart, and reminded myself that I need do no more Watching, and I felt more empty than one would ordinarily feel at such an hour.
Was the battle over?
Had the enemy been conquered?
Were the ships of the invaders blasted from the sky and lying in charred ruin outside Roum?
All was silent. I heard no more celestial symphonies. Then, out of the eerie stillness there came a new sound, a rumbling noise as of wheeled vehicles passing through the streets of the city. And the invisible Musicians played one final note, deep and resonant, which trailed away jaggedly as though every string had been broken at once.
Over the speakers used for public announcements came quiet words:
“Roum is fallen. Roum is fallen.”
* * *
ELEVEN
The royal hostelry was untended. Neuters and members of the servant guilds all had fled. Defenders, Masters and Dominators must have perished honorably in combat. Basil the Rememberer was nowhere about; likewise none of his brethren. I went to my room, cleansed and refreshed and fed myself, gathered my few possessions and bade farewell to the luxuries I had known so briefly. I regretted that I had had such a short time to visit Roum; but at least Gormon had been a most excellent guide, and I had seen a great deal.
Now I proposed to move on.
It did not seem prudent to remain in a conquered city. My room’s thinking cap did not respond to my queries, and so I did not know what the extent of the defeat was, here or in other regions, but it was evident to me that Roum at least had passed from human control, and I wished to depart quickly. I weighed the thought of going to Jorslem, as that tall Pilgrim had suggested upon my entry into Roum. But then I reflected and chose a westward route, toward Perris, which not only was closer but held the headquarters of the Rememberers.
My own occupation had been destroyed; but on this first morning of Earth’s conquest I felt a sudden powerful and strange yearning to offer myself humbly to the Rememberers and seek with them knowledge of our more glittering yesterdays.
At midday I left the hostelry. I walked first to the palace, which still stood open. The beggars lay strewn about, some drugged, some sleeping, most dead; from the crude manner of their death I saw that they must have slain one another in their panic and frenzy. A despondent-looking Indexer squatted beside the three skulls of the interrogation fixture in the chapel. As I entered he said, “No use. The brains do not reply.”
“How goes it with the Prince of Roum?”
“Dead. The invaders shot him from the sky.”
“A young Flier rode beside him. What do you know of her?”
“Nothing. Dead, I suppose.”
“And the city?”
“Fallen. Invaders are everywhere.”
“Killing?”
“Not even looting,” the Indexer said. “They are most gentle. They have collected us.”
“In Roum alone, or everywhere?”
The man shrugged. He began to rock rhythmically back and forth. I let him be, and walked deeper into the palace. To my surprise, the imperial chambers of the Prince were unsealed. I went within, awed by the sumptuous luxury of the hangings, the draperies, the lights, the furnishings. I passed from room to room, coming at last to the royal bed, whose coverlet was the flesh of a colossal bivalve of the planet of another star, and as the shell yawned for me I touched the infinitely soft fabric under which the Prince of Roum had lain, and I recalled that Avluela too had lain here, and if I had been a younger man I would certainly have wept.
I left the palace and slowly crossed the plaza to begin my journey toward Perris.
As I departed I had my first glimpse of our conquerors. A vehicle of alien design drew up at the plaza’s rim, and perhaps a dozen figures emerged.
They might almost have been human. They were tall and broad, deep-chested, as Gormon had been, and only the extreme length of their arms marked them instantly as alien. Their skins were of strange texture, and if I had been closer I suspect I would have seen eyes and lips and nostrils that were not of a human design. Taking no notice of me, they crossed the plaza, walking in a curious loose-jointed loping way that reminded me irresistibly of Gormon’s stride, and entered the palace. They seemed neither swaggering nor belligerent.
Sightseers. Majestic Roum once more exerted its magnetism upon strangers.
Leaving our new masters to their amusement, I walked off, toward the outskirts of the city. The bleakness of eternal winter crept into my soul. I wondered: did I feel sorrow that Roum had fallen? Or did I mourn the loss of Avluela? Or was it only that I now missed three successive Watchings, and like an addict I was experiencing the pangs of withdrawal?
It was all of these that pained me, I decided. But mostly the last.
No one was abroad in the city as I made for the gates. Fear of the masters kept the Roumish in hiding, I supposed. From time to time one of the alien vehicles hummed past, but I was unmolested. I came to the city’s western gate late in the afternoon. It was open, revealing to me a gently rising hill on whose breast rose trees with dark green crowns. I passed through, and saw a short distance beyond the gate the figure of a Pilgrim who was shuffling slowly away from the city.
His faltering, uncertain walk seemed strange to me, for not even his thick brown robes could hide the strength and youth of his body; he stood erect, his shoulders square and his back straight, and yet he walked with the hesitating, trembling step of an old man. When I drew abreast of him and peered under his hood I understood, for affixed to the bronze mask all Pilgrims wear was a reverberator, such as is used by blind men to warn them of obstacles and hazards. He became aware of me and said, “I am a sightless Pilgrim. I pray you do not molest me.”
It was not a Pilgrim’s voice. It was a strong and harsh and imperious voice.
I replied, “I molest no one. I am a Watcher who has lost his occupation this night past.”
“Many occupations were lost this night past, Watcher.”
“Surely not a Pilgrim’s.”
“No,” he said. “Not a Pilgrim’s.”
“Where are you bound?”
“Away from Roum.”
“No particular destination?”
“No,” the Pilgrim said. “None. I will wander.”
“Perhaps we should wander together,” I said, for it is accounted good luck to travel with a Pilgrim, and, shorn of my Flier and my Changeling, I would otherwise have traveled alone. “My destination is Perris. Will you come?”
“There as well as anywhere else,” he said bitterly. “Yes. We will go to Perris together. But what business does a Watcher have there?”
“A Watcher has no business anywhere. I go to Perris to offer myself in service to the Rememberers.”
“Ah.”
‘With Earth fallen, I wish to learn more of Earth in its pride.“
“Is all Earth fallen, then, and not only Roum?”
“I think it is so,” I said.
“Ah,” replied the Pilgrim. “Ah!”
He fell silent, and we went onward. I gave him my arm, and now he shuffled no longer, but moved with a young man’s brisk stride. From time to time he uttered what might have been a sigh or a smothered sob. When I asked him details of his Pilgrimage, he answered obliquely or not at all. When we were an hour’s journey outside Roum, and already amid forests, he said suddenly, “This mask gives me pain. Will you help me adjust it?”
To my amazement he began to remove it. I gasped, for it is forbidden for a Pilgrim to reveal his face. Had he forgotten that I was not sightless too?
As the mask came away he said, “You will not welcome this sight.”
The bronze grillwork slipped down from his forehead, and I saw first eyes that had been newly blinded, gaping holes where no surgeon’s knife but possibly thrusting fingers had penetrated, and then the sharp regal nose, and finally the quirked, taut lips of the Prince of Roum.
“Your Majesty!” I cried.
Trails of dried blood ran down his cheeks. About the raw sockets themselves were smears of ointment. He felt little pain, for he had killed it with those green smears, but the pain that burst through me was real and potent.
“Majesty no longer,” he said. “Help me with the mask!” His hands trembled as he held it forth. “These flanges must be widened. They press cruelly at my cheeks. Here—here—”
Quickly I made the adjustments, so that I would not have to see his face for long.
He replaced the mask.
In silence we continued. I had no way of making small talk with such a man. It would be a somber journey for us to Perris; but I was committed now to be his guide. I thought of Gormon and how well he had kept his vows. I thought too of Avluela, and a hundred times the words leaped to my tongue to ask the fallen Prince how his consort the Flier had fared in the night of defeat, and I did not ask.
Twilight gathered, but the sun still gleamed golden-red before us in the west. And suddenly I halted, and made a hoarse sound of surprise deep in my throat, as a shadow passed overhead.
High above me Avluela soared. Her skin was stained by the colors of the sunset, and her wings were spread to their fullest, radiant with every hue of the spectrum. She was already at least the height of a hundred men above the ground, and still climbing, and to her I must have been only a speck among the trees.
“What is it?” the Prince asked. ‘What do you see?“
“Nothing.”
“Tell me what you see!”
I could not deceive him. “I see a Flier, your Majesty. A slim girl far aloft.”
“Then the night must have come.”
“No,” I said. “The sun is still above the horizon.”
“How can that be? She can have only nightwings. The sun would hurl her to the ground.”
I hesitated. I could not bring myself to explain how it was that Avluela flew by day, though she had only nightwings. I could not tell the Prince of Roum that beside her, wingless, flew the invader Gormon, effortlessly moving through the air, his arm about her thin shoulders, steadying her, supporting her, helping her resist the pressure of the solar wind.
“Well?” he demanded. “How does she fly by day?”
“I do not know,” I said. “It is a mystery to me. There are many things nowadays I can no longer understand.”
The Prince appeared to accept that. “Yes, Watcher. Many things none of us can understand.”
He fell once more into silence. I yearned to call out to Avluela, but I knew she could not and would not hear me, and so I walked on toward the sunset, toward Perris, leading the blinded Prince. And over us Avluela and Gormon sped onward, limned sharply against the day’s last glow, until they climbed so high they were lost to my sight.
Nobody Saw The Ship
Murray Leinster
* * *
This story first appeared in 1950—a long time ago, when Harry Truman was President and many of the readers of this anthology were still unborn. Yet Will F. Jenkins, better known under his pseudonym of Murray Leinster, probably thinks of it as a relatively recent effort; after all, he had been a professional writer for more than thirty years when it was published. This cunning storyteller began turning out science-fiction stories during the First World War and in a career spanning six decades has displayed unfailing inventiveness and narrative mastery.
* * *
The landing of the Qul-En ship, a tiny craft no more than fifteen feet in diameter, went completely unnoticed, as its operator intended. It was armed, of course, but its purpose was not destruction. If this ship, whose entire crew consisted of one individual, were successful in its mission then a great ship would come, wiping out the entire population of cities before anyone suspected the danger.
But this lone Qul-En was seeking a complex hormone substance which Qul-En medical science said theoretically must exist, but the molecule of which even the Qul-En- could not synthesize directly. Yet it had to be found, in great quantity; once discovered, the problem of obtaining it would be taken up, with the resources of the whole race behind it. But first it had to be found.
The tiny ship assigned to explore the Solar System for the hormone wished to pass unnoticed. Its mission of discovery should be accomplished in secrecy if possible. For one thing, the desired hormone would be destroyed by contact with the typical Qul-En ray-gun beam, so that normal methods of securing zoological specimens could not be used.
The ship winked into being in empty space, not far from Neptune. It drove for that chilly planet, hovered about it, and decided not to land. It sped inward toward the sun and touched briefly on Io, but found no life there. It dropped into the atmosphere of Mars, and did not rise again for a full week, but the vegetation on Mars is thin and the animals mere degenerate survivors of once specialized forms. The ship came to Earth, hovered lightly at the atmosphere’s very edge for a long time, and doubtless chose its point of descent for reasons that seemed good to its occupant. Then it landed.
It actually touched Earth at night. There was no rocket-drive to call attention and by dawn it was well concealed. Only one living creature had seen it land—a mountain lion. Even so, by midday the skeleton of the lion was picked clean by buzzards, with ants tidying up after them. And the Qul-En in the ship was enormously pleased. The carcass, before being abandoned to the buzzards, had been studied with an incredible competence. The lion’s nervous system—particularly the mass of tissue in the skull—unquestionably contained either the desired hormone itself, or something so close to it that it could be modified and the hormone produced. It remained only to discover how large a supply of the precious material could be found on Earth. It was not feasible to destroy a group of animals—say, of the local civilized race—and examine their bodies, because the hormone would be broken down by the weapon which allowed of a search for it. So an estimate of available sources would have to be made by sampling. The Qul-En in the ship prepared to take samples.
The ship had landed in tumbled country some forty miles south of Ensenada Springs, national forest territory, on which grazing-rights were allotted to sheep-ranchers after illimitable red tape. Within ten miles of the hidden ship there were rabbits, birds, deer, coyotes, a lobo wolf or two, assorted chipmunks, field-mice, perhaps as many as three or four mountain lions, one flock of two thousand sheep, one man, and one dog.
The man was Antonio Menendez. He was ancient, unwashed, and ignorant, and the official shepherd of the sheep. The dog was Salazar, of dubious ancestry but sound worth, who actually took care of the sheep and knew it; he was scarred from battles done in their defense. He was unweariedly solicitous of the wooly half-wits in his charge. There were whole hours when he could not find time to scratch himself, because of his duties. He was reasonably fond of Antonio, but knew that the man did not really understand sheep.
Besides these creatures, among whom the Qul-En expected to find its samples, there were insects. These, however, the tiny alien being disregarded. It would not be practical to get any great quantity of the substance it sought from such small organisms.
By nightfall of the day after its landing, the door of the ship opened and the explorer came out in a vehicle designed expressly for sampling on this planet. The vehicle came out, stood on its hind legs, closed the door, and piled brush back to hide it. Then it moved away with the easy, feline gait of a mountain lion. At a distance of two feet it was a mountain lion. It was a magnificent job of adapting Qul-En engineering to the production of a device which would carry a small-bodied explorer about a strange world without causing remark. The explorer nested in a small cabin occupying the space—in the facsimile lion—that had been occupied by the real lion’s lungs. The fur of the duplicate was convincing; its eyes were excellent, housing scanning-cells which could make use of anything from ultraviolet far down into the infra-red. Its claws were retractable and of plastic much stronger and keener than the original lion’s claws. It had other equipment, including a weapon against which nothing on this planet could stand, and for zoological sampling it had one remarkable advantage. It had no animal smell; it was all metal and plastics.
