Collected Short Fiction, page 391
The New York Times, August 14 1959
WASHINGTON, Aug 13—Defense Department officials indicated today that the United States will make an attempt to hit the moon with an unmanned missile some time during the coming month.
The announcement stems from the successful launching last month of Daisy, the 1100-pound instrument-carrying Earth satellite. Defense Department spokesmen imply that the launching-rocket used to place Daisy in its orbit could easily send a missile to the moon. Presumably, the moon missile would be equipped with hydrogen warhead to provide visible proof of its safe arrival.
Considerable speculation in the Capital followed the disclosure. On Aug. 3 Radio Moscow declared that the Soviet Union was preparing a moon missile for “early launching.” No date was specified. Washing? on observers believe that the United States will regain a large measure of its international scientific prestige if it becomes the first nation to reach the moon with an unmanned missile, and that an accelerated program toward that goal has been under way for several months.
WHILE THIS was going on on Earth, the real news of the Solar System was being made elsewhere. The Girrian invasion fleet, consisting of eleven super-light dreadnaught-c lass ships, armed with fusion bombs and atomic cannon, emerged from nullwarp in the orbit of Jupiter, after having made the ninety-one light-year journey from Girr in some sixteen weeks.
It was not so much an invasion of imperialism as one of necessity. The Girrians were oxygen-breathing humanoids; their home world of Girr had been fairly thoroughly devastated three generations before by nuclear warfare. Although the warring factions had been reconciled and no possibility of future internal conflict remained, the planet had been turned into a charred and sterile ruin.
A new home had to be found. Residual radioactivity was playing hob with the Girrian genetic patterns. Sterility was overtaking them; they needed a new world.
They sent out scouts. The scouts covered better than a hundred cubic light-years before they found a suitable world.
It was the third planet of a small yellow sun. Gravitation was 1.006 Girr-norm; atmospheric content was virtually identical so far as oxygen was concerned. This world’s air contained nitrogen instead of helium, but that would make no great difference.
The planet was inhabited by humanoids. The humanoids were in possession of nuclear weapons, but evidently had not used them in any large-scale military offensives yet, though preparatory tests were frequent. For the past two years the inhabitants of this planet had been sending up orbital satellites of increasing complexity, and nearly a dozen of these were in operation now. But there was no indication that they had means of interstellar or even interplanetary travel.
Obviously, the time to strike was now, while these humanoids were still defenseless. Their planet was desirable, and they could be exterminated with a minimum of fuss. Later, it might be more difficult.
Let it be noted in passing that the name of the planet is not Girr, nor was the leader of the war-party under the command of Lord Garr, But this is the closest that our language can come to a translation of the aliens’ names; and “Lord”, although inadequate, is the nearest we can come to the commander’s title and social position. If you can imagine the United States of America taking on titles of nobility or its political and industrial leaders and executives, without otherwise altering its social and political set-up, this will approximate the meaning of the Girrian titles.
IT ARRIVED in the system of Sol on Day 81 of the Year Girr 11, 206. By Terran reckoning, that was Friday, August 14, 1959. On Earth, the weather was warm and humid; air-conditioners hummed and power-stations neared dangerous overload peaks. But the aliens, studying the potential planet with thermocouples, couldn’t have been more delighted. They liked it moist.
Aboard the flagship Noble Garr, Lord Garr of Girr and his captains met to work out final plans.
Youngest and most vigorous scion of the Garr family, the Lord Garr of Girr did not remember the Girrian nuclear wars; he had always known a world of cinder-heaps, and radioactive slag. He burned with determination to conquer this green and fair world of oceans and fertile plains in the narpe of Girr.
He was large for his race, standing nearly two meters high. His skin was thick and leathery, a golden-green in color—the color of the aristocracy. His captains were bluish-green; his soldiers of the line, nearly gray.
He said, “The conquest shouldn’t take more than two or three days. We’ll establish a base on that airless companion planet of theirs and drop a couple of megatonners on them. Gliiy, how’s the semantic analysis coming?” The linguist looked up at Lord Garr, and his eyes receded under their multiple lids in shame. “Not very well, I beg to say.”
“Not well? How is that?”
GLIIY LOOKED miserable. “We’ve been monitoring their radio broadcasts and trying to convert them into something we can understand, but it’s absolutely impossible. The language just does not stand up to any kind of rigorous analysis. For one thing, it seems to have about thirty variable grammatic constitutions, and a vocabulary so immense it’s unbelievable.”
Lord Garr of Girr nibbled his knuckles reflectively. He had been counting on the linguistic analysis; lie had already written his ultimatum, and a fine thunderous-sounding thing it was too. The aliens would cower when they heard it in their own language, beamed at them from their dead companion-world. But . . .
“Is there no way of cracking the language?” he demanded stonily.
“None, sire. In fact . . .”
“Yes?”
“One of my assignments suggests that the impossibly chaotic state of the alien language is caused by the fact that it is not one language, but several.”
“How can that be?”
Gliiy shrugged. “Perhaps this world has developed several languages. I know it sounds incredible, but that’s what the evidence points to.” Lord Garr of Girr scowled malevolently, but he saw there was nothing to be gained by blustering. He had hoped to deliver his ultimatum—and, of course, it helped to know what your enemies were saying. But he was not expecting much resistance, in any event. They would have to make do without knowing the alien language (or languages, as the case might be.)
“Very well,” the noble growled. “Gliiy, consider yourself dismissed from the meeting. If you turn up anything new on their language, be sure to let me know. Now listen, the rest of you. We’ll make our landing on that companion world of theirs . . .”
The New York Times, August 15, 1959
CAMBRIDGE, Mass., Aug. 14 (UP)—Strange radiation emanating from the moon is being detected by Daisy, the United States’ largest and most sensitive orbital satellite. The Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory reported in a special news conference that “definite electromagnetic radiation” has been observed by the satellite’s instruments. The report of radiation began early this morning, said Dr. K. Harvey Allen, associate director of the observatory, and as of mid-afternoon showed no signs of abating.
The discovery gave rise to speculation that the Soviet Union might have landed a missile on the moon during the night. No comment was forthcoming from Moscow.
Meanwhile plans are proceeding for despatch of this country’s first moon missile “shortly.” No departure date was specified. A study is now under way to determine the cause of the unprecedented radiation detected by the space satellite.
THE GIRRIANS had made their landing without difficulty, entering the region of Earth under cover of invisibility shields. Lord Garr of Girr was slightly nervous. This was, after all, his first assignment, and it was a tremendously important one; he had his family honor to uphold. They would be waiting anxiously back on Girr for his report of success.
He tried to comfort himself.
It would be an easy mission, he thought, like shooting grelks in a barrel. The aliens had no spaceships and only primitive missiles; besides, the attack would come so fast they would never know what had hit them. All they would be aware of was that conquerors were among them, and that thenceforth they would have to bow the knee to the glory of Girr.
He looked at his aide-de-camp and said, “Fluur, there’s no chance they can see us from down there, is there? They might have good observatories.”
“Not a chance, Excellency. Even without our invisibility shields, they would have trouble seeing eleven ships, even such ships as ours, at a distance of better than thirty planetary diameters.”
“But they can pick up the radiation from our shields, can’t they?”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. They won’t know what’s causing it.”
COMFORTED, Lord Garr forced a smile and ordered his spacesuit to be brought. He wanted to look down on this planet before the attack began. He wanted to see it in its unspoiled freshness, before the bombs rained down upon it from the launching platforms of the Girrian ships.
He donned the suit. They had landed inside a giant crater on the bleak, pockmarked world—which, he now realized, was no companion planet, but merely a moon of enormous size.
The eleven Girrian ships were arranged in a circle within the wall of the crater. Lord Garr emerged from his flagshin and allowed himself to be lifted to the rim of the crater. From there, he stared out at the great green world whose reflected light brightened the dark star-streaked sky.
The new home of the people of Girr, he thought exultantly. A vision filled his mind: the alien beings driven into dark corners of the world, and a triumphant procession of Girrian vessels bearing beings across space from the old ruined world to this glorious new one.
And all his doing; his conquest, his glory, his triumph. Lord Garr of Girr! I! Me! I!
He heard a tinny scrabbling sound, as of someone plugging in an input jack in order to make contact with him through his suit radios. He felt a twinge of irritation at being interrupted while contemplating his future dominion.
“Excellency, would you return to the ship at once? There seems to be trouble. Our mass detectors report a strange object . . .”
The New York Times, August 16 1959 (special edition)
WASHINGTON, August 15—The United States sent Moon Missile Number One streaking skyward late this afternoon in a secrecy-shrouded launching. News of the event was not released until after the successful launching which took place at the Cape Canaveral, Fla., missile station.
A hydrogen warhead will signal to the world the arrival of the rocket, which will require eleven hours and thirty minutes to make the journey of approximately 240,000 miles. The Defense Department revealed that a “structurally modified intercontinental ballistics missile” had been used in the test.
LORD GARR of Girr listened impatiently to his advisers as they pointed to the object on the radar screen.
“It’s hard to tell, of course. The trouble with our invisibility screen is that it works two ways. But we do seem to pick up the track of something that might be a missile heading toward our base.” Lord Garr snorted. “How could they penetrate our invisibility shield? Why, technologically they’re millenia behind us, and we don’t have anything that can see through an invisibility shield.”
“We can make out the shadows of objects of large mass advancing toward us,” replied the technician. “And there seems to be something heading this way at considerable speed.”
The phone rang. Lord Garr signalled for one of his aides-de-camp to pick it up. A moment later the man said, “Sire?”
“What is it?” Garr disliked these complications.
“It’s the radiation-tracking lab, sire. They seem to be picking up emanations coming closer. They think it may be some form of enemy counter-attack.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Garr thundered. Then he considered: “How long will it take to break out the antimissile missiles?”
“You ordered them stored, sire,” an obsequious underling said. “But we could have them in action within—say, half a day.”
“Good. Get them ready. We can’t take any chances on such an important mission. And maybe—just maybe—we’ve underestimated these aliens.”
The New York Times, August 16 1959 (second edition)
MOSCOW, Aug. 15 (AP)—A Soviet Moon Missile was reported launched from the Siberian rocket station shortly after dawn, Moscow time. If the Radio Moscow report is correct, the Russian missile should reach the moon within an hour after ours.
THE GIRRIAN base on Luna was in a hubbub of excitement. A frantic race against time was under way; the invisibility shields had been lowered for a fraction of a second, long enough to confirm the fact that a missile was under way from the supposedly defenseless world below.
A quick estimate revealed that the missile would be arriving in eighteen minutes—which was a good fifty minutes before any major Girrian defense could be rigged. Lord Garr of Girr broadcast encouraging words to his sweating crewmen, over an all-ship hookup.
“This alien missile is not to be feared,” he shouted hoarsely. The old thunder was gone from his voice; he felt panicky. “It is not aimed specifically at us; perhaps it will land elsewhere. Perhaps it does not carry destructive weapons. Or, most likely, the destruction will affect some other area of the world we are on.
“And then, our retaliation will be massive. We will show no quarter. We.”
“Sire?”
Someone was plucking at his arm.
“Can’t you see I’m broadcasting, you fool?” he snapped.
“Yes, Excellency. Excellency, terrible news!”
Hastily Lord Garr cut the broadcast circuit. “What is it?”
“Sire, we’ve just detected a second alien missile—right behind the first!”
Lord Garr of Girr merely groaned.
The New York Times, August 17 1959
WASHINGTON, Aug 17—A double explosion rocked the Earth’s oldest satellite today, as America and Russia fought to a virtual dead heat in the race to put an unmanned rocket on the moon. Eleven minutes after an American modified ICBM unleashed hydrogen-bomb fury on the crater Copernicus, a Russian missile blasted into the crater named Plato.
All eleven of Earth’s artificial satellites recorded the assault on the moon. A tremendous flare of light was visible to watchers on Earth.
It was fourteen years and one month since the opening of the atomic era at Alamogordo, New Mexico, July 16 1945, with the detonation of the first A-Bomb.
The White House said: “Humanity has taken a giant step forward into space today. It must be the fervent hope of everyone that the next great move toward the conquest of the universe be taken, not competitively as this was, but jointly. We . . .”
IT WAS nineteen weeks after the departure of the invasion fleet from Girr. Grand Lord Garr of Girr was getting worried; his son was capable, but inclined toward overconfidence, and his subradio message announcing success was long overdue. Was it possible he had been defeated?
No, Grand Lord Garr thought. Impossible!
But still, he nibbled his knuckles and waited for the message to come.
The New York Times, August 30 1959
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. Aug. 29 (UP)—The Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory declared today that the strange electromagnetic radiation detected by Satellite Daisy shortly before the double American-Russian moon blitz had totally disappeared.
“We don’t know what caused the radiation and we don’t know why it went away,” said associate director K. Harvey Allen. “It vanished right after the two H-bombs landed, and we think there’s some connection.”
Research will continue on this outer-space mystery, Dr. Allen said.
And so the Girrian invasion was repulsed. It is quite probable that Earth’s divided nations will never know that through their combined efforts they had successfully fought Earth’s first interplanetary war, on a warm, sluggish day in mid-August of 1959.
Unknown Soldier of Space
They call him a hero, this guy nobody can identify; but what makes a man a hero? Bravery? Yet who’s really brave when death points a gun!
DOWN IN THE BIG plaza facing the Hall of the Worlds in the System’s Capital they’ve erected a monument to the Unknown Soldier of Space—a shining needle of milk-white irradiplast, bordered by lovely green lawns.
Someday I’ll have to go down and see it. I don’t get around much these days, but the, trip might be worth it. They tell me there’s a plaque mounted on the side of the monument, and they tell me the plaque reads this way:
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER OF
SPACE
Within this tomb lies the body of a man who fell in battle in 2106 during the Terran-Martian War. No one knows his name; no country claims him. He rests here for eternity, a brave man without a name, a symbol for all time of the many brave men who helped to bring peace to the System.
I think that’s a very pretty inscription, and as one of the “brave men” they’re talking about—I was part of the Deimos Raid in 2106—I’m pretty proud that one of my comrades is lying there representing us. But there’s a special wrinkle to this thing that inclines me to travel down to the Capital and put a wreath on the Unknown Spaceman’s tomb.
You see, I happen to know who the Unknown Soldier of Space really was. I didn’t speak up at the time his body was brought back, because I didn’t see much to gain by revealing facts better off suppressed than revealed. The fellow who’s buried under that irradiplast needle was named Joe Hammond. And it’s funny that Joe Hammond should be picked as the symbol of our bravery—because Joe Hammond was probably the biggest coward the 103rd Spaceborne ever enrolled.
JOEY HAMMOND was a green recruit that spring of 2106 when we all trained for the big push against Mars. I was a two-year man, and in the Spaceborne then that was a pretty high seniority. We practiced maneuvers that year off the Main Orbiter, operating out of the Big Wheel and getting our space-legs.
That year the war had finally broken out—on January 12, I think. The war had been on its way for at least a decade; friction between Mars and Earth had been unstoppable. And so for no good reason we found ourselves at war the morning of January 12, and the 103rd Spaceborne was activated.
