Gentle Invaders

by Hans Stefan Santesson

  “But the conference won’t fail!” Serena protested. “If they’re willing to consent to the conference, surely they’ll be willing to work with us for peace.”

  “Their peace or ours?” asked Thorn, staring morosely out the window. “I’m afraid we’re being entirely too naive about this whole affair. It’s been a long time since we finally were able to say, ‘Ain’t gonna study war no more,’ and made it stick. We’ve lost a lot of the running that used to be necessary in dealing with other people. We can’t, even now, be sure this isn’t a trick to get all our high command together in one place for a grand massacre.”

  “Oh, not” Serena pressed close to him and his arm went around her. “They couldn’t possibly violate—”

  “Couldn’t they?” Thorn pressed his cheek to the top of her ear. “We don’t know, Rena. We just don’t know. We have so little information about them. We know practically nothing about their customs—even less about their values or from what frame of reference they look upon our suggestion of suspending hostilities.”

  “But surely they must be sincere. They brought their families along with them. You did say those bright ships are family craft, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, they suggested we bring our families and they brought their families along with them, but it’s nothing to give us comfort. They take them everywhere—even into battle.”

  “Into battle!”

  “Yes. They mass the home craft off out of range during battles, but every time we disable or blast one of their fighters, one or more of the home craft spin away out of control or flare into nothingness. Apparently they’re just glorified trailers, dependent on the fighters for motive power and everything else.” The unhappy lines deepened in Thorn’s face. “They don’t know it, but even apart from their superior weapons, they practically forced us into this truce. How could we go on wiping out their war fleet when, with every black ship, those confounded posy-colored home craft fell too, like pulling petals off a flower. And each petal heavy with the lives of women and children.” Serena shivered and pressed closer to Thorn. “The conference must work. We just can’t have war any more. You’ve got to get through to them. Surely, if we want peace and so do they—”

  “We don’t know what they want,” said Thorn heavily. “Invaders, aggressors, strangers from hostile worlds—so completely alien to us—How can we ever hope to get together?”

  They left the conference room in silence, snapping the button on the door knob before they dosed it.

  “Hey, lookit, Mommie! Here’s a wall!” Splinter’s five-year-old hands flattened themselves like grubby starfish against the greenish ripple of the ten-foot vitricrete fence that wound through the trees and slid down the gentle curve of the hill. “Where did it come from? What’s it for? How come we can’t go play in the go’fish pond any more?”

  Serena leaned her hand against the wall. “The people who came in the pretty ships wanted a place to walk and play, too. So the Construction Corp put the fence up for them.”

  “Why won’t they let me play in the go’fish pond?” Splinter’s brows bent ominously,

  “They don’t know you want to,” said Serena.

  “I’ll tell them, then,” said Splinter. He threw his head back. “Hey! Over there!” He yelled, his fists doubling and his whole body stiffening with the intensity of the shout. “Hey! I wanta play in the go’fish pond!”

  Serena laughed. “Hush, Splinter. Even if they could hear you, they wouldn’t understand. They’re from far, far away. They don’t talk the way we do.”

  “But maybe we could play,” said Splinter wistfully.

  “Yes,” sighed Serena, “maybe you could play. If the fence weren’t there. But you see, Splinter, we don’t know what kind of—people—they are. ‘Whether they would want to play. Whether they would be—nice.”

  “Well, how can we find out with that old wall there?”

  “We can’t, Splinter,” said Serena. “Not with the fence there.”

  They walked on down the hill, Splinter’s hand trailing along the wall.

  “Maybe they’re mean,” he said finally. “Maybe they’re so bad that the ’struction Corp had to build a cage for them—a big, big cage!” He stretched his aim as high as he could reach, up the wall. “Do you suppose they got tails?”

  “Tails?” laughed Serena. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I dunno. They came from a long ways away. I’d like a tail—a long, curly one with fur on!” He swished his miniature behind energetically.

  “Whatever for?” asked Serena.

  “It’d come in handy,” said Splinter solemnly. “For climbing and—and keeping my neck warm!”

  “Why aren’t there any other kids here?” he asked as they reached the bottom of the slope. “I’d like somebody to play with.”

  “Well, Splinter, it’s kind of hard to explain,” started Serena, sinking down on the narrow ledge shelving on the tiny dry watercourse at her feet.

  “Don’t esplain then,” said Splinter. “Just tell me.”

  “Well, some Linjeni generals came in the big black ships to talk with General Worsham and some more of our generals. They brought their families with them in the fat, pretty ships. So our generals brought their families, too, but your daddy is the only one of our generals who has a little child. All the others are grown up. That’s why there’s no one for you to play with.” I wish it were as simple as it sounds, thought Serena, suddenly weary again with the weeks of negotiation and waiting that had passed.

  “Oh,” said Splinter, thoughtfully. “Then there are kids on the other side of the wall, aren’t there?”

  “Yes, there must be young Linjeni,” said Serena. “I guess you could call them children.”

  Splinter slid down to the bottom of the little watercourse and flopped down on his stomach. He pressed his cheek to the sand and peered through a tiny gap left under the fence where it crossed the stream bed. “I can’t see anybody,” he said, disappointed.

  They started back up the hill toward their quarters, walking silently, Splinter’s hand whispering along the wall.

  “Mommie?” Splinter said as they neared the patio.

  “Yes, Splinter?”

  “That fence is to keep them in, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Serena.

  “It doesn’t feel like that to me,” said Splinter. “It feels like it’s to shut me out.”

  Serena suffered through the next days with Thorn. She lay wide-eyed beside him in the darkness of their bedroom, praying as he slept restlessly, struggling even in his sleep—groping for a way.

  Tight-lipped, she cleared away untouched meals and brewed more coffee. Her thoughts went hopefully with him every time he started out with new hope and resolution, and her spirits flagged and fell as he brought back dead end, stalemate and growing despair. And in-between times, she tried to keep Splinter on as even a keel as possible, giving him the freedom of the Quarters Area during the long, sunlit days and playing with him as much as’ possible in the evenings.

  One evening Serena was pinning up her hair and keeping half an eye on Splinter as he splashed in his bath. He was gathering up handsful of foaming soap bubbles and pressing them to his chin and cheeks.

  “Now I hafta shave like Daddy,” he hummed to himself.

  “Shave, shave, shave!” He flicked the suds off with his forefinger. Then he scooped up a big double handful of bubbles and pressed them all over his face. “Now I’m Doovie. I’m all over fuzzy like Doovie. Looldt, Mommie, I’m all over—” He opened his eyes and peered through the suds to see if she was watching. Consequently, Serena spent a busy next few minutes helping him get the soap out of his eyes. When the tears had finally washed away the trouble, Serena sat toweling Splinter’s relaxed little body.

  “I bet Doovie’d cry too, if he got soap in his eyes,” he said with a sniff. “Wouldn’t he, Mommie?”

  “Doovie?” said Serena, “Probably. Almost anyone would. Who’s Doovie?”

&nb
sp; She felt Splinter stiffen on her lap. His eyes wandered away from hers. “Mommie, do you think Daddy will play with me a-morrow?”

  “Perhaps.” She captured one of his wet feet. “Who’s

  Doovie?”

  “Can we have pink cake for dessert tonight? I think I like pink—”

  “Who’s Doovie?” Serena’s voice was firm. Splinter examined his thumbnail critically, then peered up at Serena out of the corner of his eye.

  “Doovie,” he began, “Doovie’s a little boy.”

  “Oh?” said Serena. “A play-like little boy?”

  “No,” Splinter whispered, hanging his head. “A real little boy. A Linjeni little boy.” Serena drew an astonished breath and Splinter hurried on, his eyes intent on hers. “He’s nice people, Mommie, honest! He doesn’t say bad words or tell lies or talk sassy to his mother. He can run as fast as I can—faster, if I stumble. He—he—his eyes dropped again. “I like him—” His mouth quivered.

  “Where did—how could—I mean, the fence—” Serena was horrified and completely at a loss for words.

  “I dug a hole,” confessed Splinter. “Under the fence where the sand is. You didn’t say not to! Doovie came to play. His mommie came, too. She’s pretty. Her fur is pink, but Doovie’s is nice and green. All over!” Splinter got excited. “All over, even where his clothes are! All but his nose and eyes and ears and the front of his hands!”

  “But Splinter, how could you! You might have got hurt! They might have—” Serena hugged him tight to hide her face from him.

  Splinter squirmed out of her arms. “Doovie wouldn’t hurt anyone. You know what, Mommie? He can shut his nose! Yes, he can! He can shut his nose and fold up his ears! I wish I could. It’d come in handy. But I'm bigger’n he is and I can sing and he can’t. But he can whistle with his nose and when I try, I just blow mine. Doovie’s nice!”

  Serena’s mind was churning as she helped Splinter get into his night clothes. She felt the chill of fear along her forearms and the back of her neck. What to do now? Forbid Splinter’s crawling under the fence? Keep him from possible danger that might just be biding its time? What would Thorn say? Should she tell him? This might precipitate an incident that—“Splinter, how many times have you played with Doovie?”

  “How many?” Splinter’s chest swelled under his clean pajamas. “Let me count,” he said importantly and murmured and mumbled over his fingers for a minute. “Four times!” he proclaimed triumphantly. “One, two, three, four whole times!”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Naw!” he said, adding hastily, “Well, maybe a little bit the first time. I thought maybe they might have tails that liked to curl around people’s necks. But they haven’t,” disappointed, “only clothes on like us with fur on under.”

  “Did you say you saw Doovie’s mother, too?”

  “Sure,” said Splinter. “She was there the first day. She was the one that sent all the others away when they all crowded around me. All grownups. Not any kids excepting Doovie. They kinda pushed and wanted to touch me, but she told them to go away, and they all did ’cepting her and Doovie.”

  “Oh Splinter!” cried Serena, overcome by the vision of his small self-surrounded by pushing, crowding Linjeni grownups who wanted to ‘touch him’.

  “What’s the matter, Mommie?” asked Splinter.

  “Nothing, dear.” She wet her lips. “May I go along with you the next time you go to see Doovie? I’d like to meet his mother.”

  “Sure, sure!” cried Splinter. “Let’s go now. Let’s go now!”

  “Not now,” said Serena, feeling the reaction of her fear in her knees and ankles. “It’s too late. Tomorrow we’ll go see them. And Splinter, let’s not tell Daddy yet. Let’s keep it a surprise for a while.”

  “Okay, Mommie,” said Splinter. “It’s a good surprise, isn’t it? You were awful surprised, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was,” said Serena. “Awful surprised.”

  Next day Splinter squatted down and inspected the hole under the fence. “It’s kinda little,” he said. “Maybe you’ll get stuck.”

  Serena, her heart pounding in her throat, laughed. “That wouldn’t be very dignified, would it?” she asked. “To go calling and get stuck in the door.”

  Splinter laughed. “It’d be funny,” he said. “Maybe we better go find a really door for you.”

  “Oh, no,” said Serena hastily. “We can make this one bigger.”

  “Sure,” said Splinter. “I’ll go get Doovie and he can help dig.”

  “Fine,” said Serena, her throat tightening. Afraid of a child, she mocked herself. Afraid of a Linjeni—aggressor—invader, she defended.

  Splinter flattened on the sand and slid under the fence. “You start digging,” he called. “I’ll be back!”

  Serena knelt to the job, the loose sand coming away so readily that she circled her arms and dredged with them. Then she heard Splipter scream.

  For a brief second, she was paralyzed. Then he screamed again, closer, and Serena dragged the sand away in a frantic frenzy. She felt the sand scoop down the neck of her blouse and the skin scrape off her spine as she forced herself under the fence.

  Then there was Splinter, catapulting out of the shrubbery, sobbing and screaming, “Doovie, Doovie’s drownding! He’s in the go’fish pond! All under the water I I can’t get him out I Mommie, Mommie!”

  Serena grabbed his hand as she shot past and towed him along, stumbling and dragging, as she ran for the goldfish pond. She leaned across the low wall and caught a glimpse, under the churning thrash of the water, of green mossy fur and staring eyes. With hardly a pause except to shove Splinter backward and start a deep breath, she plunged over into the pond. She felt the burning bite of water up her nostrils and grappled in the murky darkness for Doovie—feeling again and again the thrash of small limbs that slipped away before she could grasp them.

  Then she was choking and sputtering on the edge of the pond, pushing the still-struggling Doovie up and over. Splinter grabbed him and pulled as Serena heaved herself over-the edge of the pond and fell sprawling across Doovie.

  Then she heard another higher, shriller scream and was shoved off Doovie viciously and Doovie was snatched up into rose pink arms. Serena pushed her lank, dripping hair out of her eyes and met the hostile glare of the rose pink eyes of Doovie’s mother.

  Serena edged over to Splinter and held him close, her eyes intent on the Linjeni. The pink mother felt the green child all over anxiously and Serena noticed with an odd detachment that Splinter hadn’t mentioned that Doovie’s eyes matched his fur and that he had webbed feet.

  Webbed feet! She began to laugh, almost hysterically. Oh Lordy! No wonder Doovie’s mother was so alarmed.

  “Can you talk to Doovie?” asked Serena of the sobbing Splinter.

  “No!” wailed Splinter. “You don’t have to talk to play.”

  “Stop crying, Splinter,” said Serena. “Help me think. Doovie’s mother thinks we were trying to hurt Doovie. He wouldn’t drown in the water. Remember, he can close his nose and fold up his ears. How are we going to tell his mother we weren’t trying to hurt him?”

  “Well,” Splinter scrubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. “We could hug him—”

  “That wouldn’t do, Splinter,” said Serena, noticing with near panic that other brightly colored figures were moving among the shrubs, drawing closer—“I’m afraid she won’t let us touch him.”

  Briefly she toyed with the idea of turning and trying to get back to the fence, then she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

  “Let’s play-like, Splinter,” she said. “Let’s show Doovie’s mother that we thought he was drowning. You go fall in the pond and I’ll pull you out. You play-like drowned and I’ll—I’ll cry.”

  “Gee, Mommie, you’re crying already!” said Splinter, his face puckering.

  “I’m just practicing,” she said, steadying her voice. “Go on.”

  Splinter hesitated on th
e edge of the pond, shrinking away from the water that had fascinated him so many times before. Serena screamed suddenly, and Splinter, startled, lost his balance and fell in. Serena had hold of him almost before he went under water and pulled him out, cramming as much of fear and apprehension into her voice and actions as she could. “Be dead,” she whispered fiercely. “Be dead all over!” And Splinter melted so completely in her arms that her moans and cries of sorrow were only partly make-believe. She bent over his still form and rocked to and fro in her grief.

  A hand touched her arm and she looked up into the bright eyes of the Linjeni. The look held for a long moment and then the Linjeni smiled, showing even, white teeth, and a pink, fury hand patted Splinter on the shoulder. His eyes flew open and he sat up. Doovie peered around from behind his mother and then he and Splinter were rolling and tumbling together, wrestling happily between the two hesitant mothers. Serena found a shaky laugh somewhere in among her alarms and Doovie’s mother whistled softly with her nose.

  That night, Thorn cried out in his sleep and woke Serena. She lay in the darkness, her constant prayer moving like a candle flame in her mind. She crept out of bed and checked Splinter in his shadowy room. Then she knelt and opened the bottom draw of Splinter’s chest-robe. She ran her hand over the gleaming folds of the length of Linjeni material that lay there—the material the Linjeni had found to wrap her in while her clothes dried. She had given them her lacy slip in exchange. Her fingers read the raised pattern in the dark, remembering how beautiful it was in the afternoon sun. Then the sun was gone and she saw a black ship destroyed, a home craft plunging to incandescent death, and the pink and green and yellow and all the other bright furs charring and crisping and the patterned materials curling before the last flare of flame. She leaned her head on her hand and shuddered.

  But then she saw the glitter of a silver ship, blackening and fusing, dripping monstrously against the emptiness of space. And heard the wail of a fatherless Splinter so vividly that she shoved the drawer in hastily and went back to look at his quiet sleeping face and to tuck him unnecessarily in.