However, he had been called upon to speak off the cuff too often not to be able to rise to the occasion.
“Welcome to Earth,” he said with a flourish that he hoped the TV boys got. “This is an historical occasion indeed. Without doubt future generations of your people and mine will look back on this fateful hour and...”
Grannon Tyre 1852K smiled again. “I beg your pardon but was my assumption correct? You are an official of the government?”
“Eh? Er—humph—yes, of course. I am Governor Harry Smith of Connecticut, this prosperous and happy state in which you have landed. To go on—”
The alien said, “If you don’t mind, I have a message from the Graff Marin Sidon Forty-eight L. The Graff has commanded me to inform you that it is his pleasure that you notify all the nations, races and tribes upon Earth that he will address their representatives exactly one of your Earth months from today. He has an important message to deliver.”
The governor gave up trying to hold command of the situation. “Who?” he asked painfully. “What kind of a message?”
Grannon Tyre 1852K still smiled but it was the patient smile you used with a backward or recalcitrant child. His voice was a bit firmer, there was a faint touch of command.
“The Graff requests that you inform all nations of the world to have their representatives gather one month from today to receive his message. Is that clear?”
“Yeah. I guess so. Who—”
“Then that is all for the present. Good day.” The green alien turned and strode back to the spaceship. The portal closed behind him silently.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” said Governor Harry Smith a fraction of a second before the television cameras could cut him off the air.
Never before had there been anything like the following month. It was a period of jubilation and fear, of anticipation and foreboding, of hope and despair. As the delegates from all over Earth gathered to hear the message of the visitor from space tension grew throughout the world.
Scientist and savage, politician and revolutionist, banker and beggar, society matron and streetwalker, awaited that which they knew would influence the rest of their lives. And each hoped for one thing and feared another.
Newspaper columnists, radio commentators and soapbox speakers dwelt on the possibilities of the message endlessly. Although there were some who viewed it with alarm, as a whole it was believed that the aliens would open up a new era for earth.
Scientific secrets beyond the dreams of man were expected to be revealed. Disease was to be wiped out overnight. Man would take his place with this other intelligence to help rule the universe.
Preparations were made for the delegates to meet at Madison Square Garden in New York. It had early been seen that the United Nations buildings would be inadequate. Representatives were coming from races, tribes and countries which had never dreamed of sending delegates to the international conferences so prevalent in the last few decades.
The Graff Marin Sidonn 48L was accompanied to the gathering by Grannon Tyre 1852K and by a score of identically uniformed green complexioned aliens who could only be taken for guards although they carried no evident weapons either defensive or offensive.
The Graff himself appeared to be an amiable enough gentleman, somewhat older than the other visitors from space. His step was a little slower and his toga more conservative in color than that of Grannon Tyre 1852K, who was evidently his aide.
Although he gave every indication of courtesy, the large number of persons confronting him seemed irritating and the impression was gained that the sooner this was over the more pleased he would be.
President Hanford of the United States opened the meeting with a few well chosen words, summing up the importance of the conference. He then introduced Grannon Tyre 1852K, who was also brief but who threw the first bombshell, although a full half of the audience didn’t at first recognize the significance of his words.
“Citizens of Earth,” he began, “I introduce to you Marin Sidonn Forty-eight L, Graff of the Solar System by appointment of Modren One, Gabon of Carthis, and, consequently, Gabon of the Solar System including the planet Earth. Since the English language seems to be the nearest to a universal one upon this world, your Graff has prepared himself so that he may address you in that tongue. I understand that translation devices have been installed so that representatives of other languages will be able to follow.”
He turned to the Graff, held the flat of his right hand against his waist and then extended it toward his chief. The Graff returned the salute and stepped before the microphones.
The delegates arose to their feet to acclaim him and the cheers lasted a full ten minutes, being finally stilled when the alien from space showed a slight annoyance. President Hanford got to his feet, held up his hands and called for order.
The clamor died away and the Graff looked out over his audience. “This is a strange meeting indeed,” he began. “For more than four decals, which roughly comes to forty-three of your Earth years, I have been Graff of this Solar System, first under Toren One, and more recently under his successor, Modren One, present Gabon of Carthis, which, as has already been pointed out by my assistant, makes him Gabon of the Solar System and of Earth.”
Of all those present in the Garden Larry Kincaid, of Associated Press, was the first to grasp the significance of what was being said. “He’s telling us we’re property. Shades of Charlie Fort!”
The Graff went on. “In all of this four decals, however, I have not visited Earth but have spent my time on the planet you know as Mars. This, I assure you, has not been because I was not interested in your problems and your welfare as an efficient Graff should be.
“Rather it has been traditional with the Gabons of Carthis not to make themselves known to the inhabitants of their subject planets until these subjects have reached at least an H-Seventeen development. Unfortunately, Earth has reached but an H-Four development.”
A low murmur was spreading over the hall. The Graff paused for a moment and then said kindly, “I imagine that what I have said thus far is somewhat of a shock. Before we go on, let me sum it up briefly.
“Earth has been, for a longer period than your histories record, a part of the Carthis Empire, which includes all of this Solar System. The Gabon, or perhaps you would call him Emperor, of Carthis appoints a Graff to supervise each of his sun systems. I have been your Graff for the past forty-three years, making my residence on Mars, rather than on Earth, because of your low state of civilization.
“In fact,” he went on, half musingly, “Earth hasn’t been visited more than a score of times by representatives of Carthis in the past five thousand years. And, as a rule, these representatives were taken for some supernatural manifestation by your more than usually superstitious people. At least it is well that you have got over the custom of greeting us as gods.”
The murmur increased within the large auditorium to reach the point where the Graff could no longer be heard. Finally President Hanford, pale of face, stepped before the microphones and held up his hands again. When a reasonable quiet had been obtained, he turned back to the green man.
He said, “Undoubtedly, it will take considerable time for any of us fully to assimilate this. All of the assembled delegates probably have questions which they would like to ask. However, I believe that one of the most pressing and one that we all have in mind is this—
“You say that ordinarily you wouldn’t have made yourself known to us until we had reached a development of, I think you said, H-Seventeen, and that now we are but H-Four. Why have you made yourself known to us now? What special circumstances called for this revelation?”
The Graff nodded. “I was about to dwell upon that, Mr. President.” He turned again to the quieted world delegates.
“My purpose in visiting Earth at this time is to announce to you that an interstellar arrangement has been made between the Gabon of Carthis and the Gabon of Wharis whereby the Solar System becomes part of the Wharis Emp
ire, in return for certain considerations among the Aldeberan planets. In short, you are now subjects of the Gabon Wharis. I am being recalled and your new Graff, Belde Kelden, Forty-eight L, will arrive in due order.”
He let his eyes go over them gently. There was a touch of pity in them. “Are there any other questions you wish to ask?”
Lord Harricraft stood up at his table directly before the microphones. He was obviously shaken. He said, “I cannot make an official statement until I have consulted with my governmDent but I would like to ask this—what difference will it make to us, this change in Graffs, or even this change in—uh—Gabons? If the policy is to leave Earth alone until the race has progressed further it will affect us little, if at all, for the time being, will it not?”
The Graff spoke sadly. “While that has always been the policy of the Gabons of Carthis, your former rulers, it is not the policy of the present Gabon of Wharis. However, I can only say that your new Graff, Belde Kelden Forty-eight L, will be here in a few weeks and will undoubtedly explain his policies.”
Lord Harricraft remained on his feet. “But you must have some idea of what this new Gabon wants of Earth.”
The Graff hesitated then said slowly, “It is widely understood that the Gabon of Wharis is badly in need of uranium and various other rare elements to be found here on Earth. The fact that he has appointed Belde Kelden Forty-eight L as your new Graff is also an indication, since this Graff has a wide reputation for success in all-out exploitation of new planets.”
Larry Kincaid grinned wryly at the other newspapermen at the press table. He said, “We’ve been sold down the river.”
Monsieur Pierre Bart was on his feet. “Then it is to be expected that this Graff Belde Kelden Forty-eight L, under the direction of the Gabon of Wharis, will begin wholesale exploitation of this planet’s resources, transporting them to other parts of the Gabon’s empire?”
“I am afraid that is correct.”
President Hanford spoke again. “But are we to have nothing to say about this? After all—”
The Graff said, “Even in Carthis and under the benevolent rule of Modren One, the most progressive Gabon in the Galaxy, a planet has no voice in its own rule until it has reached a development of H-Forty. You see, each Gabon must consider the welfare of his empire as a whole. He cannot be affected by the desires or even needs of the more primitive life forms on his various backward planets. Unfortunately—”
Lord Harricraft was beet red with indignation. “But this is preposterous,” he sputtered. “It is unheard of that a—”
The Graff held up his hand coldly. “I have no wish to argue with you. As I have said, I am no longer Graff of this planet. However, I might point out to you a few facts which make your indignation somewhat out of place. In spite of my residence on Mars I have gone to the effort of investigating to some extent the history of Earth. Correct me if I am wrong in the following—”
“This nation in which we hold our conference is the United States. Is it not true that in 1803 the United States bought approximately one million square miles of its present territory from the French Emperor Napoleon for fifteen million dollars? I believe it is called the Louisiana Purchase.
“I also believe that at that time the Louisiana Territory was inhabited almost exclusively by American Indian tribes. Had these people ever heard of Napoleon or the United States? What happened to these people when they tried to defend their homes against the encroaching white man?”
He indicated Lord Harricraft. “Or perhaps I should come closer to home. I understand that you represent Great Britain. Tell me, how was Canada originally acquired? Or South Africa? Or India?”
He turned to Pierre Bart. “And you, I believe, represent France. How were your North African colonies acquired? Did you consult with the nomadic peoples who lived there before you took over control of them?”
The Frenchman sputtered. “But these were backward barbarians! Our assuming government over the area was to their benefit and to the benefit of the world as a whole.”
The Graff shrugged sadly. “I am afraid that that is exactly the story you will hear from your new Graff Belde Kelden Forty-eight L.”
Suddenly half the hall was on its feet. Delegates stood on chairs and tables. Shouts rose, threats, hysterical defiance.
“We’ll fight!”
“Better death than slavery!”
“We’ll unite for all-out defense against the aliens!”
“Down with otherworld interference!”
“WE’LL FIGHT!”
The Graff waited until the first fire of protest had burnt itself out, then held up his hands for quiet.
He said, “I strongly recommend that you do nothing to antagonize Belde Kelden Forty-eight L, who is known to be a ruthless Graff when opposed by his inferiors. He strictly carries out the orders of the Gabon of Wharis, who usually makes a policy of crushing such revolts and then removing the population remaining to less desirable planets, where they are forced to support themselves as best they can.”
He paused before adding, “I can only say that on some of the Wharis Empire planets, this is quite difficult if not impossible.”
The din throughout the hall was beginning to rise again. The Graff shrugged and turned back to President Hanford. “I am afraid I must go now. There is nothing more for me to say.” He motioned to Grannon Tyre 1852K and his guard.
“One moment,” the President said urgently. “Isn’t there something else? Some advice, some word of assistance?”
The Graff sighed. “I am sorry, but it is now out of my hands.” But he paused and considered a moment. “There is one thing I can suggest that might help you considerably in your dealings with Belde Kelden Forty-eight L. I hope that in telling you of it, I don’t hurt your feelings.”
“Of course not,” the President said hurriedly and hopefully. “The fate of the whole world is at stake. Anything that will help—”
“Well, then, I might say that I consider myself completely without prejudice. It means nothing to me if a person has a green skin, a yellow one, or is white, brown, black or red. Some of my best friends are unfortunately colored.
“However, well, don’t you have any races on this planet with a green complexion? Graff Belde Kelden Forty-eight L is known to be extremely prejudiced against races of different colors. If you had some green representatives to meet him—”
The President, who was from Mississippi, stared at him dumbly.
The Graff was distressed. “You mean you have no races at all on Earth of green complexion?—or, at very least, blue?”
SECOND ADVENT
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
“[This story] has the same over-and-overdone theme in science fiction of “we are property.” That is, we are under control of intelligences far and beyond our own. In the first story, Down the River, they are not benevolent. Come to think of it, possibly they aren’t in this one. On the other hand, possibly they are. It’s according to your politics.
—Mack Reynolds
* * * *
When he came this time it was not to reveal himself in a backwater community of the Province of Judaea during the rule of Herod the Great and Augustus Caesar.
Nobody seemed to know from whence he came. Suddenly, he was before the iron portals of the White House. He walked through the gates, which were closed and locked at the time.
He was a slim young man, seemingly about thirty, with a fairly dark complexion, and soft dark eyes. His brown beard had a reddish tinge. He wore what looked like leather sandals and a Roman toga, or some such garment. Nobody who saw him had actually ever seen a Roman toga, that is, outside Hollywood productions, and even the most competent of wardrobers had never quite figured out how the Romans had draped those togas.
He walked through the iron gates and confronted the guards, submachine guns in hand. They were smallish submachine guns, so as not to be conspicuous, not to overly throw off VIP visitors, or even tourists—some of whom were not aware o
f the fact that it was necessary to so protect the President.
Yes, there were the guards.
The lieutenant was Angelo Maritino who had been raised in a strict Catholic family and still moderately kept up his duties. Lieutenant Maritino was not unaware of art. The home of his birth had been plastered with it—Italian style.
In short, he knew a halo when he saw one.
His face was slack. He opened his mouth and said…nothing.
The newcomer smiled gently and also said nothing. But into the minds of all present came, with soft amusement, Take me to your leader.
There was no question. There wasn’t the beginning of a question. They didn’t frisk him. They didn’t even come within a half dozen yards of him. Lieutenant Maritino, shortly followed by the balance of the gate guards, let his submachine gun slip from his hands to the ground.
At the portals of the White House, Angelo Maritino flustered, almost as though apologetically, to the Secret Service officer there, “A distinguished visitor to see…”
The other gawked.
And the visitor passed gently through.
He knew the way. Obviously, he knew the way. He knew the way everywhere.
And then a finger of doubt slid up the spine of Mike McCord, one of the gate guards who had followed to this point. If the newcomer knew the way, if he knew everything, why did he bother to materialize in front of the White House gates? Why didn’t he simply show up in the Oval Room?
The visitor looked at him and smiled. He said, in English, his voice infinitely gentle, “I wished to observe the premises with my physical senses. One whom I regarded as a friend used to reside here. He was shot one night while attending a theatre.” He added absently, “Happily, we were able to clone him and now he dwells with us.”
The news of his coming raced before them. Doors opened magically and the newcomer, with his escort trailing wide-eyed behind, passed placidly through.
Finally they reached the ultimate door and that, too, swung open. The President stood there behind his desk, flanked by his two chief aides. All stared, unblinkingly.
The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack Page 25