The Invaders

by Keith Laumer

  “Do? Do?” The astronomer puffed out his cheeks, looked indignant. “I presume they will do what the natives of Germany are reputed to do when it rains, sir! Let it rain!”

  “Will Mt. Wilson send a crew to observe the fall?”

  “The fall? The fall? What fall? There will be no fall, Mr. Vincent―not in the sense I’m sure you mean―a surface strike. There will be no sensational story for your credulous readers, no rabble-rousing article predicting the doom of mankind! I shall, if necessary, lodge a protest with your editor at once! The full weight of this institution will be brought to bear―”

  “Calm down, Dr. Shrimpwell,” David cut in. “I’m not a reporter.”

  “He, ah, spoke of the army, Newton,” Skinner murmured to his stout colleague. He seems to, ah, fear some, er, hostile, ah, intent . . . “

  “Hostile intent?” Shrimpwell drew himself up, compressed his chins menacingly.

  “Sir, if it is your intent to involve this University in some insane Invasion From Mars scare, I warn you―”

  “Don’t warn me, Doctor,” David said wearily. “I’ve been warned by experts.”

  Outside, Skinner confronted David. “Look here, Vincent―I trust you’ll not do anything to further outrage Shrimpwell . . . “

  “I won’t, Professor.” David looked at the agitated pedagogue. “It’s strange that you’re more worried about the publicity than you are about the object that’s about to strike the planet.”

  “A rock will fall in the desert, nothing more―”

  “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” Skinner opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. “I can’t help you, Mr. Vincent,” he said in a small voice. “But still―well―since you feel as you do, why not refer the matter to the military authorities? Fort Knapp is only a few miles from here. But please: don’t―”

  “I know,” David said. “Don’t mention your name.”

  Chapter Three

  David vincent spent the whole of the next day at Ft. Knapp, waiting first in one office, then in another. Cold, late-afternoon shadows were lengthening across the floor when he laid aside the dog-eared magazine he had been thumbing for an hour, went to the glassed in office and rapped. The elderly, hard-bitten warrant officer inside slid back the panel.

  “Just between the two of us,” David said, “Is there any point in my waiting?”

  “Just between the two of us―no,” the man answered. “Look, fella―we get half a dozen nut cases a week, you know? The colonel hasn’t got time―”

  “This could be important,” David said. “Is there any provision in the regulations for that?”

  The man shook his head, smiling crookedly. “Some day maybe we’ll miss World War Three on account of the colonel wouldn’t see some guy,” he said. “In the meantime, this way is easier all around. And by the way,” he added as David turned away. “Don’t go writing your Congressman you got the cold shoulder or something. Nobody said you couldn’t see the man. It’s just you got to wait your turn. And you got tired of waiting.”

  “Right again, Mister.” David said wearily.

  “Why not give the Air Force a try?” the warrant called after David. “They got a office for what they call Aerial Phenomena over at Carstairs, a couple hundred miles north. Maybe they ain’t got such a backlog as we have.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” David said. “I’ll try it.”

  2

  The officer seated behind the grey Air Force desk looked at David Vincent with a total absence of expression. His eyes flicked over David’s weather beaten trench coat, his scuffed shoes, back to his face, deeply tanned by the open road, a face that reflected the months of strain, of tension, of constant threat.

  “Yes, I’ve seen the reports of the expected meteor shower,” the major said in a non-committal tone. “As Public Information Officer, it’s my job to keep abreast of the news. That hardly explains your insistence on seeing me, instead of talking to one of my airmen. They’re competent to deal with any, ah, matter you may have to report.”

  “Did you know that an object at least thirty feet in diameter will probably impact the Earth less than two hundred miles from where we’re sitting?” David put the question flatly.

  “The major’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you learn of this, Mr. Vincent?”

  “At least thirty feet,” David said, ignoring the question. “It might be larger. I’d like to know what the Air Force is doing about it?”

  “Doing? What do you expect us to do, Mr. Vincent? Meteorites are outside Air Force jurisdiction, I’m afraid.” He smiled sourly.

  “These are troubled times, Major, David said. A large object is headed toward the planet―toward the United States, to be specific. It’s due to arrive in less than eighteen hours. I wonder if it occurred to you that it might be advisable to keep it under close scrutiny as it comes in―and have a force standing by on the spot when it hits.”

  “What the devil are you implying?” the major snapped. “That this is cover for a Communist attack?”

  “I didn’t say anything about Communists. In fact, it might be wise to call the Russians in on this, to get complete coverage while the object is out of sight from our side of the planet.”

  “Call in the Russians, eh? What are you, Mr. Vincent―some kind of home-grown Red?”

  “Forget politics,” David said. “I’m talking about a possible threat to the planet.”

  “A threat to the planet?” the major echoed incredulously.

  “A meteor swarm might be a good place to hide a weapon, Major,” David said levelly.

  The officer’s face flushed. “My time is valuable,” he said curtly. “I have half a dozen reports to complete today, four inspections to make, a staff meeting―”

  “This is more important than a staff meeting, Major,” David said flatly.

  “Are you suggesting that it’s all a diabolical plot by the little green Martians?” the major barked. “If so, I suggest you see a psychiatrist! You’ll find the Invaders exist only in your own tortured imagination!”

  “Invaders?” David said softly. “Who said anything about Invaders?”

  “It’s the classic pattern: delusions of persecution, imaginary enemies, monsters from outer space!” The major rose, faced David, his face set in lines of fury. “Why is it you world-savers always imagine you’re unique?” he grated. “You picture yourselves rushing in to do what all the trained men and equipment of an organization have missed! Don’t you know I see hundreds like you in the course of a year―publicity hungry, neurotic shadow-jumpers―the saucer sighters, the spy-suspecters, the hidden bomb alarmists, here to tip the Air Force off to the end of the world? Well, Mr. Vincent, I’ve got better things to do with my time than listen to another announcement of doom! I have work to do! Work that won’t wait! It may not be as exciting as a story about silver lizard men coming up through the sewers, but at least it makes sense! Good day, Mr. Vincent! The sergeant will show you out!” The furious officer pressed a buzzer on his desk, sank back in his chair, breathing hard.

  “Thanks,” David said as the door opened and a stocky, thick-shouldered man in stiff khakis stepped through. “You confirmed my first impression: I’m wasting my time here.”

  “See that this man leaves the base―at once!” the major snapped. His eyes were still glaring at David’s back as the door closed behind him.

  3

  David followed the impassive non-com along the grey-painted corridor, past the open doors of offices where typewriters clacked in workaday fashion, through a walnut-paneled foyer decorated with posters plugging the latest economy drive, out into the hot, white mid-day sunlight.

  “Thanks, Sergeant,” he said. “Ill go quietly; or does the major expect you to hold my hand all the way to the gate?”

  The grizzled NCO spat in the flower bed, shot David a sharp look.

  “I heard some of what you said,” he rumbled in a deep baritone voice. “About the meteor shower. I read about that. Supposed to hit nort
h of here, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Nothing so unusual about that,” the sergeant went on, as if talking to himself. “Meteors hit the atmosphere all the time, couple thousand a day all over the world . . . “

  “This time it’s a little different,” David said. “There’s a big one in among the gravel.”

  “And?” the NCO eyed David curiously.

  “And I’m curious.”

  The NCO nodded, indicated a staff car parked before the headquarters building. Silently, he took the wheel, drove along the neat, militarily precise street.

  Off to the left, behind a high fence, David saw massive dun-colored vehicles parked in rows: light and medium tanks, half-trucks, recon cars. They looked dusty, abandoned.

  “Belong to the Army,” the sergeant said, noting the direction of David’s glance. “Emergency stuff, moth-balled. And if I know the brass, they’ll stay that way.”

  As David got out of the car at the gate, the sergeant leaned across to speak to him.

  “I saw something once, Mr. Vincent―something I never told anybody about. If you’re interested―I usually have a drink, about seven PM, at a little place called Gunner’s Grill, in town, on Adams Street.” Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled the blue-painted sedan in a U turn and drove away.

  4

  It was a small, quiet bar, dim-lit, sparsely patronized at this hour. David took a booth at the rear, ordered a Scotch and water. He had taken no more than a sip of the drink when a bulky figure slid into the seat across from him.

  “You look different in civilian clothes,” David said. “What will you have?”

  “Beer. Yeah, everybody thinks a guy was born in that blue suit, once they see him in it. But underneath it, I’m just another civilian, Mr. Vincent.” The man nodded as the waiter put glasses on the table and went away. “Enough of a civilian to wonder about some of the things that go on at the base,” he added.

  “You overheard the major’s brush-off?”

  “They’ve got it all on tape,” the sergeant said. “They know all the answers. And the answers they don’t know they don’t want to hear about . . . .”He took a pull at the beer, looking at nothing.

  “That’s why you didn’t tell anyone about whatever it was you saw,” David prompted.

  “Yeah. I’d of been psyched out on my ear.” The sergeant looked directly at David. “Look mister―I’m putting my stripes in your hands, talking to you. But from where I sit, I hear lots of things. That door’s not too thick. I don’t say much, but I listen good. Those people aren’t all nuts, Mr. Vincent. Lights in the sky, yeah, maybe it’s the planet Venus, or a weather balloon, or just a B-55 from the base. But when a guy sees something like I saw . . . “ He paused, took another deep draft from his glass. “Either there’s something going on, or I’m as crazy as they’d call me if I turned it in.”

  “Just exactly what did you see, Sergeant?”

  The NCO took a deep breath. “It was just about a year ago,” he said. “I was on leave, visiting my sister in St. Louis. We took a drive one evening―just roaming around the countryside, talking about how we used to hike around there when we were kids. We parked the car, and climbed up to where there were some big trees―a place we used to come for picnics, you know. She had a basket of sandwich makings along. While she was setting up for lunch, I took a hike up to the top. Nice view up there. I was just about to start back down, when I noticed something kind of funny. I mean, it was a place where nobody else much used to come―but here were these tire tracks, it looked like―a pair of parallel grooves in the dirt. I looked closer, and saw they ran right across the ground, across rock―cut right through it, like it was soft as cheese. Ran on off into deep brush. I followed ‘em.” The sergeant paused to finish his glass, signalled for another.

  “They ran into the brush, like I said,” he continued. “And about twenty feet back from the edge of the clearing, I found the thing that made ‘em. It was about the size of an old fashioned baby carriage―you know, the kind with the wicker top that came up. It was lying on its side, and there were a pair of runners, bent up pretty bad; that was what made the marks. It was open―and empty. I went up close, looked inside. There was nothing there but what looked like a bunch of spun glass. But there was a hollow in the stuff, like an Easter basket with the eggs gone.”

  The waiter brought the fresh drinks. The sergeant looked at the table-top, waiting for the man to finish.

  “I turned around then, to start back, and I saw-it.” His teeth went together in a silent snarl. “Like a pile of dirty, orange-colored rot, it was. A filthy looking mess, foamy, like some kind of slimy fungus. And in the middle of it―something was moving. I stopped dead, and watched it. How can I describe it? A fifty pound oyster, without a shell. A lump of grey meat, meat that squirmed. I tell you, Mr. Vincent, I was sick! I looked around for a stick, anything; if I’d had a gun, I’d have blasted it! I can feel my skin crawling now, thinking about it . . . “ the man broke off, shuddered. His tough, sun-tanned face was greenish pale.

  “What did you do then?” David asked quietly.

  I found my stick―a good sized club, six feet long. I started toward the mess―and it buzzed at me.” The airman’s eyes were on David’s face, sick eyes, filled with horror. “That buzz―like a rattler’s warning. It went right between my bones. I dropped the stick and backed away. Then I noticed something else. All around the thing, the ground was bare. The bushes were dead, brown, dried out. I wanted to yell, but all that came out was a kind of a croak. And a smell was coming from it―a smell like iodine. And then―then it started toward me . . . “ The man gulped half his beer, shuddered. “I ran, Mr. Vincent. I ran all the way back to where my sister was, with the lunch all ready, and I yelled at her to come on, and I grabbed her arm, and dragged her all the way back to the car. Left the lunch basket, everything. She thought I was crazy, out of my mind―but I couldn’t tell her what I’d seen. I drove into town as fast as I could go, meant to report the thing to the police, the state cops, anybody―but by the time I got there, I changed my mind.” He looked at David defiantly. “My own sister thought I was crazy, just for running from it. I started thinking about what the cops would say. And when word got back to my outfit . . . “ the non-com smiled lopsidedly. “The major’s got no use for crackpots, Mr. Vincent. In his job, he sees too many of ‘em.”

  “So you just let it go at that?”

  The NCO shook his head. “By the next day I was beginning to think I’d gone off half-cocked; that if there was really anything there, it couldn’t have been as bad as what I thought. After all, a pile of fungus―or even a dead body―that was what I was starting to think by then―a decayed corpse―wasn’t all that bad. I was supposed to be a military man; Hell, I’ve seen combat, I know what it’s like to hear flak whistling past my ears. This wasn’t like that.

  “But I took a camera and went back up, alone, the next day. I found the place, all right―but . . . it was gone.”

  “No trace of it left?” David asked.

  “There was a little brownish crust where it had been―and the dead bushes, just like I remembered, and the nest. But the worst part . . . .”

  “The worst part, Sergeant?”

  “From the spot where I saw the thing, there was a trail. It led across the clearing, down the slope. I lost it on the rocks.”

  “What kind of trail?”

  “Footprints.” The non-com’s voice was hoarse with strain.

  “You mean―animal tracks?”

  “No, Mr. Vincent. Not animal prints. They were human. Bare, human footprints. They came from the nest. Whatever it was I saw grew feet, Mr. Vincent―and got up and walked away!”

  5

  “A thing like that,” the sergeant said, “out there in the middle of nowhere. Where did it come from―and where did it go? That’s what scares me, Mr. Vincent. Where did it go?”

  “Listen to me, Sergeant,” David said urgently. Across from him, the man
’s face was slack, his cheek twitching; he reached for his beer glass, spilled part of it getting it to his mouth.

  “Listen to you? What for? You can’t tell me. You can’t answer the question that’s been eating my mind out for a year now. I know what I saw! I know!

  “All right, you know,” David caught the man’s wrist. “What do you plan to do about it, cry in your beer?” His voice cracked like a whip.

  “Wha―what else can I do? Nobody’d believe me―”

  “I believe you.”

  “Yeah?” the man’s eyes were bleary now, haggard. “Whore you? Just a civilian. You can’t help. Nobody can help. I’m going crazy.” He gripped his head, rocked back and forth. “I’m going out of my mind, and nobody can help me―”

  “You can help yourself―unless you’re willing to curl up and die without a fight,” David said harshly.

  “Fight? I’ll fight! But who’m I going to fight? And what? What kind of man is it that’s born in a garbage pile in the woods, all by himself? What―”

  “Shut up a minute,” David said in a steady tone, “And I’ll tell you.”

  The man looked at him. “You?” It was almost a plea. “You think you know what it was? That I’m not losing my mind?”

  “What you saw was an alien, Sergeant. A lone creature, dropped here in a sort of larval form, to mature quickly and then set out to do what it was sent here to do. It was just one of many. I’ve seen a few of them. They look like men, but they’re not men. And their plans are simple: to take over the earth.”

  The airman goggled at David. “Geeze!” he muttered “A guy nuttier than I am!”

  “Maybe,” David smiled grimly. “But you saw the thing―I didn’t.”

  “Yeah―that’s right. I saw it. God help me, I saw it―and I wish I never had!”

  “But you did. And now you know what it was you saw―and why it’s here. Now―are you willing to help me fight it?”