Polarian-Denebian War 5: Our Ancestors From the Future

by Jimmy Guieu

  “Maybe you’d prefer us to go ahead and free them ourselves?” Colonel Zavkom insinuated, red-faced with anger at the obvious dishonesty of the President. “My comrade Petkov and I suffered two long years in those vile penal colonies unworthy of homo sapiens!”

  Zimko raised his hand to call for calm. “I’m sure, my friend Zavkom, that President Koulski will do his duty to free the innocent men. He’s going to order their immediate release to prove his sincere repentance. Isn’t that right, Mr. President?”

  The latter clenched his fists and jaws and spit out, “Is that a threat?”

  “Not at all. Just some advice dictated with a view to justice and humanity. This humanity for which you claim a desire for peace and love,” the Man from Outer Space said calmly. “You cannot build a powerful, united and prosperous civilization except with people living together in harmony. A race that seeks to dominate others and that oppresses those who don’t share its authoritarian views or its dictatorial doctrines is a fallen race. Such a race doesn’t deserve the freedom and independence that it refuses to some of its children.

  “We Polarians refuse to tolerate injustice and the abuse of power that results from it. If all the peoples of Earth unite to reject our offer of peace and selfless aide aiming to improve the destiny of Earthlings, we will bow out and leave your planet to its pitiful fate… and to the mercy of the Denebians and Procyonians. But such is not the case. Millions of inhabitants of this planet have been hoping for our arrival. These good people, from the humble worker to the brilliant scientific researcher, aspire to an era of peace, abundance and joy when suffering, hunger and injustice will be a thing of the past. This era has come. It will start, unfortunately, with an interplanetary war—interstellar even—but will end in peace for the planets that men, finally united, will be able to visit like so many Promised Lands.

  “Does this plan satisfy you at all, Mr. President?”

  Struggling inside, the Chief of the Supreme Soviet felt the eyes of all those around focused on him. Would he lose face by obeying the “advice” of this being from another planet? Wouldn’t it be turned around by members of the more or less open opposition?

  “In all honesty,” Zimko asked after seeing through his thoughts, “does your office as President have any value beyond the safety of hundreds of thousands of innocent people? That such a thought would cross your mind leaves me puzzled.”

  Taken aback by this moral slap, the President stiffened up and called out to Colonel Rostof, head of the MVD and director of all the so-called Rehabilitation Centers in Russia, “Colonel Rostof! Give an order immediately to free all the political prisoners and make sure that they get home safely. All guards and officers who do not follow this order and do not treat the prisoners humanely will be shot! I’m holding you personally responsible for any failure to follow this order.”

  Turning to Zimko, he muttered, “I’m ready to contribute as far as is in my power to your… magnificent project of global union. I hope you’re sincere and have in mind only the love our race, which is the sister of yours.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Kariven, who had just got back to Paris with his wife and friends, was holding a meeting in his apartment. Their return from Agharti, the Polarian base hidden in the heart of a high mountain in Tibet, came off without a hitch. At this meeting was Fred Reynal, Director of the Research Institute on the Study of Unidentified Flying Objects.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he began, “getting an appointment with the Interior Minister. I had to move heaven and earth to get my contacts moving and a little cunning to set up the meeting without confessing why. Although I couldn’t get to the President of the Republic, we at least have the means to see the Interior Minister. I hope that our entire delegation will be let in.”

  “Did you give the instructions to your investigators and correspondents?” Michel Dormoy asked.

  “All done, Michel. We were able to get together 40 cars and vans, each equipped with a loudspeaker and at the appointed time they’ll run through the streets of Paris shouting out our information to reassure the people and keep them calm. Every investigator knows his route by heart. Plus, a plane from the Aero-Club will be dropping tens of thousands of flyers over the city at the same time to back up the info from the radio-cars. Half an hour before the action all the journalists from the newspaper and radio along with television cameramen will by summoned to the landing site designated by Zimko.”

  “I think this is going to make a big splash!” Jenny laughed, trembling with impatience.

  “The cars and flyers will be seriously breaking the law that forbids this kind of ‘publicity’ in Paris. But since the situation demands it, we have to break the rules.”

  “Especially since the reason for this infraction will be seen by the authorities who will be ready to forgive us,” Kariven remarked. Then he raised his glass and said, “Now my friends, let’s drink to the most astonishing peaceful revolution in human history!”

  Kariven’s green and cream Versailles and Reynal’s sky-blue Ford stopped on Rue des Saussaies and the passengers entered the courtyard of the Ministry of the Interior.

  After a slightly surprised glance at the three young women accompanying the four gentlemen the guard asked them to follow him into a sitting room where he left them, taking the letter of introduction that Reynal had given him. Around ten minutes later the guard came back to usher them into the huge office of the very important person.

  The Interior Minister, a friendly man around 50 years old, received them courteously by offering them to sit in the armchairs in front of his desk. A fleeting expression of surprise had not escaped his visitors when he noticed that the delegation was not exclusively represented by the stronger sex!

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he bowed his head, “I admit that I was not expecting to be honored with such charming delegates. The short letter of my excellent friend Moneret in Foreign Affairs did not specify who would be coming.” He raised his right eyebrow in a kindly manner and added, “Moneret didn’t even mention the nature of the important revelation you have to make.”

  “Monsieur le Ministre,” Kariven began, “the brevity was deliberate. We also have to admit to be honored to be received by you without needing to expose beforehand the reason for our demand. We had to… use a little cunning… and, um, lie to our influential friends.”

  The Minister, at first a little shocked, finally smiled, “Hell! Now this looks a lot like influence peddling… or a breach of trust. But I like your frankness and I don’t doubt the honesty of your intentions.”

  “We’re grateful to you,” Kariven bowed his head politely. “You have certainly heard a good number of crazy stories on the subject of what are called flying saucers. Would it be indiscreet to ask you what you think personally about it?”

  “But… not really. It’s not indiscreet. I believe very sincerely that we’ve got a lot of false information and little truth about things. In my opinion it’s all about a physical phenomenon that’s still unexplained… or maybe the sightings are due to a foreign power. But what do flying saucers have to do with this meeting? I have to say that I don’t get the connection between it and your coming here?”

  Kariven glanced at his watch: 3:17 pm. He responded nervously, “I apologize for having to set you straight, Monsieur le Ministre, but flying saucers have nothing in common with physical phenomenon or with experiments on special planes being carried out by foreigners. I don’t have time to explain in detail the reasons I can say this but please let me tell you first the reason for our visit.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “First of all, formal proof will be given you within 45 minutes that flying saucers exist. They are disc-shaped spaceships from the planet Kodha orbiting around the sun that we call the Pole Star in the Ursa Minor constellation.”

  The Minister opened his mouth and had to force himself to get his words out, “You… Please consider this meeting over! I have no time to waste with fantasies like this.”r />
  “Please, Minister!” Yuln stood up and in a touching voice pleaded, “I know the revelations of my husband might sound like babble but I myself am from Kodha! In spite of looking human, I was not born on this planet.”

  The Minister, flabbergasted, convinced that he was dealing with religious fanatics, slowly spread his legs and with his right knee pressed a button under his desk. His maneuver could not have been seen since he was sitting behind his solid desk, but the young Polarian’s paroptic vision and her telepathic sense immediately discovered his ploy.

  “We’re not fanatics, Monsieur le Ministre, “ she raised her voice in indignation. “And your secret call won’t bring anyone to your office. Not that the button you pressed with your knee doesn’t work but simply because I just tele-projected to your two guards. Yes, we Polarians can even read your mind and see through solid objects.”

  Kariven glanced at his watch again: 3:31 pm. He looked at the Minister whose forehead was beading with sweat and said, “I’m sorry, Monsieur le Ministre, for this incident. I beg you not to see any violence whatsoever in my wife’s intervention. And she really is from another planet. We just want to reestablish peace on Earth. May I continue?”

  “I… Please,” he muttered hoarsely, wiping his forehead.

  “It’s 3:32 pm right now. At four o’clock sharp a squadron of six flying saucers will land in Place de la Concorde. Please…” he insisted, waving his hand politely as the Minister was about to interrupt.

  “These human-like Polarians have many friends on Earth gathered into a peaceful organization called the Earth-Polarian Alliance. We are among them. We have at our disposal a network of investigators and correspondents covering the entire territory and who are presently ready to welcome the Men from Outer Space. Our radio cars will drive through the city at 4 pm to calm the people so that the landing spaceships won’t cause a panic. An airplane will drop flyers with information explaining the situation.

  “We are asking you, Monsieur le Ministre, to alert the police immediately and set up a line of guards around the Place de la Concorde. Give strict orders not to shoot the pilots of the ships that are going to land. Avenue Gabriel and Rue de l’Elysée should be cleared because we intend to take the Polarian ambassadors in our cars to meet the President of the Republic.

  “When the six ships have landed, order the police to set up a second line around 30 feet from the squadron. The journalists will then be able to work near enough without being bothered by the crowd of thousands of onlookers who will surely be rushing to Concorde.

  “It’s 3:36 pm, Monsieur le Ministre. I beg you, give these orders immediately if you don’t want to see the worst panic Paris has ever suffered. With the police in place everything will go smoothly. Without them, the worst accidents are bound to happen.”

  Seeing that he was still hesitating and that time was relentlessly running out, Yuln concentrated and using her fantastic supra-mental faculties she influenced the Minister. Right away he picked up the telephone and in a firm voice gave a series of precise and imperative orders.

  At 4 pm sharp the 40 cars equipped with loudspeakers and parked at their respective positions drove off. On their doors had been painted in bold letters: EARTH-POLARIAN ALLIANCE—CAR NO. X OF THE RESEARCH INSTITUTE FOR THE STUDY OF FLYING SAUCERS.

  As they passed by the people were intrigued by the words and listened to the message that was constantly blaring from the loudspeakers:

  “Attention! Attention! At this very moment there are six flying saucers hovering over Place de la Concorde. Do not panic! Do not panic! These ships are piloted by beings from another planet. You have nothing to fear. They are peaceful beings that look like humans. Civilization will benefit greatly from their arrival. Listen at 7 pm tonight to the special broadcasts on French radio and television following the contact between the Men from Space and the Earthlings.”

  The plane from the Aero-Club, piloted by a member of the Alliance, flew over Paris at 1,500 feet altitude and dropped tens of thousands of flyers supporting the announcements from the radio cars.

  The cars, cruising slowly through the streets, continued their warning:

  “Attention! Attention! The six flying saucers that you might have seen over Place de la Concorde are about to land. Do not panic! They are our friends…”

  Intrigued at first the people reacted in different ways after a few minutes. Some just shrugged their shoulders and went on their way, grumbling about the cheap ploy used for an original advertising campaign.

  Others, less rational, tried not to admit their apprehension faced with such an extraordinary event—that they refused to believe but that they feared subconsciously.

  Still others, far from being calmed by the reassuring announcements, hurried to get back home or ran into the first café they saw hoping to find adequate shelter.

  Some people, however, a little braver, quickened their step to reach the site to see if the cars were speaking the truth.

  On Avenue des Champs-Elysées the Earth-Polarian Alliance car in the area was causing a real commotion. All the pedestrians and customers on the café terraces (who were standing up at their tables) were staring down the street. After hearing the message a second time, which was repeating over and over again from the loudspeaker in the car—now stuck in a traffic jam at the metro station George V—they looked up and were stunned, hardly believing their eyes. About a mile up in the air six shiny, metal, disc-shaped ships were on the move, coming straight down, wobbling a little.

  Policemen, jumping out of lines of cars by the hundreds, spread out to form a circle around the huge Place de la Concorde. Looking up, as uninformed as the growing number of onlookers who were hassling them with questions, they held hands in a giant circle and started flexing their muscles to hold back the wave of curious people.

  The journalists meanwhile were arriving and with them vans from TV and radio. Following orders the police let them enter their circle but keep them back from the second circle that was still not formed. Gossip spread quickly and more than one Parisian that night would complain about their feet being crushed by clumsy gawkers.

  The six spaceships—whose metallic surface was almost blinding as it reflected the sunlight—descended slowly. Without a sound, without a bump they landed on their three spheres in a circle around the obelisk. Each ship measured 50 feet in diameter.

  The onlookers, as if obeying a mysterious order, stopped talking at the same time. In dead silence their eyes were riveted on the wondrous ships from another planet, on these ships that for years had been ridiculed as drunken visions or collective hallucinations. They were fascinated by the semi-circular domes protecting the cockpits and surrounded by windows.

  “Looks like a washing machine,” a young rascal snapped, but his joke had no effect on the crowd.

  All of a sudden everyone looked down at the lower part of the six discs where a round platform was slowly starting to come down, suspended by shiny, telescopic tubes.

  At this moment five policemen broke the line to let Kariven’s Versailles through. Inside was the Interior Minister sitting with Yuln, Angelvin, and his wife Jenny. Behind it came Reynal’s Ford with Dormoy and Doniatchka.

  A hundred policemen lurched forward to close up the second cordon around the spaceships. When they were in place around the two cars and six spaceships the journalists were let loose. From a side street they scrambled over each other trying to get the best view.

  On the platform coming down slowly by design from one of the spaceships they could see the legs of three beings, then their big belts and finally their chests and heads.

  Zimko and Honky were standing on either side of Tlyka, smiling, fit into the sky blue bodysuits of the Space Commandos. On their chests were embroidered the golden, cigar-shaped spaceship with a stylized lightning bolt. A plastic pilot’s helmet—green for the two men and pink for Tlyka—covered their heads but left their energetic faces clear.

  Yuln was the first to jump out and run into the a
rms of her brother with tears in her eyes. Zimko lifted her up like a feather and laughed with joy as he kissed her cheeks loudly.

  This unexpected scene broke the nervous tension of the onlookers who spontaneously exploded. Shouts of joy burst from everywhere but when they saw the Interior Minister get out of the car and Kariven introduce him to the three “Martians,” the general euphoria turned delirious. The eight to ten year old kids evaded the police surveillance, ran under their arms and whooped like Indians on the warpath as they bolted toward the flying saucers.

  The young ladies were overwhelmed by the male bearing of the “Martians”—because there was no doubt in anyone’s mind today that these ships came from Mars!—pushed and shoved to get through the police line.

  The reporters had a field day, their eyes glued to their cameras. The newscasters from the radio and TV were elbowing each other to get an interview with the ambassadors from another planet without wondering whether they might not only speak “Martian.” About this point they would soon find out.

  After cordially greeting the Interior Minister, Zimko gave a big smile to his friends of the Earth-Polarian Alliance (Kariven, Dormoy, Angelvin and their wives) and spoke in a deep, warm voice:

  “Monsieur le Ministre, my brave friends of the Earth-Polarian Alliance and all you Earthling friends who are listening to me, I bring you fraternal greetings from all the races of the Federated Worlds. We have crossed outer space from Kodha, our home planet orbiting the Pole Star, 250,000 billion miles from Earth, on board our giant spaceships called ‘flying cigars’ by you. These here,” he pointed back at the squadron, “known here as flying saucers, are just reconnaissance ships transported on board the bigger ships. We only use them alone very rarely to cross the 400 light-year distance.

  “But for now let’s put aside these minor explanations. Everything you’re eager to know about us you will learn tonight on the television and radio, which has just received an official message from our space HQ, an artificial satellite orbiting 600 miles off Earth.”