Martian V.F.W.
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MARTIAN V. F. W.
By G. L. VANDENBURG
_There's nothing like a parade, I always say. Of course, I'm a Martian._
Mr. Cruthers was a busy man. Coordinating the biggest parade in NewYork's history is not easy. He was maneuvering his two hundred poundsaround Washington Square with the agility of a quarterback. He had hishands full organizing marchers, locating floats, placing the many brassbands in their proper order and barking commands to assistants. But Mr.Cruthers approached the job with all the zeal of an evangelist at arevival meeting.
As he approached the south-west corner of the square he saw somethingthat jarred his already frayed nerves. He stopped abruptly. The mass ofclipboards and papers he was carrying fell to the street. There beforehim were one hundred and fifty ants, each of them at least six feettall. His first impulse was to turn and run for the nearest doctor. Hewas certain that the strain of his job was proving too much for him. Butone of the ants approached him. It seemed friendly enough, so Mr.Cruthers stood his ground.
"My group is waiting for their assignment." The ant's voice seemed to becoming from the very core of its thorax which was a violent red.
"Good Lord!" Mr. Cruthers' mouth opened up as wide as an oven door.
"Mr. Cruthers, I believe the parade is about to start and my group--"
Mr. Cruthers managed to blurt out. "What the devil _are_ you anyway!"
"This _is_ the parade marking the International Geophysical Year, is itnot?" The ant had a pleasant, friendly voice.
"Well, yes, but--"
"And you are Mr. Cruthers, the manager of the parade, is that notcorrect?"
* * * * *
Mr. Cruthers rubbed his eyes and took another look at the strangecreature. Its head was a brilliant yellow. It had two large goggle eyeswhich rolled like itinerant marbles when it spoke. The low slung abdomenwas a burnt brown. It was bad enough, Cruthers thought, that these antswere six feet tall, but it was nightmarish to see them in three colors.
"Mr. Cruthers," the ant continued, "haven't you been instructed by theNational Academy of Sciences that the Martian V.F.W. is to participatein this parade?"
"The Martian--!!" Mr. Cruthers' mouth was open again. Then he realizedthat when the ant spoke its mouth didn't move. He picked up hisclipboard and papers from the street. His voice was hostile now. "Whatthe hell is this, some kind of a gag! What are you trying to do, scare aman half to death!"
"Oh, we're not joking, Mr. Cruthers. The National Academy--"
"They didn't say anything to me about a bunch of clowns dressed up likeants!" Mr. Cruthers' indignation became intensified. He was loathe toadmit that he'd been taken in by such obviously animated costumes. "Nowlook here, I'm a very busy man."
"The arrangements _have_ been made, Mr. Cruthers. If my group is refuseda place in this parade we shall file suit immediately. As manager you'llbe named co-defendant." The ant was gentle but firm.
The thought of being sued softened Mr. Cruthers' attitude. "Well, I'mvery sorry, pal, but every contingent in this parade is listed on myclipboard and you're not. I know this list by heart. What did you saythe name of your group was?"
"The Martian V.F.W."
Mr. Cruthers was amused. "Those sure are the craziest outfits I've everseen," he chuckled. "Where'd you get them? Walt Disney make them foryou?" He followed his own little joke with a long throaty laugh.
The ant was impatient. "About the parade, Mr. Cruthers, there isn't muchtime."
"Oh, yes, the parade. Well, let me see," he thumbed through theclipboard, "I guess there's always room for a few laughs. How many inyour group?"
"One hundred and fifty. And we also have a float with us. Not a verylarge one. It measures twenty by twenty."
"Tell you what. You move your group to the corner of Thompson Street andThird Street. Get behind the Tiffany float and follow them, okay?"
The ant paused a moment to record the instructions in his mind. Then heturned to leave.
"Oh, wait a minute," Mr. Cruthers cried before the ant could rejoin hisgroup. "Just who did you speak to at the National Academy of Sciences?"
"I believe it was a Mr. Canfield."
Mr. Cruthers' face lit up. "Well, why didn't you say so in the firstplace! I'd have placed you right away."
"That's perfectly all right, Mr. Cruthers."
"Listen, I don't know what you guys do but those costumes shouldcertainly bring the house down. There's going to be four million peoplewatching this parade. I bet that's the biggest audience you've everseen."
"It certainly is." With that the ant strode away.
"Good luck!" Mr. Cruthers shouted after him.
* * * * *
"Daddy! Daddy, look! Look at the big rocket!" The little boy jumped upand down gleefully. "It must be a whole mile long, Daddy! What kind isit?"
"That's the Vanguard, son."
An autumn breeze from the East River chilled their vantage point atSixty-First Street and Fifth Avenue.
"The Vanguard?" The name meant nothing to the boy. "Gee, I'll bet it canfly all the way to the stars!"
"It's the rocket that carried the first artificial satellite intospace."
The parade, now three hours old, continued past the reviewing stand.
"I wanna get a better look at the Vanguard!" the boy shouted.
The father lifted the boy onto his shoulders. The little fellow laughedand whooped it up, firing several shots from his Captain Video Ray gunat the passing missile.
The rocket moved on and the noise of the crowd diminished slightly.
A one-hundred piece brass band was passing in front of them. They wereplaying "The Stars and Stripes Forever." They were followed by the Sak'sFifth Avenue display; nine small floats, each depicting life on anotherplanet. The National Academy of Sciences had a success on its hands.
"Wow! Daddy, I wanna ride on it! I wanna ride on that float and visitall those planets! Can I, Daddy!" The boy became all limbs trying tosquirm down from his father's shoulders.
"You stay right where you are, young man," the father struggled to holdhis balance.
"But I wanna go to the stars. I can watch the rest of the parade fromVenus or Mercury! Please, Daddy!"
The father grinned. "Not just yet, son, but it won't be long before manwill go to the stars."
"Who lives up there, Daddy?"
"Oh, there isn't any life up there yet."
"If no one's living up there why does anyone want to go there?"
"Well, maybe there'll be too many people on earth someday and then we'llhave to find other planets with more room."
Another monstrous brass band was going by. The boy became restless. Hebegan to toy with his ray gun, half interested in seeing if there wereany sparks left in it. "Why can't there be something besides so manybands in a parade? I wanna see another float."
The father tried to interest the boy by pointing out all the famouspeople who were also there: a variety of statesmen the world's leadingscientists and religious and cultural leaders, the president of theUnited States.
* * * * *
The boy was interested but not in what his elder was saying to him. Hewas looking downtown, his eyes squinting, trying to make out figures asfar away as Fifty-sixth Street. Then his mouth opened, not uttering asound yet, just waiting to burst with joy at what was coming towardthem.
His father looked up at him. "I wish you'd tell me what you are lookingat. I'm all the way down here on street level, remember?"
"Daddy, they look like ants!"
"What?"
"
Ants, Daddy, ants! A whole army of them. Ain't it exciting?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"They're doing somersaults and back flips and everything! They're comingright this way! Gee, there's hundreds of them. And they got a floatbehind them, Daddy! A great big float with something burning on it."
The child sitting on his shoulders made mobility impossible for thefather. And he couldn't see around the spectators. He resigned himselfto stand and wait for this new spectacle to overtake them. The reactionto this new sight had already begun to work