its way uptown. In thedistance, but getting closer every second, he could hear unrestrainedlaughter and rejoicing.
"Hey, take it easy!" The boy was beginning to ride the shoulders like abronco buster. "By the time they get here I won't have any shouldersleft. Where are they now?"
"They're almost here, Daddy! And they aren't ants at all. They're just abunch of clowns dressed up like it." He began to giggle hysterically."Golly, they're funny. Can you see them yet, Daddy?"
Before the father could produce an answer the ants were in view. Theywere a sight that couldn't fail to stimulate the funny bone. Bycomparison with real ants everything about them had been grosslyexaggerated to achieve the proper effect. They walked on their two backlegs but the four front apertures were far from idle. Some of themturned somersaults, others did complicated flips consisting of two orthree spins in mid-air. Still others, doing a kind of animated cakewalk,carried toy ray guns which they fired at random into the crowd. Theguns were something like the little boy's Captain Video ray gun, onlylarger. They emitted little streaks of blue sparks which shone brightlybut disappeared when contact was made with air.
They were easily the hit of the parade, a three ring circus all bythemselves, as they pranced and clowned their way up Fifth Avenue givingthe spectators a whale of a show that was completely new.
The guests on the reviewing stand refrained from any hilarity until theysaw the float that four of the ants were pulling behind them. It was inkeeping with the rest of the nonsense they were perpetrating. The floatboasted eight larger ray guns, three on either side and two in the rear,that fired the same fascinating blue sparks. Behind each gun an antstood on its head, wildly waving six legs in the breeze, begging to benoticed and laughed at. Above the guns, emblazoned in fiery orangeletters, were the words: "MARTIAN V.F.W." This was interpreted by oneand all as a punch line and was treated accordingly.
It was heartwarming to be able to see the president and so many otherdignitaries abandon composure in favor of a good old fashioned bellylaugh.
"Daddy, I can't laugh any more," the boy had to pause between everyother word. "My stomach hurts. Aren't they the funniest things you eversaw?"
The father was too convulsed to be able to answer him.
"Daddy, one of them is coming this way! He's firing his Captain Videoray gun at us!" They boy squeezed his father and held on tight.
The father took a deep breath in order to be able to speak. "Take yourgun and fire back at him, son. Fire away! Go on, he's just beingplayful!" He broke forth with another gust of laughter. "I won't seeanything as funny as this again if I live to be a hundred!"
The ant pranced over to where they were standing, firing its gun inevery direction. The boy fired back. The ant took one look at the lad'sgun and let out a long cackling sound which built to a crescendo andthen stopped as though it had been turned off. The ant rejoined thegroup and they continued on their merry way.
* * * * *
The boy fired several shots into the float as it passed. He wanted tosee if he could knock out those blazing orange letters: MARTIAN V.F.W.The letters continued to burn, but in the boy's mind he was certain hehad made several direct hits.
The boy and his father watched the float until it was out of sight. Theyknew there wouldn't be another attraction like those ants. They musthave been real professionals, the father thought. Such teamwork! Suchprecision! Each one of them having a specific job to do and each doingit to perfection. After them everything was bound to be anticlimactic.
More marchers, more bands, a few more floats. The boy was beginning totire. It had been a long day. Now everything was dull. "Daddy, I don'twant to see any more. Let's go home."
"We'll stay another five minutes."
* * * * *
The parade somehow seemed to be slowing down. The father yawned and lethis son down from his shoulders. He looked across the street at thepresident and the other dignitaries on the reviewing stand. All wereslowly raising their hands in salute as another color guard drowsilymade its way by.
Soon the last group in the parade was passing the reviewing stand.Another brass band. They were moving with the speed of a glacier. A fullfive seconds elapsed between each note of music. Everything washappening in slow motion. On the reviewing stand the dignified handswent up, agonizingly slow, to a final salute and they stayed there. Thegreatest minds in the world stood motionless, unalterably still. Just aseach wave of pandemonium had unfurled itself up Fifth Avenue during theparade, so now did silence take command.
The little boy tugged at his father's coat. "Daddy! Daddy," hepleaded, "why has the parade stopped? I wan-na-go-home--" Hiswords came more slowly with each passing second, like a highspeed phonograph playing at thirty-three and a third r.p.m."Dad-dy--why--don't--you--an--swer--me--Da--ddy--why--don't--" Hisfather never heard him.
* * * * *
Fifty miles above the Atlantic the fleet of spaceships hung suspendedlike lanterns. In the lead ship the ant in charge of communicationsreported to the commander.
"We've just received the first communique from the advance guard, sir."
"Read it to me."
The communications chief read from a large perforated paper."Time--0600--mission accomplished. Manhattan island cut down themiddle--immediate result of super-isonic rays; four million dead--raysspreading east and west--estimated time of rays' full effect;0800--island will then be neutralized--awaiting further orders." The antfolded the paper and looked up at the commander. "Shall I relay furtherorders, sir?"
"No." The commander of the ants paused and stroked his chin. "We'removing in."
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ May 1959.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errorshave been corrected without note.
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