The Invaders Are Comming!

by Alan Edward Nourse

  As the wave of anti-space violence rose, physicists fled for their lives. Atomic motor plants, titanium factories, astronautic research centers, even universities and libraries were crushed and bumed by hungry mobs, finding only technology and the drive to space to blame for the chaos that had descended in the country. Four prominent engineers were beaten to death on the University of Iowa campus. John Hannibal, editor of Outstanding Science-Fiction magazine, and a major driving force in the “space in our time” philosophy of the past decade, was burned alive in his Manhattan office, where he had barricaded himself behind crates of out-of-date science-fiction magazines . . . .

  In northern Europe, where Englehardt had been sequestered and guarded by British Intelligence, a kidnapping attempt was forestalled within hours of its completion. Englehardt was well aware that he owed his life to the BRINT team which had uprooted the conspiracy; characteristically, no mention was ever made of it, although it was rumored in later years that Englehardt had personally paid for the famous BRINT building in New York.

  But when Mark Vanner organized his provisional government in New York and began to weld together a pattern of order around a nationwide application of the VE equations, Englehardt came out of hiding. For two decades he had continued to pour his immense wealth and resources back into the Americas, by means of a vast system of interlocking holding companies, reopening factories during the reconstruction period and building up the network of small industries that made him the phenomenon and power that he was.

  No one seemed to know what Carl Englehardt was really after: not power, because he had turned down all offers and opportunities for political succession; not money, of which he had a surfeit; not glory, which he avoided like the plague. Because he was not directly or formally in any government function, the DEPCO analysts could not get at him to poke through his mind and background to find out what made him tick. There were rumors that he had watched his only son tortured and murdered by the mob during the sacking of the XAR project, but even though they spent plenty of time and effort trying to pick up the threads of his past, DEPCO had been unable to confirm such rumors. The crash had destroyed so many records, and killed and scattered so many people that the job seemed hopeless.

  And still, in critical times, they needed him. Now the DIA Volta let him off at the official entrance to the DEPEX building. Englehardt walked quickly down the hall, cleared his identification with the guards, and went on toward the conference room in the administrative wing. They had called him now because they needed him, in spite of themselves.

  But they were not going to like the proposal he had to make.

  “Our problem,” said Timmins, Director of the Department of Population, “is one of defense measures. That’s why we asked you to come here today, Mr. Englehardt . . . to bring you up-to-date on what information we have on the alien threat, and to get your views on certain problems that Mr. Bahr has . . . er . . . brought to a head.”

  Englehardt nodded, looking at the men in the room. Adams of DEPCO was there, cold-faced and angry. Bahr drummed his fingers impatiently on the table top. There was a General of the Army that Englehardt had met casually. Half a dozen other bureaus were represented. Englehardt looked back at Timmins’ blond, boyish face. “I would think,” he said, “that your defense measures would depend heavily on the nature of the enemy you were fighting.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Bahr exploded. “We simply don’t have enough information. We have no hint . . . not even a suggestion . . . of their plans. There is a very strong suspicion, however, that they can control the actions of certain humans, at least to a limited degree.”

  Englehardt frowned. “Do you have proof of that?”

  “Not yet,” Bahr said. “Unfortunately the man who might have given us the answer has escaped our custody. I’m referring to Major Harvey Alexander, the security officer at Wildwood.”

  “That is neither here nor there, right now,” Adams broke in. The DEPCO chief spoke rapidly and nervously, keeping his long narrow fingers very precisely before him on the table. “An even more acute problem is the public reaction to Mr. Bahr’s television fiasco. Unless we can convince the public that everything is under control . . . that the aliens cannot harm them . . . we may be dealing with a major panic.”

  “In other words,” Englehardt said, “you are proposing to fight malaria by distributing citronella to the natives.”

  Adams frowned. “I don’t think I understand you.”

  “You’re facing an unknown enemy with short-range planning and countermeasures,” Englehardt said. “Which inevitably puts you a step behind him. To destroy malaria, Mr. Adams, we spray the swamps, kill the disease at its source. It seems to me that our only defense here is a powerful attack, or the ability to make one.”

  “But what are we going to attack? Our biggest enemy right now is not an alien invader; it’s fear. We have to deal with that before we can even think of defense or attack.”

  “Then harness it,” Englehardt said. “Forget about trying to control or sublimate it—use it! That’s what Vanner did. He put fear and panic to work for him. He made the people rebuild and start a new society.”

  Adams sighed. “I don’t think you understand the basis of this fear reaction. Unfortunately, this is not an attack from the Eastern bloc. This is an attack from space.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” Englehardt said angrily. “How can you expect to fool people into security when you don’t have any program, any plans, any ideas at all about what to do? You launch a good overall program, something concrete and solid, and your public reaction problem will take care of itself.”

  “A program like that would upset the stability of the nation in a week,” Adams said. “We can’t take that risk. We in DEPCO have made the public, Mr. Englehardt. We have been fighting to maintain controlled stability because stability is the only safe, sensible, logical way to keep our economy and sociology balanced. Vanner and his ideas were necessary, of course, in their time; he changed the direction of society. Now it is our function to keep it running in that same direction.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Wywy bird, Mr. Adams?” Englehardt asked. He was referring to the ancient and vulgar joke about the bird that flew in ever-decreasing spirals until it flew up its own derriere. Bahr and a couple of the military men laughed. Adams blinked and reddened. “I really can’t see . . .” he began hotiy.

  “I think we’re getting into personalities,” Timmins said quickly from across the room. “You’ve made some strong statements about our having no plan of attack ready, Mr. Englehardt. If you think we should not try to keep the Vanner-Elling system in normal operation and devote our efforts to keeping the public in a good state of mental health, then what should we do?”

  “Let’s put it this way,” Englehardt said. “Mr. Bahr, when the Chinese landed their guerrilla army in South America two years ago, what was the first thing you looked for?”

  “Their supply routes,” Bahr said. “They weren’t a true guerrilla army; the civilian population would not willingly support them, so we knew they had to have outside channels of supply.”

  “Exactly,” Englehardt said. “Now, why shouldn’t the same apply to an invasion force of aliens? Assuming that the alien maneuvers so far have been preliminary junkets, we can expect them to mount larger maneuvers in the future. But for that they will have to have supply routes. Now, where would they stockpile their supplies?”

  There was an uneasy stir in the room. Adams was suddenly sitting upright, very alert. Timmins cleared his throat nervously. “Mr. Englehardt . . . .”

  “Somewhere off the planet,” Bahr answered the question. “Probably in orbit.”

  Adams turned sharply to Englehardt. “Just what are you proposing? That we develop a radar system to pick up some sort of . . . of space warehouse? Some missile artillery which could intercept them when they try to land personnel or supplies?”

  “You mean anti-aircraft?” En
glehardt said angrily. “Never! All the defensive maneuvers in the world won’t stop them. Look, what is the one biggest advantage that the aliens have over us? Invulnerability! They can get to us any time they want to—witness the Wildwood mess—but we can’t get to them because they come from space!”

  “But we can’t build spaceships!” Adams exploded.

  “Why can’t we? We were on the verge of it in the Nineties. We had all the technology and engineering we needed; it was just a matter of time.”

  “But Englehardt—for God’s sake, man—the spaceships caused the crash. The whole country went insane over that. You know that, you lived through it.”

  “The crash came because we could not build those spaceships the way we were building them at that time,” Englehardt said. “The crash was not because of the spaceships; it was because of the expense, the drain on our resources.”

  “But it would be the same thing again. Do you want us to go through another crash?”

  “We have the Vanner-Elling system now, and the computers. We can harness them to provide a surplus in the form of spaceships the same as you have them set up now to provide a surplus in the form of entertainment.”

  But the entertainment is necessary for social control,” Adams said. “If we took away the entertainment and counseling, and expression programs, the tensions would begin to build up all over again.”

  “And isn’t a spaceship an expression just the same as a city, or a set of laws? Doesn’t it represent a definite step in the development of the people?”

  “A backward step,” Adams said angrily. “A regression.”

  “Nonsense,” said Englehardt.

  Adams attempted to laugh. “Really, Mr. Englehardt, I think you’re disturbed. Emotionally upset. It’s not an unusual syndrome among formerly technical people, of course—a fixation on spaceships. Tell me, have you ever . . . .”

  “Gone to a psychiatrist?” Englehardt’s face blanched. “No! Nor felt the urge, and let me tell you something else while we’re on the subject of fixation and living in the past: your precious DEPCO for the past fifteen years has been doing nothing but trying to stay in one place, and keep the whole country and economy in one place, and if that isn’t fixation, then I’d like you to please explain just what else it is!”

  “Hold it,” Bahr said sharply. “We aren’t interested in holding DEPCO up for inspection right now, nor Mr. Englehardt’s psyche, for that matter. But one thing is certain: we have to have an aggressive plan of action. I personally can see many points in favor of being able to mount a small space fleet, if for no other reason than investigation and early-warning. It’s certainly a better solution than simply digging holes for ourselves, or sitting with stunners across our laps waiting for whatever the aliens are going to do next. The question is, can we do it?”

  “We have the technology,” Englehardt said.

  “How do you know that?” Bahr asked.

  “I know the men and techniques I have available. My University . . .” Englehardt habitually spoke of the Robling-owned Harvard University as his personal property “. . . Has an astronautics library of four thousand tapes. There are plenty of good engineers in my . . . er . . . in the private industries who could pick up where the men in the Nineties left off. I can guarantee that we have the technology.”

  Adams was shaking his head violently. “There’s no use even debating it. Psychologically it’s out of the question. We’re only now getting stabilized on the Oedipal corrections that Larchmont introduced.”

  “Aberrations, you mean,” Englehardt said. “The man was psychotic. I was around Washington when he broke. He tried to disembowel himself with a fingernail file.”

  Adams glared at him. “You do have ego problems.”

  “Let’s forget the smears for a while,” Bahr said. “I’ll go along widi Carl Englehardt, at least to the point of letting him show us that it is technologically practical to build spaceships. We don’t know that it is, any more than we know what the public reaction to the idea would be.” He stood up, and the rising clamor of voices and disagreement stopped. “I put it to a vote,” he said. “To determine whether spaceships are possible and practical on engineering grounds.”

  Adams lurched to his feet. “This is not something to be voted on,” he cried. “We can’t just brush aside fifteen years’ policies of social control. DEPCO has the power to approve the plans and projects formulated by the other departments, and we cannot accept spaceships as a solution. They are hostility symbols, and an economic peril.”

  “All right,” Bahr said harshly. “You’re opposing the idea without the slightest factual grounds for opposition. DEPCO hasn’t investigated the spaceship problem for twenty years. You don’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

  “The Stability Act of ’05 specifically states . . . .”

  “You can recite amendments for us some other time,” Bahr broke in. “I’d like to see right now how many here agree with me that an investigation is a reasonable solution.” He looked around, counting thumbs.

  The military, of course, went along with Englehardt. DEPEX, always willing to implement new programs, went along. DEPOP, conservative and crusty as usual, opposed. DEPRE, always willing to take on another research job, and politically jealous of DEPCO’s restraints on their research into DEPCO methods, went along with Bahr.

  “It looks like an investigation is in order,” Bahr said.

  Adams jerked to his feet. “I’ll stop that if I have to drop every other project in the department,” he said.

  “What are you afraid of?” Bahr said to him. “Does a big, tall tower give you bad dreams? Maybe you’re the one that should be seeing the analyst.” The military and Englehardt were chuckling.

  “I think, Mr. Bahr, that we may be over to interview you very presently,” Adams said acidly.

  “Well, before you come, you’d better have some explanation for the fact that as soon as a constructive idea is proposed to meet this problem of aliens, you immediately try to block it,” Bahr said. He saw his error, he shouldn’t have ridden Adams so far. But now there was no turning back. “Maybe when we know more about the aliens’ operations, we’ll understand why . . . .”

  “That is a preposterous accusation, and you’ll answer for it,” Adams said, his voice so tight it was hardly audible.

  Bahr looked at him, then turned to Englehardt. “How soon can you give us figures?”

  “Three days,” said Englehardt.

  “That’s too long,” Bahr said. “Make it two. Because by then we need to know whether spaceships can be built or not, and how soon.”

  “I’ll stop you, Bahr,” Adams grated. “I’ll stop you and Englehardt both.”

  Englehardt laughed.

  Chapter Nine

  It was only a matter of time now, Harvey Alexander realized as he crouched waiting beside the roadstrip, before he would make the inevitable slip that would signal the DIA search units like a waving red flag and bring them down on him. He had known, from the beginning, that BJ would become seriously involved, and he had done his best to talk her out of coming, but she had insisted. Now she had been expended, as he had known she would be. With luck, ingenuity, and full expeditious use of her face and figure she might make her story sell and get away with a fine or warning . . . but that seemed doubtful. At worst, they would hold her for checking, and uproot the connection between them. The ultimate consequences, for BJ, were painfully unpleasant to think about. For him . . . .

  For him, it was a reprieve, a few more hours to remain free to hunt down the answers that he had to find.

  It was not a question of concealment. He knew from experience that he could hide, drop from sight so quickly and effectively that a nationwide concentrated manhunt would not dig him out in years. But such a move would brand him irrevocably as an accomplice in the Wildwood raid, and confirm the charges Bahr had leveled against him.

  The alternative was to find out what really had happened at Wildwood and get the inf
ormation into the hands of authorities who could help him that could not be carried out in concealment. He had to gamble time against exposure.

  And the worst of it was that he didn’t know what to do.

  The trip to Wildwood had been a complete fiasco. BJ had dug up clothes for him and found an old lieutenant’s ID card for him from the foot locker of his things she had unaccountably kept. Some amphetamine had routed the last sedative effects from his mind. On the trip down to Wildwood they had listened to the foreign broadcasts on the alien landing in Canada, BJ frowning and shaking her head at the reports, he listening with a puzzling sense of detached curiosity, as though the whole matter, somehow, had no application whatever to him, but was something happening in a different world.

  The reason was easy to see now. Clearly something had happened at Wildwood that he, for all his security and personal handling, had not known about. He had racked his brain for a memory of anything extraordinary or peculiar that had happened there in the preceding few weeks, anything that might have hooked in his mind and been pushed aside for want of explanation or significance, but he found nothing. If aliens had worked from within the plant, they had done so with consummate skill.

  It had taken two hours in BJ’s Volta to reach the vicinity of the Wildwood plant. They ran into the first roadblock fifteen miles north of the plant, and slid into a series of side-roads that kept them away from the main highway strips. Alexander directed her as they moved through two sleepy towns and across a river to the pillbox apartment buildings used by the civilian engineers who ran the plant.

  “Are you sure you can trust this man?” BJ had asked him. “Are you sure he won’t just turn you in?”