by Larry Niven
I have no idea what happened to those Germans. They never returned. My best guess is they were disintegrated by some kind of heat ray, much like that described by Mr. Wells in his ridiculous story.
I lay silently for the longest time, but eventually built up the courage to leave my stall and approach the barn door. There was an odd scent which reminded me of vanilla, and I paused to sniff the still air. Imagine my surprise when the door opened silently and before me stood a small creature—the likes of which I’d never even imagined before. It was grey, about three feet tall, with a large bulbous head and small, lithe body. Long arms reached almost to its knees. Its eyes were almond shaped and black—as black as coal—and it seemed to stare right through me into the very depths of my soul. It held a small silver tube, a ray gun I now presume. I shivered, and not just from the damp chill. Frankly, I was scared and started shaking. I almost fell over when I tried to cross myself against this demonic vision, as my hands were still securely tied behind my back. Instead I dropped to my knees and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. Then I was hit by the most foul, pungent odour I’ve ever encountered on God’s green planet. I must have wrinkled my nose in response, because it spoke to me. In English, if you can believe that.
“Sorry about the smell,” it said. “You surprised me.” And it waved its hand rapidly behind its behind. Apparently, when startled, they let one go—so to speak.
“Cor! You smell awful,” I managed.
“You don’t smell so good yourself, pisshead,” it said. “No wonder the others left you behind. Are you crippled?”
“Crippled?” I asked.
“Yes.” It swayed its head gently from side to side. “You have no arms.”
I laughed nervously, stood up and turned around so it could see my arms tied behind my back. “I was their prisoner.” I turned to face it once more. “What are you?” I ventured.
“I’m not from around here.”
“Nooooo,” I said. “Really? I presumed you were a Dutch peasant.”
“A Dutch peasant? I am from another planet.” The being obviously did not understand sarcasm.
“Mars!” I guessed.” You’re a Martian!” Mr. Wells had apparently been correct. I quickly scanned the barn for any sign of red weed.
“No,” it said. “Mars has no life. I’m from a star system much further away.”
“Where?”
It shook its head. “I could not describe it in a manner you would understand.” It approached me, staring through me again with its dark, emotionless eyes. “I have told you too much as it is.” The alien pressed the silver tube against my forehead. It burned cold against my skin. I frowned as I tried to make sense of it.
It may seem strange now, but it was only at this juncture that it occurred to me I was actually in danger. My original fear had dissipated when it let one rip and we commenced our light banter. Certainly it had eradicated the Jerries, but I suddenly realised this being had no real reason to be a friend to an Allied soldier. Or to any Earthling, for that matter. Panic rose within me. My heart thudded unmercifully and choked off my throat. I dropped to my knees once more, and started whimpering. My lip quivered and I started shaking. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that I even soiled my trousers.
“You won’t feel anything,” it said. “Farewell.”
There was a scream and a khaki blur of motion as a woman, solid as a mountain, charged in through the barn door. She swung a rifle around her head and clubbed the alien to the ground. Then she stood over its inert body and aimed the weapon at me.
“Hande hoch, Kraut!” she roared.
“I’m British,” I said. I turned slowly, so she could see my tied hands.
It took her a few moments, but she seemed to decide I would offer her no harm. Of course she had recognised the uniform but was simply being cautious. She untied me, although she kept the rifle close by. It turned out she was an English nurse who’d managed to escape just as her hospice was overrun by Jerries. She had stripped a dead soldier of his uniform and weapon and had been making her way towards the British lines. As darkness fell, she had been looking for shelter when she’d noticed the barn bathed in the eerie blue light.
She was convinced the alien was some kind of Nazi experiment gone wrong and I chose not to correct her. I didn’t think she would have believed me anyway. She wanted to kill it, to put it out of its misery but I convinced her not to. So she decided to let it live and to question it once it awoke. Carefully, she tied its limbs then dragged it onto a pile of hay in another stall. For a while she examined the silver tube, the ‘ray gun’ the alien had dropped, but she was unable to operate it. She dropped it in her pocket.
I built up the fire again until its meagre warmth started to penetrate my frozen flesh. Using German supplies I’d found, I prepared a meal of sausage and sauerkraut. The English nurse found a well outside and drew enough water to try and wash my soiled uniform. She draped it over a barrel near the fire. Wearing nothing but my undershorts, I sat next to her. I moved closer as we shared our stories and our body heat. The sausage and cabbage tasted like manna from heaven and filled our bellies. And as we ate, our spirits rose. She only slapped me once, when I leaned in a little closer to sniff her. It was worth it. She smelled like a rose against the animal smells of that squalid barn. But she held me no grudge. Chivalry is not dead, and before long she gave me her greatcoat to help keep me warm. Once we were sated, we decided to get some shut-eye. I crawled back into my stall and lay down. I drew the greatcoat over me like a blanket with the stalks of hay prickling against my bare back.
From my makeshift cot I watched her as she went through her bedtime routine. She dropped and did thirty press-ups on the dirt floor, then did fifty rapid chin-ups on a wooden beam before stripping and cleaning the rifle; faster than any of my comrades could. Gosh, she was a fine figure of a man. Finally she crawled under the greatcoat beside me. I could feel her naked flesh pressed against mine. It was as smooth and warm as any side of roast beef and I wanted to devour her. Then, while we lay there side by side in the dark stall, a strange thing happened. I fell head over heels in love. Ah, the first flushes of romance, the halcyon days of young lust. At midnight, she proposed to me. We celebrated by making love in the straw, her on top of course, before I fell asleep, wrapped safely in her large, muscled arms.
It seemed like only minutes later that I was once more awoken, this time by the alien shaking me. I sat upright, wet myself once more, and then drew back in fear. I bashed my head against the weathered timber wall. My head throbbed as my girl snored on. The alien raised his hands, palms out, and attempted a smile.
“How did you escape?” I asked.
“Rope will not suffice. It would take metal to restrain me.” It rubbed its head. “She is strong, that one.”
I followed the creature out to the fire. “You better hope she doesn’t wake up.”
“She won’t,” it said. It showed me the silver tube. “I used this. She will sleep for at least a few more of your Earth hours, and then she will have no memory of me. I will not harm her. I understand she was merely protecting you.” I paused, suddenly, unsure of my own future. My bravado left me once more and my fear returned. This being had already disintegrated a platoon of Jerries. I picked up a pointy stick from the stack of firewood and fiddled with it nonchalantly. At least I had a weapon of sorts. It must have read my mind, or at least interpreted my worried expression. “Do not fear,” it said. “I shall not kill you either. You showed mercy and did not execute me when she attacked me.” It motioned at my love.
I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“So what’s this all about,” I said. “Whose side are you on?”
“Side? We have no interest in your petty fighting. Kill each other all you like.”
“Then why are you here?”
It paused, tilted its head, and remained unmoving for close to a minute. It seemed deep in thought, although it may have simply fallen asleep. Just as I was about to
prod it with the pointy stick, the alien started speaking again.
“I’m not sure how much I should share with you. But I suppose it ultimately doesn’t matter.” It paused. I half expected an orchestra to strike ominous chords. “I’m an advance scout. Your world has much to offer. I’ve been here for three of your Earth months and I am about to return to my home planet. I came to conduct a survey.”
“Much to offer?”
“Resources,” it said. “My people will return with me. This is a fabulously wealthy planet.”
“Tourists?” I said. “You’re a travel agent and you’re going to bring tourists to a war? That’s not too wise.”
“Are you really so stupid?” It sneered. “I’m talking about an invasion. We will invade your planet and take all we require. I shall depart soon, and it will be many of your years before we return. I have travelled a great distance.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why can’t you just leave us here in peace to finish our war?”
“Eh, it’s what we do.” It shrugged. “Now, come with me.” The alien turned to go. I followed it out to the fire, now mere glowing embers. I dropped the stick on the coals, where it flared and started burning.
“Now kneel,” it commanded.
This was not what I’d expected. I fell to my knees on the uneven dirt floor, naked and vulnerable, and started crying. “Please don’t,” I begged. “It will be our little secret. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“I must,” said the alien, and pressed the silver tube against my forehead for the second time that night.
I wailed, I screamed, I soiled myself once more. There was a bright flash and I knew no more.
Literally, I knew no more. The alien had not planned to kill me. I had simply misunderstood its intentions at that point. The device had clearly altered my memories so I would not recall any of these events.
The next morning I awoke in the arms of my love and we both recalled her overpowering a German unit and saving me, although we were unable to account for the missing soldiers. We took all the supplies we could manage and left the barn. A few hours later, we happened upon a patrol searching for me. I must say she fit in well with the other fellows, and later that week became the battalion’s boxing champion when she knocked out several of my comrades who were drunk enough to make advances towards her.
In the following weeks my girl slept well. I, on the other hand, suffered night after night. My sleep was filled with nightmares, cold sweats and screaming out my beloved’s name. She usually slapped me until I awoke.
The battalion appeared to be in a stalemate with the Germans and had been ordered to stay put. Apart from a few insults thrown at each other across ‘no man’s land’, there was little military action. None of us knew when we would face battle again. Ahhh, the nervous anticipation, the spirited singsongs, the many trips to the loo as the old tins of corned beef had their way with our colons. A few days later my beloved gave us some excitement, though. She had her best helmet ruined by a stray shot from a bored Jerry sniper. Immediately, and without any thought for her own safety, she went straight over the top. Her Sten gun chattered as she tossed off grenades left, right and centre. We watched in horror as my girl made straight for the enemy. We were helpless, unable to do anything as she bravely took them on headfirst. Unfortunately there were too many of them. It took seven of the Bosch to bring her down. The lads and I cheered her on from the safety of the foxholes as they wrestled her away. I didn’t see her again until after the war. Somehow she managed to escape from behind enemy lines. Apparently she became enraged after a Jerry guard called her ‘Sir’. Not only did she beat him to a bloody pulp, but she also stole a plane, an ME-109, which she flew back to Blighty. On the way she shot down several other 109s in dogfights over the channel. Her plane was rather badly shot up. In fact the undercarriage was so badly damaged the wheels would not lower but she was able to bring the old kite in safely on its belly. Of course she won the D.F.C. for gallantry in active flying service. It’s on display in our sitting room along with the ribbon of machine gun bullets from the stolen 109 she gave me as an engagement present.
We were married a year later after we’d both been de-mobbed. What a wedding! She looked stunning in her camouflage dress, boots and polished rifle. And I suppose that would have been an end of the tale, if it wasn’t for these recent events.
I’ve already written of my minor car accident after I saw the lights in the sky last week. Of course at the time I had no recollection of my initial encounter with the alien. I would probably have thought no more of them, except as a curious anecdote to tell the lads. A couple of nights ago, however, I saw these lights again.
I’d been drinking at the local pub with some of the lads, playing darts and chatting about the war years. I’d had a few pints of ale, and knew I had to be home by ten or else someone might get hurt. I didn’t fancy another black eye, so I made my excuses, left and stumbled out into the mild night air. About halfway home I saw a couple of those ‘hoodies’ chaps in their grey windcheaters standing under the yellowing circle glow of a street lamp. They were smoking cigs and swilling tins of lager.
“Hey Grandad,” one of them shouted as he crossed the street towards me. “Can you gimme a tenner?”
“Of course,” I said. “Luciano Pavarotti.”
“Smartarse!” he said, and thrust two fingers up at me. I’m not sure why he wasn’t pleased. I thought I’d answered his quiz rather accurately. I just don’t understand these modern teenagers. They shave their heads, get tattoos and listen to that zany hippity-hoppity music. They need discipline! They should get haircuts and join the army. A real job. It’s what made a man of me. And my wife.
The ‘hoodie’ crossed the street to rejoin his mate. As I turned the corner into Schoolyard Lane, an empty lager tin clattered off the cobblestones behind me. I ignored this and proceeded on my way. I was only 100 yards from home when I paused and leaned against a wall to catch my breath. As I rested, I glanced up into the night sky and saw those three pale blue lights again. They were in a triangular formation and crossed slowly above from east to west until they vanished behind the roofline of the houses before me.
I frowned. That was twice I’d seen these flying saucers in a matter of days. And bear in mind I still had no memory of those events in Holland.
Yesterday, however, that all changed.
It was early afternoon, and I was gardening out the back. My wife was down at the village hall, shouting numbers for bingo. I’d just mowed the lawn and raked the clippings and had knelt to start tending the vegetable beds. My cucumbers are coming along nicely and should do rather well at the village fair next month. I was weeding the marrow patch when the hair rose on the back of my neck and I smelled a touch of vanilla in the air. It stirred something in me, a memory of something forgotten. Something I should know. And then I remembered. I hadn’t had lunch yet, and there was a piece of cheesecake waiting in the fridge. I was about to stand and go inside when I turned to see a creature standing on the grass a few yards behind me. It was grey, about three feet tall, with a large bulbous head and small, lithe body. Long arms reached almost to its knees. Its eyes were almond shaped and black—as black as coal—and it seemed to stare right through me into the very depths of my soul. It held a small silver tube. It seemed, somehow, familiar.
I trembled in fear and wet myself. “What the hell are you?” I asked. Warm urine trickled down my thigh.
“Not again,” it said. “Must you always piss your pants?”
“Sorry? Have we met before?”
“Never mind. This will explain everything.” The creature strode across to me and pressed the silver tube on the nape of my neck. There was a bright flash, and the memories flooded back. Instantly I recalled that night so long ago. Holland, the Germans, the barn, the discussion with this creature, the acidic smell of drying piss.
And the invasion plans.
“Oh, God,” I said. “No.”
The alien steppe
d backwards. It trod on the rake I’d left on the lawn, and there was a ‘thwack’ as it sprung up to hit the creature square in the back of the head. It collapsed in a crumpled heap on the lawn.
As you will have determined from this letter, I am a man of action. My fear faded as I now knew what I had to do. I was possibly the only person on Earth who had knowledge of the impending invasion. Of course I still don’t know why this creature sought me out after so many years, or what it wants from me, but I believe I know how it located me. I suspect the shrapnel in my neck is not a shard of German armament, but a device implanted by the alien that has blocked my memories for the past seventy years, and has now been used to track me. I recovered the offending silver tube from where it had fallen and deposited it in my pocket. Then I dragged the creature to my garden shed. I now recalled, of course, that rope would not suffice so I bound its hands and feet with chains and padlocks. I pushed the alien under my workbench and went into my house.
Up in my bathroom I gathered all my medication from the cabinet and took them down to the kitchen. I opened each jar and dropped all the tablets into a bowl. From my secret cache I recovered the pills I hide from my love, the ones I don’t like because they make me feel all funny and see things. I added them to the others and crushed them all with the back of a spoon. Then I dissolved the powder into a glass of lukewarm water. Hopefully this mixture would sedate the creature. I carried the glass out to the shed where the alien still had not stirred. I opened its mouth and poured the concoction in. It coughed once and a little spilled out the sides, but I believe enough went down its throat. I left the glass on the bench. It would be needed again. I tied a rag around its mouth so it could not call out.
