Invaders From Earth

by Robert Silverberg

  “Teach them?” Kennedy repeated. “Teach them what?”

  “The way of life. Respect for existence. Understanding of the currents of beingness.” The complex phrases made Kennedy frown, bewildered. “They think we are simple fishermen,” said the alien. “This is correct. But we are more than fishermen. We have a civilization. We have no guns and no space-vessels; we did not need them. But we have other things.”

  Kennedy found himself becoming deeply interested. He squatted down on a barrel-shaped projection of ice and said, “Tell me about these things.”

  “We have no books, none of the fine things you Earth-men have. Our world does not allow such luxuries. But we have developed other things, compensations. A language —you find it easy to understand?”

  Kennedy nodded.

  “Our language is the work of many minds over many years. Its simplicity caused us much pain to achieve. Do you have much time to spend with us?”

  He looked at the chronometer in the wrist of his space-suit. The time was only 0230; he had three hours yet before it was time to return to the outpost. He told the alien that.

  “Good. Our next sleep-time is when the silvery moon has set. Until the time for you to leave, we can talk. I think you will listen.”

  The silvery moon meant high-albedo Europa. Kennedy tried to remember the schedule. Europa would set toward “morning,” some six or seven hours from now.

  The alien spoke, and for the next three hours Kennedy listened in wonder. When the alien was through, Kennedy realized why Gunther had not been anxious for him to see the Gannys too closely.

  They were far from being mere primitive savages. They had a culture perhaps older than Earth’s. The bleak barrenness of their world had made it impossible for them to develop a technology, but in compensation they had created an incredible oral tradition of poetry and philosophy.

  Kennedy received a brief sketch. The philosophy was one of resignation, of calm understanding of the inexorable absolute laws of the universe. It was inevitable that a people living under conditions such as these would develop a philosophy that counseled them to accept in gratitude whatever came to them.

  They were people who knew how to wait, and how to accept defeat. People who knew how to hope, even when menacing invaders from beyond the sky came to threaten.

  They had a poetry, too; Kennedy listened, and wondered. Their language was awesomely simple, with a simplicity born of centuries of polishing, and the poetry was evocative and many-leveled, so far as Kennedy could penetrate it at first hearing. Everything was oral. He had never believed that a race without a written culture could achieve such things, but he had never known a race living on such a world.

  He was reluctant to leave, when the time came. But he knew there would be grave consequences otherwise, so he made his apologies, breaking the spell cast by the alien being, and headed for his jeep.

  At about 0530 he began driving back westward toward the outpost. In the quiet alien night the snowfields sparkled and glittered with the reflected light of half a dozen moons; it was a lovely sight, and, inside the warm pressurized cab of the jeep, he felt none of the brutality of the conditions outside, only the silent beauty.

  But there was nothing beautiful about the Corporation scheme, he thought. He wondered if he could ever purge himself of the taint of the last two months’ work.

  He thought of Marge’s gradual withdrawal from him as he became more and more involved in the Ganymede contract, and of Spalding’s cynical condemnation of the project at the same time as his continued work on it. Well, Spalding had his reasons. And at least he had seen through the plan, instead of blithely accepting it the way Kennedy had done.

  The Corporation was using the U.N. as its cat’s-paw. Ganymede was likely territory for exploitation—the Earth had no more simple races left, no more technologically backward areas, thanks to a century of intensive development, but there still were other worlds for fast-working promoters to conquer.

  Ganymede, for instance.

  The Gannys had a rich and wonderful culture—anyone could see that given an hour’s contact with them. So the Corporation would have to suppress that fact, or else there would be interference with its plans. Thanks to the agency and to Kennedy’s own scheme, the Gannys would be mowed down, unprotesting—for that was the essence of their philosophy—to make room for the Terran exploiters.

  Unless some action were taken now.

  Kennedy felt clear-headed and tranquil about the part he was going to play in the coming weeks. He would return to Earth and somehow let the world know the profound nature of the Ganymedean culture; he would prevent the slaughter before it began, as partial atonement for all he had done to foment it. Marge would understand, and would forgive him for his earlier part.

  He felt bitter about the deception that had been practiced on him and which he, in turn, had helped foist on all of Earth. He had no moralizing objections to Corporation activity—but he felt strongly that a culture such as he had just been shown should be preserved, and learned from. The Gannys had much to teach to an Earth caught in endless internal turmoil. He intended to visit them every night until the time came to return to Earth.

  And when he was back on Earth he could reveal the truth. It isn’t everyone, he thought, who has the chance to repair damage he’s helped create. But I have a glittering opportunity.

  The Gannys would never fight back. Armed resistance was not part of their way. But if he could prevent the conflict from ever beginning . . .

  He would have to move carefully, though. He was taking on a mighty antagonist in the Corporation.

  Engel was waiting inside the airlock as Kennedy brought the jeep up, at 0559 hours. Right on time. The linguist looked pale and tense; Kennedy wondered if there were some trap waiting for him. Gunther, maybe, with armed men.

  He drew his gun. The airlock slid open and he guided the jeep through. Springing from the jeep, he made sure he had his gun out and ready.

  “You can put the blunderbuss away,” Engel whispered. “Everything’s clear.”

  Kennedy looked around. “No one knows I’ve been gone? No one missed me?”

  “They’ve all been sleeping like babes,” Engel said. “All except me. I’ve been sitting in my room staring at the walls all night. Where the devil did you go, Kennedy? And why?”

  “That’s hardly public concern, as they say. Help me off with my suit.”

  Engel assisted him as he climbed out of the bulky protective suit. Kennedy turned to the linguist and stared quietly at him for a long moment.

  “I went to visit the Gannys tonight,” he said. “I spent three hours listening to a disquisition on Ganny philosophy and hearing some Ganny poetry. These people aren’t as primitive as Gunther seems to think they are, Engel.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re lying. You’ve spoken to the Gannys. You know that their language is a marvel of communication. You know about their philosophy and their poetry and their outlook on life. And you intend to sit back and let all these things be blotted from the universe forever.”

  Engel’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.

  “Well,” Kennedy went on, “I don’t. And I’m going to do something about it, or at least try to do something, when I get back to Earth. And while I’m here I’m going to soak up as much Ganny thinking as I possibly can. It’s good for the soul, Engel. You’ll help me.”

  “I don’t want to be a party to your crazy schemes, Kennedy.”

  “I want you to help me. For once in your life you can do something worthwhile. More worthwhile than making lists of intransitive verbs, anyway.”

  13

  Two days that were not days, two nights that were not nights, while the greater darkness of the Ganymedean night cloaked the outpost for the full twenty-four hours of the arbitrarily designated “day.” And in that time Kennedy saw the Ganny chieftain twice.

  He told Engel, “You arrange with Gunther that you get assigned
to take me out on my daily tour of the snow dunes and local lakes. Only we’ll go to the village instead of rubbernecking around the hills.”

  Engel was unwilling. Erigel scowled and grimaced and tried to think of reasons why the idea was dangerous, but in the end he gave in, because he was a weak man and both he and Kennedy knew it. Kennedy had long since mastered the art of manipulating people en masse; now he was manipulating one single man, and succeeding at it.

  He had five days left on Ganymede. He knew he had to make the most of them.

  During the following day Engel came to him and told him to get ready for his daily drive. They skirted the hills and the big lake west of the camp, then swerved one hundred eighty degrees and tracked straight for the Ganny village.

  They spent two hours there. The old leader explained the Ninefold Way of Righteousness to them, the essence of the Ganny moral code. Kennedy listened and memorized as much as he could—letting it soak in, because he knew it was good and workable—and occasionally glanced at Engel, and saw that the linguist was not blind to the wonders of these people.

  “You see what kind of people they are?” Kennedy demanded, as they rode back to the outpost.

  “Sure I see what they are,” Engel grunted. “I’ve known it from the start.”

  “And yet you’ll stand by while they’re being wiped out by Terran forces who’ve been deluded into thinking they’re killing hostile alien demons?”

  “What can I do about it?” Engel asked sullenly. “I’m a Corporation linguist. I don’t argue with what the Corporation wants to do. I just think about it, inside, and keep my mouth shut.”

  Of course you do, Kennedy thought. The way we all do. But for once I can’t sit by and collect my check and let this thing happen. I have to stand up and fight.

  He wondered what Gunther would say when he found out that the visiting public relations man was engaged in a highly subversive series of contacts with the Gannys. The little man would have an apoplectic fit, certainly.

  Kennedy found out soon enough. He had been making notes of what he recalled of the old man’s talks, scribbling down his recollections of Ganny poetry and fragments of the philosophical discussions. He kept these notes hidden in his room. But on the fourth day, when he went for them to add some notes on Ganny ideas of First Cause, he found they were missing.

  For a moment he felt thundering alarm. Then he thought, in a deliberate attempt to calm himself, Engel must have borrowed them. Sure. Engel borrowed them.

  There was a knock on the door. Kennedy opened it.

  Gunther stood there. Gripped tightly in his hand was Kennedy’s little sheaf of notes. His eyes were bleak and cold.

  “Would you mind telling me what the hell these things are?” he demanded.

  Kennedy struggled for self-control. “Those? Those are my notes. For my work, I mean. Research and comments to help me in my project.”

  Gunther did not smile. “I’ve read them. They are notes on Ganny culture, philosophy, and poetry. You’ve been seeing the Gannys secretly.”

  “And what if I have?”

  “You’ve been violating a direct order of mine. This is a military-discipline base. We don’t allow orders to be violated.”

  “Give me my notes,” Kennedy said.

  “I’m keeping them. They’ll be sent back to Earth to the Corporation heads, as evidence against you. You’re under arrest.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Espionage against the Corporation,” Gunther said flatly.

  Two spacemen of the outpost locked him away in a brig down below, and left him in a windowless little room. He stared glumly at the metal walls. Somehow, he had expected this. He had been risking too much by visiting the Gannys. But listening to them had been like taking drugs; for the first time he had found a philosophy that gave him hope in a world that seemed to be without hope. He had wanted desperately to spend every one of his few remaining days on Ganymede in the village.

  The day passed. Night came, and he was fed and the door was locked again. Gunther was taking no chances. They would pen him up in here until the time came to ship him back to Earth.

  He tried to sleep. For the past few days he had been getting along on two and three hours of sleep each twenty-four hour period, stealing out each night to visit the Gannys, and he was showing it; his feet felt leaden, his eyes stung. He had been subsisting on no-sleep tabs and catching naps at odd moments when he felt he could get away with it. But now he could not sleep.

  His watch said 0330 when he heard the bolt outside his door being opened. He looked up. Maybe it was Gunther coming to extract some kind of “confession.”

  Engel entered.

  “I got put on guard duty,” the linguist said. “Gunther wants you watched round the clock.”

  Kennedy looked at him bleakly. “Why did you come in here? To keep me company?”

  “I wanted to tell you that I had nothing to do with his finding out. He’s just a suspicious man. He had your room searched while you were out, and he found your notes. I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry too, Kennedy thought. Because now I’ll go back to Earth under guard, and I won’t ever get my chance to expose things.

  He said, “Did you ever go back to the village to explain why we didn’t show up for your next session?”

  “No. I was afraid to.”

  An idea formed in Kennedy’s mind. “How about letting me out now? We can borrow a jetsled. Everyone’s asleep. At least we can warn the Gannys of what’s happened. You can bring me back here and lock me up again in the morning.”

  “It’s too risky. Gunther suspects me as it is,” Engel said.

  But Kennedy knew his man. It took him only a few minutes more of persuasion to break down Engel’s resistance. Together they donned spacesuits and headed out to the area where the outpost’s jetsleds were kept. Kennedy was bursting with impatience to see the villagers once again. He realized he had violated a prime rule of the Ganny way by compelling Engel to release him, but this was no time for passive resistance. There was time to put the Ganny philosophy into operation later, when the survival of the Gannys was assured.

  “Set the airlock to automatic open-close and let’s get out of here,” Kennedy called to Engel. “We don’t have all night.”

  The face behind Engel’s breathing-helmet was stiff and tense. Engel had never entered into any of this with full willingness, Kennedy thought; it was always partly because he thought Kennedy was right, partly because he was being blackmailed into accompanying him.

  The airlock started to slide open. Kennedy made room for Engel on the sled and rested his hand lightly on the firing switch.

  Floodlights suddenly burst out blindingly all over the airlock area.

  Gunther stood there, looking hard and bitter in the bright light. Behind him were three other men—Jaeckel, Palmer, Latimer.

  “It had to be you, Engel,” Gunther said slowly. “I figured you were the one that was helping him. That’s why I put you on guard duty tonight. And I guess I was right. What the hell do you think you’re up to on that sled, you two?”

  Engel started to say something, something shapeless that was half a moan. Kennedy nudged him viciously with his free elbow.

  “Hold on tight!” he whispered. “I’m going to get the sled started!”

  “No, you can’t!”

  “Want to join me in the brig, then?”

  “Okay,” Gunther called. “Get off that sled. This time I’ll make sure neither of you can get loose until that ship leaves for Earth.”

  “You make sure of that,” Kennedy said. Calmly he threw the firing switch to full and shoved the thrust-control wide open.

  The jetsled bucked and crashed forward in a sudden plunging motion, tossing a spume of yellow flame behind it. Kennedy heard Gunther’s angry yell as the sled passed through the open airlock perhaps fifteen seconds before the time-control was due to close it again.

  There was the quick harsh chatter of gunfire coming from behind th
em. Kennedy did not look back. He crouched down as low as he could on the sled, praying that none of the shots would touch off the fuel tanks behind him, and guided the little flat sled into the Ganymedean darkness.

  His course was already figured. He would circle wide to the west, far out enough to mislead any pursuers, he hoped, and then head for the Ganymedean village. But after that, he had no plans.

  He had bungled. And perhaps he had cost the Ganymedeans their one chance of salvation, as well as cutting his own throat, by letting Gunther find out what he was doing. He tried to regard the situation fatalistically, as a Ganny might, but could not. It was tragic, no matter how he looked at it, and it could have been avoided had he been more careful.

  He forced himself not to think of what would happen to him four days hence, when the supply ship blasted off on its return trip to Earth. No doubt he and Engel would be aboard as prisoners. He had cut loose all bonds with Earth in one sudden frightful moment, and he tried not to think about it.

  “I was wondering how long it would take for Gunther to get wise to what we were doing,” he said after they had gone more than five miles with no sign of pursuit. “It was bound to happen eventually. But we had to do what we did, Engel. Someone had to do it. And it just happened that I came along and dragged you into it.”

  Engel did not reply. Kennedy wondered about the bitter thoughts the linguist must be thinking. He himself had reexerted the old agency mask; he was not thinking at all, not bothering to consider the inevitably drastic consequences of his wild rebellion pn Ganymede.

  They fled on into the night. When he thought it was safe he changed the sled’s course and headed straight for the village. He was becoming an expert at traveling over the icebound plain.

  “None of it would have started if you had kept your dictionary hidden away,” Kennedy said. “But you showed it to me, and I borrowed it, and I learned a couple of words of Ganny, and on a slim thread like that you’re washed up with the Corporation and I’m finished with the agency. But you know something, Engel? I’m not sorry at all. Not even if they catch us and take us back to Earth and publicly disembowel us. At least we stood on our hind legs and did something we thought was right.” He stopped to consider something. “You did think it was right, didn’t you? I mean, you didn’t help me in this thing just because I was twisting your arm? I hope you did it out of ethical reasons. It’s lousy enough to throw away your career in a single week, without having done it just because some other guy with ethics came along and made you do it.”