_An invisible network of human minds
lay across the country, delicately tuned,
waiting breathlessly for the first spark
of contact from the unknown ... from
the unpredictable telepathic Alien._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The ship skimmed down like a shadow from the outer atmosphere and
settled gently and silently in the tangled underbrush of the hill that
overlooked the bend in the broad river. There was a hiss of scorched
leaves, and the piping of a small, trapped animal. Then there was
silence.
Higher up, the sunlight was bright over the horizon; here the shadows
had lengthened and it was quite dark. Far across the hills a dog
howled mournfully; night birds made small rustling sounds through the
scrub and underbrush. The alien waited, tensely, listening, waiting
with his mind open for any flicker of surprise or wonder, waiting for
a whisper of fear or recognition to slip into his mind from the dark
hills around the ship. He waited and waited.
Then he gave a satisfied grunt. Foolish of him to worry. All possible
care had been taken to avoid any kind of alarm. He had landed unseen
from Io.
The alien stretched back against the couch, allowing his long, tight
muscles to relax, as he sent inquiring feelers of thought out from the
ship, probing gently and tentatively, for signs of the psi-presence.
The landing, after all, had been assumed. Already the natives had
convinced themselves that ships such as his were a delusion. Such
simple creatures, to disregard the evidence of their own senses! There
should be no problem here when the invasion began, with the preliminary
studies already completed, the disguising techniques almost perfected.
A primitive world, indeed, but a world with psi-presence already
developing--a possible flaw in the forthcoming silent conquest.
For psi-presence could detect other psi-presence, always, anywhere,
despite any disguise. The alien knew that. It was the one universal
denominator in all the centuries of conquest and enslavement in his
people's history. Before they could come, they must know the strength
of the psi-presence on this world.
The alien moved, finally, beginning his preparations. In the center
of the cabin an image flickered, swarming flecks of light and shadow
that filled out a three-dimensional form, complete and detailed. The
alien sat back and studied it through hooded yellow eyes--carefully,
oh so carefully, for there must be no mistake, not here, not now. The
scouts had come and gone, bringing back the data and specimens of
the man-things necessary for a satisfactory disguise. Now the alien
stared at the image, regarding the bone structure and muscle contour
critically. Then, slowly, he began work with the plastiflesh, modelling
the sharp angles of his members into neat curves, skillfully laying
folds of skin, molding muscle bulges and jointed fingers, always
studying the strange, clumsy image that flickered before him.
It was the image of a man. That was what they called themselves. There
were many of them, and somewhere among them there was psi-presence,
feeble and underdeveloped, but there somewhere. He eyed the image
again, and pressed a stud on the control panel, and another image
met his eyes, an electronic reflection of himself. He studied it, and
carefully superimposed the two, adding contour here and there, yellow
eyes seeking out imperfections as he worked.
There must be no mistake. Failure would mean disgrace and death,
horrible, writhing death by dissociation and burning, neuron by
neuron. He knew. He had officiated at executions before; delightful
experiences, but not to be trifled with. He stared at the image again
and then at himself.
* * * * *
The skin tone was wrong. The yellow came through too clearly in
places, and in this strange culture that color was reported to carry
unpleasant connotations. He worked pale, sickly-pink stuff into his
soft, wrinkle-free skin, then molded out the cheeks and forehead. Hair
would be a problem, of course, but then there would be many small
imperfections. He smiled grimly to himself. There were other ways of
masking imperfections.
At last he was satisfied. There was no way to bring the normal reddish
color into the pale green lips; there was no way to satisfactorily
prepare the myriad wrinkles and creases that crossed the skin of the
man-things, but with a little skillful application of projection
techniques it did not matter.
The alien struggled into the tight, restricting clothes that lay in a
bundle, carefully folded and pressed, at his feet. The hard, board-like
shoes cut at his ankles, and the hairy stuff of the red-and-white
checked shirt made him writhe in discomfort, but once outside the
ship he was glad for the warmth. He stepped out onto the ground, and
listened again carefully. Then he made certain arrangements with wires,
and threw a switch on a small black case near the air lock, and began
marching down the hill away from the ship.
He would no longer need the ship. Not now.
The underbrush grew thicker, and he fought his way through the scrub
until he reached a roadway. It was not paved. A flicker of sour
amusement swept through the alien's mind. They had been afraid that
these simple creatures might try to oppose them! Yet the scouts had
said that far to the East were great stone and steel cities--the
places-of-madness, the scout had said. Perhaps. But here there was no
stone and steel, only dust, and the ruts of wagon wheels, and a howling
dog somewhere over the hill.
The alien trudged on for almost an hour, trying to acclimate his legs
to the fierce tug of gravity that pulled at him. And then he stopped
short and listened.
He heard them, then, in the depths of his mind, somewhere on the other
side of the hill. His eyes narrowed. No psi-presence there, but two of
the man-things, beyond doubt. Other whispers, too dull, stupid, vagrant
whispers flickering through his mind. Lower life forms, no doubt.
Possibly a farm with work animals. The scouts had said there were such.
He turned off the road and almost cried out when the sharp barbs of a
fence cut through his tender skin.
A trickle of green dripped down his arm, until he rubbed a poultice
across it, and it became smooth and sickly-pink again. With a vicious
jerk he pulled the fence out, post and all, and left it on the ground,
moving through the woods toward the sounds he had heard.
Soon the woods ended and he saw the dwelling across a broad clearing.
Black dirt lay open in the moonlight. He started across. There was
light inside the dwelling, and the dull, babbling flow of uncontrolled
man-thought struck his mind like a vapor. There were other buildings,
too, dark buildings, and one tall one that had a spoked wheel on top,
and creaked and rustled in the darkness.
He had almost reached the dwelling when a small, four-legged creature
jumped up in the darkness, crying out at him in a horrible discordant
barrage. The creature came running swiftly, and the alien's mind caught
the sharp whine of fear and hate emanating from the thing. It stopped
before him, baring its fangs and snarling.
The alien lashed his foot out savagely; it crunched into flesh and
bone, and the creature lay flopping helplessly, spurting dark wet
stuff, its cry cut off in mid-yelp. The alien stepped onto the porch
as the door opened suddenly, framing a tall, thin man-thing in a box
of yellow light. "Brownie?" he called. "Come here, Brownie! What's the
matter--" His words trailed off when he saw the alien. "Who are you?"
"A traveller," said the alien, his voice grating harshly in the
darkness. "I need lodging and food--"
The farmer's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he peered from the doorway.
"Come closer, let me get a look at you," he said.
The alien stepped closer, concentrating all his psi-faculties on the
farmer's mind, blurring his perception of the minute imperfections of
his disguise. It required all his power; he had none left to probe the
farmer's mind, and he waited, trembling. That could come later.
The farmer blinked, and nodded, finally. "All right," he said. "We've
got some food on the stove. Come on in."