Dr. Myron Lowenthal, gaunt, keen-eyed, and sixty, shuffled over to the
receptionist’s desk in an office in the Pentagon. Clutched tightly
beneath one spidery arm was a worn brief case.
“May I see Mr. Goodnight, miss?” Dr. Lowenthal asked.
“Who shall I say is calling, sir?” the young woman asked mechanically,
not looking up.
“Lowenthal.”
The young woman’s eyes lighted alertly as if the name were of great
significance to her. “Of course, Dr. Lowenthal. Mr. Goodnight is
expecting you. Go right in.”
At the sight of Dr. Lowenthal and his brief case, Mr. Goodnight rose
slowly to his feet, his face reflecting deep interest not unmixed with
apprehension.
“You—you have finished the translation?” he asked.
Dr. Lowenthal placed the brief case on the desk, and Goodnight’s fingers
were far from steady as he opened the case and pulled out top-secret
manuscripts.
First he laid aside the sheaf of strange, charred papers, each protected
by a cellophane envelope. The sheets were of very thin, amazingly tough
material of unknown substance, and they were covered with tiny, neat
hieroglyphics. The papers had been found by a farm boy twelve months
before in Wickenburg, Arizona, and Dr. Lowenthal, archaeologist and
cryptographer, had been all this time trying to decipher the hidden
message.
Before reading the translation, Goodnight asked, “Is it your belief that
this sheaf of papers was dropped from a flying saucer, as we first
thought?”
“Undoubtedly,” Lowenthal replied.
“Is it good—or bad?” Goodnight asked tremulously.
“Perhaps you had better read it, sir, and judge for yourself.”
Mr. Goodnight began reading the manuscript translation:
FROM: Kal-Pota-Tekkala, Observer 13-J07, Group 507.
TO: Grand Council, Federation of the Triple Suns, Planet Ykaa, Takarala
Sector GZ-5000-7076, Milky Way Galaxy.
SUBJECT: Planets of Sun 00836-Y, Specifically, Third Takarala Sector
GZ-5000-7070.
Planet Called Earth, Charaan Year 37,811.
It is now my tenth year of observation in the planetary group called the
solar system. In this brief report I shall review somewhat randomly a
few of the things I have witnessed on Earth, only planet of intelligent
life in this system and therefore the only world of interest to us in
the Federation.
I arrived in the Earth year 1947. (What a youthful civilization this is,
but about average in their development as compared to some 28,000 other
worlds the Federation has so far observed.) I pride myself on being
among the first of us (Group 507) to be detected by Earthmen in recent
times. This was, of course, the sighting by one Kenneth Arnold near Mt.
Rainier in America, the most advanced country of Earth. Our receivers
picked up the newscast of the sighting and translated. Arnold’s
description of having seen what looked like “saucers” led to our craft
being thereafter named “flying saucers.”
Soon after this sighting, our receivers told us that nearly all the
nations of Earth had taken up the cry of “Saucers! Saucers!” Indeed, the
men of Earth must truly have been overwhelmed by the abundance of our
craft in the sky at this time when our greatest concentration of
observers viewed the planet.
It is hard to realize that many Earth inhabitants still doubt that there
are other planets of habitation beside their own in the universe. (This
is an opinion formed from reports of news commentators.) Yet how they
can close their minds to such a fact, when they know that there are many
billions of suns and planets, is beyond my comprehension. Of course,
Earth has been an island to itself since the beginning of its
civilization, and since they have not even yet ventured into space, I
can understand their skepticism somewhat.
Incidentally, this skepticism of Earthmen is remarkable. Yes, even after
the evidence of our heavy concentration of craft in their skies for ten
years (at our latest visit), many even now doubt our reality. This is in
spite of our near collisions with Earth craft reported by reputable
witnesses (especially the Chiles-Whitted episode near Montgomery,
Alabama, United States of America). Yet those who do believe in us are
very stanch supporters, and I have heard newscasters say there have been
some convincing books written on the subject. Some day—when we make
contact—all must surely believe.
Earth is a planet of many races and different political groups. Although
an effort is being made for co-operation through an organization called
United Nations (not to be confused with United States), there is no
real, enforceable unity among the countries of Earth. The planet has not
even advanced to the point of a common tongue! Without being able to
speak the same language, there is too much opportunity for
misunderstanding, and this must be one of the causes of the deplorable
bloodshed this planet has gone through in its history.
It is good to know that democracy presently seems to hold the balance of
power on Earth. The world leader, America, has been a champion of
democracy since its colonization by Europeans, and perhaps it has saved
Earth from total disaster by intervention on two occasions in recent
years.
There is one major threat to the democratic life of Earth. This is the
nation of Russia, located in the Eurasian area. Its leaders have taken
to the archaic system of totalitarianism. But at the present time the
democracies are so strong that Russia appears hesitant to take the path
of conquest. Besides this, I believe all realize that Earth cannot stand
another world war because of the frightful nuclear weapons that would be
used. In such a war there would be no victor, only losers and world
destruction.
If Earth avoids the pitfall of major warfare, I believe she is on the
threshold of great things. Even now she is launching satellites into
space in the first step toward space travel. The aircraft of Earth are
attaining greater speed, height, and maneuverability. They are still
slow and awkward, of course, compared to the craft we have, but the
engineers are learning, even as we had to do thousands of years ago.
Since Earthmen have still not gone into space, there has been no
experimentation on craft utilizing force fields, but after observing our
craft for the past ten years, I am sure the scientists have come up with
some theories as to how we get about. They are baffled by our motions
that seem to defy the laws of physics. They report that no living person
can withstand the abrupt turns and acceleration of which we are capable.
When they have utilized the cosmic rays of space and understand that a
force field will permit a flyer to spin and soar with his craft, without
distress of any kind, then they will have unlocked the key to what they
believe to be a dark mystery.
Their attempts to overtake us in their jet craft have been laughable. I
often wonder what they would do if we should suddenly stop and dare them
to approach closer. Should they fire on us, it would undoubtedly fill
them with fear and dismay to see their shots bounce harmlessly off our
force field.
It is my opinion that the more prosperous races of the planet are not
the leaders that they could be. There is much frivolity and lack of
emotional discipline about them, and few seem to employ their fullest
mental capabilities. Their radio and picture-radio are entirely in the
realm of entertainment, and formal education seems to be largely
abandoned after an Earthman has passed his school years. Our receivers
constantly pick up, day in and day out, music of definite rhythms which
seem to be enjoying current popularity. These melodies survive for only
a few weeks, then new ones take their place and are, in turn, played to
their deaths. There is a noble class of music that is heard less
frequently and usually at late hours. This never seems to lose
popularity, for some of our recorded pickups of these long compositions
have been compared with recordings made some two hundred years ago by
our prior observers, and they are identical.
Regarding the subject of frivolity, there is a deadly “game” being
played unceasingly across the pathways of Earth, particularly in
prosperous America. Although not really a game, of course, I am reminded
of one as I see it going on. Each player is in control of a free vehicle
(or “guided missile” as I think of it), and he attempts to survive by
avoiding collision with another player. Some are indifferent to the game
and drive their cars unexcitedly and with caution. Other players—and
there are many of them—appear to enjoy the game very much and drive
their “weapons” with reckless haste and seeming indifference to their
own safety and the safety of others. Many of these players lose the
game, and their remains are carried away systematically. It is very
disturbing to see this bloody game going on without end, and I should
feel better if America would abandon it in favor of travel of a less
dangerous nature. But they seem years away from a truly safe, fully
automatic car of our type with the electronic protection shield.
While on the subject of fatality, it is with regret that I heard of the
disintegration of Paltaa-Vezek and his craft some days ago. Paltaa and I
were boys together barely three hundred (Earth) years ago on the
Symphony Lake plantation. We went through sleep-absorption education
together for twenty years, and he was my dear friend. Paltaa’s force
field collapsed when he was escaping a fleet of Earth craft which were
rising into the sky in pursuit. At an acceleration of some 5,000 miles
an hour, his craft collided with air in inertia, and he and his “saucer”
were vaporized in a blinding flash and thunderous roar. The radio
commentators calmly informed the world that it was merely a large meteor
burning itself up in the atmosphere. (The stubborn refusal of Earthmen
to accept our existence continually baffles me.)
From what I have heard these radio spokesmen say, Earthmen who believe
in us seem to regard us with a sort of awe. They rightly consider us
much farther advanced than themselves, but you should hear the
outlandish descriptions some have given us. And after the weird
appearance they present to us, too!
I have judged the people of Earth to be excitable and unpredictable.
Therefore I can understand the Federation’s reluctance to have us make
contact. Earthmen undoubtedly regard us as invaders and would treat us
as such, although they must realize we have shown no acts of aggression.
Nevertheless, there have been a few unfortunate instances that might
tend to make them think we are belligerent (namely, the Mantell case in
1948). Kaal-taa-ar, pilot of the involved craft, I understand, has been
recalled to Ykaa because of his mistake in permitting an Earth craft to
venture into his force field, thereby destroying the alien craft and
violating our strict orders to avoid any incidents with Earth craft.
In spite of the obvious risk, it is my greatest anticipation to meet
these Earth folk face to face. Our observations have been from afar and
therefore lacking much that we could really know about these people. I’m
sure there are things they could teach us, and of course there is much
that we could do to make happier their own existence. Some day, I know,
the Federation will give the word to land on Earth soil. Should I be one
of those fortunate ones, I am ready, and if it costs me my life I shall
be satisfied to have first enjoyed making contact with other men who
live so many light-years from our own Ykaa.
When will this contact be, my friends?
Today?
Tomorrow?
_When?_
As he concluded his reading of the report, Mr. Goodnight’s eyes
reflected the relief he felt.
“It is reassuring, Doctor, isn’t it?” he asked, huskily.
“I think so,” Dr. Lowenthal replied. “Even with my liberal translation,
the nonaggressive attitude comes through continually.”
“This is the final proof we needed as to the authenticity of the
saucers,” Goodnight remarked. “This couldn’t possibly be a hoax, could
it?”
“Not a chance. The substance of the original paper is completely alien
in its composition and manufacture, and the language is undoubtedly the
creation of minds farther advanced than our own.”
Mr. Goodnight sighed as if a great burden had been lifted from him.
“Well, our part in this is closed, Dr. Lowenthal,” he said. “It is out
of our hands.”
“And now?” Lowenthal prompted.
“It is the job of others to determine if the manuscript is to be made
public. This thing could be revolutionary in impact, Dr. Lowenthal. It
could change the thinking and living of every person on Earth.”
The scientist nodded in agreement. “You know, Mr. Goodnight,” he said
after a meditative pause, “I believe that Kal-Pota-Tekkala would be a
rather nice fellow to know. I should really like to meet him.”
“So would I,” Goodnight replied, then added significantly with a sparkle
of anticipation in his eyes, “Who knows? Perhaps some day, Doctor, not
too distant, we _shall_.”