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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37a8f34 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65874 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65874) diff --git a/old/65874-0.txt b/old/65874-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9408bbf..0000000 --- a/old/65874-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1145 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of This World is Ours!, by Emil Petaja - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: This World is Ours! - -Author: Emil Petaja - -Release Date: July 19, 2021 [eBook #65874] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS WORLD IS OURS! *** - - - - - - "THIS WORLD IS OURS!" - - By Emil Petaja - - ORION was something new in science fiction - magazines; it printed stories about aliens and - passed them off as the truth--which they were! - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - July 1952 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -"He must die. It will look like an accident." - -"Shouldn't we take him back with us?" - -"We are far from through here. Don't tell me you are developing a -sympathy for these miserable creatures?" - -"Impossible. I merely assumed he might be of some further value in our -great crusade." - -"He must die." - -Max Field was listening at the door. He moved back so he could breathe -again. Those dozens of little wounds in his chest and on his arms -and neck stung like fire. His amiable young features were tense but -resigned. This was the end, period.... - -Outside the little cabin an owl hooted. It was a lonely sound. But it -was a familiar earth sound, and it brought a lump to his throat. - -If only there was some way to outwit them. But he had thought of -everything; apparently so had they. That window, for instance, was -shuttered and bolted from outside. A sudden noise would bring them in -here in no time. The back wall was up against a cliff. There was no -outside door in this room. - -He was supposed to be drunk, befuddled. But he hadn't drank any of the -champagne. In that, at least, he had outwitted them. He was to die. No -question about that. The only question remaining was--how. - -He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out the little notebook -he'd been, at odd moments, scribbling the whole story in. Force of -habit, perhaps. Max was a science fiction writer. He flipped through -the pencilled pages. Worth money, this story. He smiled ironically. Yet -who would read it, much less believe it. - -Somebody might, he decided. He would hide it somewhere in this room. -Maybe slip it through a crack in the flooring, a few pages at a time. - -He pulled out a stub of pencil and added that final shuddery scene. -_Alice. Alice...._ - -Outside, the owl hooted. - - * * * * * - -It started, as so many stories do, with my phone ringing. I was eating -cigarettes and pounding out a cover novel for _Gizmo_. If there is -anything that gripes me where I live it is some joker calling me up -when I'm busy producing and-- - -"Hello. Yeah. This is Max Field, the science fiction writer. And while -we're on that subject, I happen to be--" - -"I am Wallace Starr." It was a funny voice. Funny-strange. It sounded a -little like rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together. - -"Really?" - -I pushed out my current Camel and sneaked in a few pecks at the old -Underwood. So sandpaper-voice was Wallace Starr. Maybe I was supposed -to turn handsprings. - -"You don't know me," the heckler went on, "but I am very familiar with -you and your work. I have an important project in mind. A new monthly -science fiction magazine to be called _Orion_. I need a good assistant -editor. You were suggested." - -"_Orion_," I said. - -"Yes. My book will feature a completely new approach. We will buy -only the best material, and each story will concern itself with the -constellation Orion and its various systems. All material will be -correlated to this end. How does this strike you?" - -"You won't find it so easy pinning the best writers down to Orion," I -grinned. "Writers like Swain and St. Reynard and Ric Planter like elbow -room." - -"Orion is vast and complex. One hundred and seven solar systems, to be -exact. That should provide ample elbow room." - -I whistled. "Ought to. But what's the idea?" - -"Novelty, Mr. Field. I have studied the imaginative magazines closely -and it occurs to me that they are already beginning to specialize. One -of them uses highly technical stories, another adheres to stories of -other planets in this system. _Orion_ will link each story with all the -others in it. Instead of a hundred interpretations of the life patterns -of _Orion_ we shall have but one. Of course casual stories we buy will -have to be revamped to fit in." - -"That's where I come in," I guessed. - -"Exactly. But don't you feel that we will wind up with a fascinating -pseudo-history of Orion, and that such a magazine would create a furore -with its realistic slant?" - -"I guess so." - -It tasted like my first olive. But Wallace Starr was obviously burning -with enthusiasm. He sounded just a little like a crackpot. A rich -crackpot, maybe. - -"It will be hard work, Mr. Field. But rewarding. Are you prepared to -accept my proposition?" He spoke like a man who means business. - -I hesitated. It is well-known that the mortality rate among new fiction -magazines is high. I had writing contracts to fill, I was doing okay. -Editing a monthly is a full-time job. - -"About salary--" I hinted. - -He named a figure that made my hair curl. What could I say but, "When -do we start, Boss?" - - * * * * * - -Starr wasn't like any editor I've known. He wasn't like an editor at -all. He wasn't much like _anybody_ I've known. Which puts him in a -class all by himself. He was brown and thin and had peculiarly big -eyes, like a grasshopper's. - -He spent so much money getting started I figured he wasn't long for -this racket. But he did have a knack and the first couple issues, while -not wildly successful, went over well. - -One morning he called me into his office. From the tone of that dry -voice of his I knew I was in for it. - -"What's all this?" he buzzed, rattling a manuscript in front of me. -From the cheap yellow paper I knew it was the lead novelette of the -forthcoming issue. Ric Planter was one of our top writers and also a -very bad boy. Ric loved to put an editor on the spot, bless his little -pointed head. - -"Didn't he change that ending?" I asked. The tic in my left eye started -up. I had never had this twitch until the first time I saw Starr. I -think it was something about those eyes of his. Every time I looked at -him.... - -"He changed it all right!" Starr hissed. "He turned the Kiriki into -villains. When their benevolent plan to spread patterned contentment -throughout the circle of outer planets was just taking hold he had the -semi-civilized Green Ones rise up and destroy their power by smashing -their means of telepathic communication." - -"How could he do that?" I clucked. - -"Supersonic wave interrupter of some kind." - -I hadn't meant that, and somehow I couldn't help grinning. Trust -Ric to latch on to the Kiriki vulnerable point. The Kiriki, as -Starr had outlined them, were highly communal. Like our ants, only -very much more advanced. They depended on this intricate pattern of -inter-communication, mind with mind, for their very existence, since -each Kiriki was by birth fitted to perform only one basic function -in their communal society. Their ingenious "Army of Patterned -Contentment" was helpless, when reduced by the adaptable Green Ones to -individuals. - -"Will you please stop laughing," Starr rasped. "This hack writer of -yours has outraged the history of an ancient, noble race!" - -"I didn't get a chance to read his revision," I defended myself. Starr -had grabbed it off my desk as he went through. "I told Planter the -Kiriki were good guys, not bad guys." - -"Good guys, bad guys!" Starr cried. "How naive can we be. Let us hope -that our readership is on a different intelligence level, otherwise our -great plan will fail miserably." - - * * * * * - -It was the way he said it, and I don't think he meant to. He was mad -and the fact that my dialog had lapsed to comic book levels gave him -the idea, perhaps, that I was too dumb to worry about. There had -been other hidden meanings behind other things he'd said or done. My -subconscious mind was working on it. - -"What plan is that?" I ventured mildly. - -"Never mind! Get busy on this--this _libel_." - -My left eye twitched. "Okay. I'll change it myself. I know Planter's -style. By the way, when am I getting that secretary you promised me? My -desk's flooded. I need a girl bad." - -"Ah, yes." It was supposed to be a smile, I guess. "Very soon. -Meanwhile, kindly fill out this form." - -I took it without comment and went back to my office. This made -altogether the fifth form Starr had dreamed up for me to fill out. Must -be some weird complex he had, wanting to know what color socks I prefer -and if my mother kept goats. - -Anyhow, I grinned, as I grabbed up the phone and dialed Ric Planter's -number, it gave Starr ideas for my Christmas presents for the next -twenty years. - -"Yeah," Ric's sleepy voice yawned. "It's me. What a head." - -I passed the beef on to him, good. - -"Shut up, Max," he yawned. "I was just having a little fun." - -"Fun-schmun. It's _my_ job!" - -"Come off it, Maxie. Okay. Tell you what. The first outline you sent me -about the Kiriki and their habits isn't nearly complete enough. Have -that boss of yours dream up a more complete dossier, just for little -ole me. I like those Kiriki, they're such smug, heartless devils." - -"Listen, Starr's hot for them. He'll buy anything glorifying the -Kiriki. They're his little dream-babies." - -"Sure, sure. Here's what you do, Maxie. Get Starr to make me out a -complete dossier on them, but complete. You know me. I like to use -the little out of the way touches like what color they paint their -toenails. I'll give him some stuff that will curl his eyebrows. Okay?" - -"No more tricks?" - -"Cross my cast-iron heart." - -"Okay, Ric. But remember, Ric rhymes with tic." - -"How's that?" - -"Never mind." - - * * * * * - -The moment Alice walked in my office I knew she was for me. I guess -every guy has a girl all built up in his imagination, a girl who is and -has everything he likes. Alice Corey was mine. Soft blue eyes, lots of -brown wavy hair, a little well-shaped nose, and let's just say the rest -of her was well-shaped, too. It was all there, including a lot of hard -to define details of speech and manner that were exactly right. Maybe -it was chemical, or maybe it just added up to every dream I'd ever had -about my ideal girl. - -"My name is Alice Corey," she said, with soft violins in the -background. "I understand you need an editorial secretary." She went on -briskly, when I found myself speechless, "I worked two years with Tower -Periodicals in London and--" - -"You're hired," I said. - -"But those other girls waiting outside?" - -"Would you please inform them that the job's filled--Alice?" - -I had to deal with the boss about Alice. He didn't like her. She -was too pretty, he thought. Couldn't be efficient. He went over her -background with a fine-tooth comb. He found fault with most everything -about her. But I stuck to my guns. He had his Kiriki. Alice was mine -and I was damned if I would leave her out of my sight. She filled my -working hours with golden sunshine and my nights with platinum dreams. - -What's more, she _was_ efficient. And she would work until twelve the -night before a deadline without a murmur. She was diffident about -having dinner with me, first, but as time went by we spent many an -evening together, strolling in the park listening to the carousel or -sipping chocolate sodas at Howard Johnson's. Alice didn't talk much, -but she was a good listener. I must have told her everything I had ever -thought or done during those evenings. - -I was in such a sublime spin these days I forgot to worry about -Wallace Starr's peculiarities. The questions that had sprouted in my -subconscious began to fade. I did what I was told. So, strangely, did -Ric Planter. I supplied him with a detailed outline which Starr made up -about the Kiriki. That wasn't enough so we sent him another, with even -more details. - -He kicked through with story after story about the Kiriki. Big dramatic -stories, and in each one the Patterned Contentment boys were built up -higher than in the last. - -Starr purred like a kitten. He raised Planter's word-rates and my -salary. - -_Orion_ caught on. - - * * * * * - -The fans loved the idea of a pseudo-history of a whole constellation of -systems. The Kiriki, with their breathtaking crusade of contentment, -sweeping over system after system until finally it outdistanced Orion -and tentacled out from their home system into deepest space.... It -captured the imagination. Where would it end? - -Eventually we hit _Life_ magazine, with a big spread. The slicks -went after Ric Planter, but Starr had him tied up with an iron-clad -contract. After all, the conception was Starr's. And I could see why -he wouldn't let Planter hit the slicks. Because _he_ could not dictate -their policies. Only in _Orion_ could he manipulate the strings from -behind. The Kiriki were his babies and they must follow _his_ pattern. - -The night before our anniversary issue went to press it happened. - -I had left Alice on her doorstep, just off the Drive. It was almost -midnight, a blazing hot July night. Everybody and his dog was out for -a breather. The Drive was alive with young lovers, old lovers, and dog -lovers. - -It hit me. In my hurry to get away from the office I had neglected to -check with Starr about a last minute cover change. Starr hadn't been in -all day. The printers would be closing the forms first thing in the -morning and I had let the change go through without Starr's okay. Starr -never came in until eleven. - -I found a Whalen Drug Store and phoned Starr. No answer. I called the -operator and found out the line was temporarily out of order. - -On impulse, I snagged a cross-town bus. I had never been to Starr's, -never been invited or particularly wanted to visit him. He lived in a -loft not far from Third Avenue. - -It was an ordinary type building of ancient vintage. It would never cop -an Oscar for beauty, nor did it smell from Chanel No. 5. I made my way -up in the half-dark from one landing to another without enthusiasm. -I don't know just what it is about musty office buildings, after -they've been darkened and bedded down for the night; it isn't anything -calculated to cheer. Six flights, and no elevator after eight. - -I could see right away that Starr loved to be alone. Most of the -upper-floor offices were empty. My mind snagged hold of some creepy -ideas as I mounted those stairs. I thought about Starr's odd ways, -his odd voice, for that matter. As if he had a machine down in his -throat, a talking machine designed by a clever somebody who had once -heard a human voice. About how hepped Starr was on the Kiriki, how -painstakingly he had drawn them. He talked about them as if they were -real. Of course, being a science fiction writer myself, I understood -that brand of wackiness, or thought I did. - -I rapped on his door. - -There was light pushing out under his door so I knew he must be there. -It was noisy inside, which was why he hadn't heard me. I bent my ear -closer. What a noise! It sounded like a bullfrog-grasshopper duet. - -I banged on the door again. No answer. - -I tried the doorknob. It turned. I was half in when I stopped cold. -This I did not believe. Put it on a book jacket and label it Edd -Cartier and I'll buy it. - -I blinked to make it go away but it wouldn't. I whimpered. So it -_was_--what my mind had been half-suspecting for months, and laughing -at itself even as it suspected--it was _true_! - - * * * * * - -The Thing at the machine was a giant insect. Ten feet high, at -least. It was brown-green and had lots of claw-like appendages. The -most terrible thing about it was its familiarity. I had surveyed it -critically on half a dozen of our cover originals. - -I had quibbled with our artists about it. Not horrible enough, I had -said. Well, it was. It was horrible.... - -It was busy with that machine, making noises into a cone and twisting -dials and knobs with its many appendages. The noises it made were -carefully inflected. Speech, in fact. It was talking into the cone, -which absorbed the sounds, and transmitted them--where? - -My shoes were glued to the floor. - -The Thing finished talking, snapped off the machine, turned. It saw me. - -It yelled and tried to duck out. It moved in a blur. Seven pairs of -claws flexed out and grabbed for me. Some of the weaving cilea touched -me. I screamed at the sting, like a dozen raking barbs, tearing my -clothes and me. - -I made the hall, yelling. - -But I couldn't reach the stairs. It got me. It pinned me over the -elevator shaft. I bent back further and further so those tentacles -couldn't rake my face. Those criss-cross insect eyes were cold as ice, -emotionless. The barbs made ready to tear me to rags. - -I shrieked and let myself fall. First I didn't think to save myself. -Better a clean jolting death than those hundreds of needle-like cilea. -But my hands grabbed involuntarily for something. They caught the -cable, clung to it. - -It was greasy. I went down fast. I wrapped my legs around it, which -helped a little, straining to hold back. When I hit bottom I think -every tooth in my head jarred loose. My legs collapsed under me like -rubber. For a minute I blacked out. - - * * * * * - -The buzzing over my head snapped me up. I was a goner if I didn't move, -but fast. Sobbing, I wrenched my legs to a crouching position, and -leaped down off the elevator. I dove for the front door. Then I was -outside, gulping air, running like billy-hell for the Lexington subway. - -I didn't know what else to do, so having put half of Manhattan between -me and It, I telephoned Alice. I needed the sound of her voice. I -needed her to stop me from shuddering. My tic was slowly jerking my jaw -out of alignment. - -She listened patiently while I dumped in dimes. - -"Max," she asked when I had finished. "Are you _sure_ you haven't been -eating benzedrine tablets?" - -"No! And I'm not drunk!" - -"Where are you now?" - -"Some joint in Harlem." - -"How long have you been in there?" She sounded suspicious. - -"Alice!" I groaned. "If you could only see me! My suit's ripped in a -dozen places. I'm all greasy where I slid down the cable and my hands -are burned raw. I hurt." - -"Poor boy," she soothed. She was silent for a moment, then became her -briskest self. "Listen, Max. We have to consider every possibility. -This might be a self-hypnotic illusion brought on by overwork. -Remember, you've seen these things on many covers and interiors, too. -You've lived fictionally with the Kiriki for a year. Consider that--" - -"Nuts!" I yelled. "I'm going to the police!" - -"And spend the night in the drunk tank?" Alice queried severely. "Just -who do you think will believe your story?" - -"I can take them to this loft." - -"Think, Max! What will they find? Nothing! Even if it is true, do -you imagine this--this Kiriki is going to be caught like a fish in a -barrel? He has been spotted. Obviously, he will leave the loft at once." - -She was so right, and I knew it. I groaned. - -"Who or what is this Thing?" Alice asked, but it was plain she only -half-believed my story. - -"That's easy," I said bitterly. "I should have caught on months ago. -It's Wallace Starr. Starr is a Kiriki." - - * * * * * - -Having better sense than to go home, I rented a cheap room on 125th -Street. I didn't sleep much. I paced and ate cigarettes. Very early -next morning I woke up a cleaner on Third Avenue and bought a cheap -uncalled-for suit out of his window. It was the most uncalled-for suit -I ever did see, but it fit pretty well and made me decent. - -A quick coffee and I went up to the office. I had given Alice strict -orders not to come to work until I phoned her. I didn't want her mixed -up in this. Starr hadn't liked her from the first. Maybe he figured -she might catch on to him better than me. - -I picked up a manuscript from the slush pile, called _Challenge of the -Slime People_. The phone made me jump. - -"Morning, Maxie. This is Ric Planter." - -"Ric," I found myself blurting. "The most terrifying thing has -happened!" - -"Invasion of Kiriki, no doubt." - -Planter had that way. You wanted to wring his neck. Somehow, the way he -said it, made me backtrack. I didn't want to get the horse laugh from -him and all fandom. For the first time I asked myself, _could Alice be -right?_ Could it have been an illusion? - -"Listen, Ric, how does this sound for a plot? Suppose an alien, but -alien, culture from the stars decides it wants to take over our system. -They don't want to just drop in on us. They dislike physical warfare -because it isn't orderly. Also they don't want to kill any of their -numbers, or their potential slaves. Also a sudden alien invasion might -drive humans completely off their rocker. - -"So here's what they do. They send down a secret fifth columnist. His -job is to spread propaganda over the planet, to prepare humans for -their advent, make them amenable to this alien culture. Of course he's -to build them up in human minds, make them think their cosmic crusade -is beneficent and noble. How would he start?" - -"Buy a newspaper. Buy ten." - -"Under ordinary circumstances, sure. But wouldn't it be hard to slyly -mention what great guys the Whoziz are in a daily newspaper? Any -comment about his home folks would stick out like a sore thumb. No. It -would have to be something less obvious. How about him buying a science -fic--" - -A long thin shadow blotted the opaque glass door in front of me. The -door opened. Wallace Starr stepped in. - -"Shall I get to work on it?" Ric asked. - -"Yeah. And make it good." I hung up. - -Starr walked over to my desk. I picked up my letter opener. - -"You might have told me," he preluded. - -"What?" - -"The changes naturally. I spent three hours at the printers last night. -Didn't get home until after two." - - * * * * * - -He stalked into his office and slammed the door behind him. Then I -phoned the printers. - -"Lemme talk to Corky," I told the girl who answered. - -"Mr. Corkendahl is not here," her Brooklynese voice trilled. "Mr. -Corkendahl is home in bed, on account of he spent half the night -rechanging some changes for Mr. Starr." - -"Was Mr. Starr there last night?" - -"Why yes." - -"Sure?" - -"Mr. Corkendahl informed me he was here until almost two. Mr. -Corkendahl is not in the habit of prevaricating, Mr. Field." - -I hung up in a daze. If Wallace Starr was definitely not in his loft -apartment at twelve-thirty last night, then.... I rang up Alice. No -answer. I rang her every fifteen minutes until she did. - -"Where were you?" I demanded. - -"Why, Max." She sounded piqued. "All right, I'll tell you. I was up at -Wallace Starr's apartment." - -"But he's here!" - -"I know. I waited until he left. Then I went up to the loft. I told -the janitor I worked for Mr. Starr and he let me in. I went over the -place with a fine-tooth comb. Max, there's simply nothing there to get -excited about. He's quite neat for a bachelor. Everything very prosaic -and natural, except for that big amateur radio of his." - -"Amateur radio?" - -"You know. Amateur sending and receiving. Mr. Starr is a ham." - -"H-ham?" I swallowed hard. "Alice, you're right. I'm going off my -rocker." - -"Just overwork," she protested, soothingly. "You take your science -fiction too seriously. What you need is a nice vacation, away from the -office and everything that even smells like work." - -"I'll do it," I said meekly. Right then a thought hit me. It had been -simmering in my mind for a long time. Now it exploded into words. - -"Alice--let's make it a honeymoon!" - -She gasped. "Max, are you sure you're well enough?" - -"Am I? You're just what the doctor ordered to put me back on my -rollers. Will you marry me, Alice? Please?" - -"Yes, Max. Whenever you say." - - * * * * * - -We told nobody where we were going for our two weeks' honeymoon, least -of all Starr. He grumbled for a while, then kicked through with a nice -fat check for a wedding present, along with a bottle of good champagne. -We hopped in a rented jallopy and headed north along the river. - -There was a pale round moon overhead and as we got out of the city and -night came on it brightened and made a glowing path on the water. After -while we left the main road and headed into the Catskills. At last we -dipped down into a deep little glen where there was a cosy two-room -cabin I'd often rented before when I had a tough writing assignment -that demanded absolute solitude. - -There was no one within miles. - -We unloaded the car like a couple of kids. I had practically bought out -a delicatessen. Then Alice started fussing around the cabin, putting -away my fishing tackle and hanging up some curtains and pictures she -had picked up at Woolworth's. I kept on pinching myself to believe she -had really married me and marveling how every little thing she did -suited me perfectly. - -"Hungry, darling?" - -"You said it!" I made a tentative bite at her ear, grinning, but she -eluded me teasingly. - -I uncorked the champagne, managed to spill my first glass, then decided -I was too hungry to bother with it now. We ate cold chicken and all -kinds of fixings. Outside the night lay deep and warm. The moon -shimmered on the evergreens. - -I got up from my chair and went to Alice. - -Now she wanted that kiss. She put up her lips. - -I kissed her. - -The world rocked. - -A buzzing noise sounded behind me. It made my blood crawl, because it -was familiar. I jumped back from Alice just in time. - -"No," I moaned. "_No--Alice!_" - -But it happened. - -I imagine that I'm the only man who ever kissed his bride on their -wedding night, then watched her turn into a monstrous bug before his -eyes.... - - * * * * * - -Outside the owl hooted. - -Max Field tossed aside his notebook and pounded his knee with his -fist. God! To have _seen_ that happen! To sweet little Alice! - -His dream girl. But naturally. She had been too perfect, actually. -She was designed for him, perhaps only a clever illusion clothed in -flesh by his own imagination. At any rate she was the reason for him -filling out all those forms. To discover just what he liked in every -department. To give them a pattern for "Alice". - -They were cute. Even to the point of having Starr pretend to dislike -her. When Starr pretended to poke carefully into her background, that -was enough to prevent Max from doing just that. Because actually she -had no background. It was phony. - -That phone call he had made to Corky. The girl who answered. That could -have been Alice, using a heavy Brooklyn accent to cover her voice. She -had been so convincing he hadn't bothered to check back later. - -Now, the two of them were in the kitchen planning his death. "Science -Fiction Editor Accidentally Killed in Mountain Retreat. Bride -Stricken." Then the grief-stricken bride would carry on in his place. -_Orion_ was going great guns now. It really didn't need Max Field. -And without him their propaganda machine could move forward all the -faster--forward to the day when the Kiriki cosmic crusade moved down -into this solar system. The Patterned Contentment boys would take over. -Whose pattern? Kiriki, of course.... - -The kitchen door opened slowly. Max tensed. - -It was--_Alice_. - -She wore that clinging black lace negligee he had bought in an -exclusive Fifth Avenue shop. - -"Max." - -He stood up stiffly, staring. - -"Change, damn you! _Change!_" - -"Why, Max," she pouted. "Don't you love me any more?" - -It was intended to drive him nutty, maybe to suicide. - -"You should have drunk the champagne," she said softly. "It would have -been easier for you. Would you like a drink now?" She held out a glass. - -All of a sudden he wanted that glass more than he had ever wanted -anything in his life. Even Alice. It was the end of the line, the -dropping off point. He couldn't take it any more. Not Alice--like that. - -He walked over to her and took the glass. He lifted it to his lips. - - * * * * * - -Something slapped the glass out of his hand as the window behind them -shattered inward. Alice flashed an angry glance at the face in the -window, then moved quickly back into the kitchen. - -"Ric!" - -Max's bewilderment changed to sudden hope. - -"Hurry!" Planter cried. "Get through this window!" - -Max dove through while the writer yanked him by the elbows. Max was -shivering and sweating at the same time. But the cool night breeze -helped a little. - -"W-where in the billy-hell did you--" - -"Come from?" Ric finished. "Been on Starr's trail for weeks. Had this -thing figured out for some time, even before you tipped me off on the -phone that day. I followed Starr here. Been watching and waiting." - -He was wearing a fish-basket and, incongruously, it was filled with -bombs. He handed some to Max. - -"Start heaving. Aim for the kitchen door before they close it." - -He tossed a handful of the bombs into the room. Max followed suit. -Inside, the bombs broke, letting out a pungent gas. - -"What is it?" - -"Insecticide," Ric grinned. "More potent than DDT. Those outlines Starr -made out furnished the clews. It should do it." - -"Won't they get out the kitchen door?" - -"Uh-uh. I sealed it up proper. It and the window." - -The door between the rooms slammed shut but not before half a dozen -bombs had got through. Ric slammed the shutters too. They waited. - -"If it doesn't kill them it'll put them to sleep for hours. Basically, -from Starr's dossiers on the Kiriki, they have all the vulnerable -points of our grasshoppers. And fire will destroy them utterly. I'm -afraid we can't take chances, so this cabin will have to go. Match?" - - * * * * * - -They watched it burn down to the last slab of stilted-up planking. Max -stared down at the two small charred remainders of the Kiriki advance -guard and shuddered. - -On the road back to New York, Max said: "Do you think they'll try it -again?" - -"The Kiriki? Not for a while. Like you said, they dislike war. They -like it the easy way." - -"Propaganda. Invasion of minds. Well, two can play at that. We'll keep -_Orion_ going--only we'll print the real story. We'll make men detest -and despise the Kiriki so that any feelers they send down will send -them hopping to the furthest end of space. Maybe we can get somebody -started on that telepathic wave interrupter of yours, too. So if they -do land we can cut them off from each other. We'll work on this reverse -propaganda hard." - -Max jerked his eyes back on the road and put his foot on the gas hard. -Sure he would work, work to save his sanity, too. - -It wasn't going to be easy to forget a lost dream--a dream that had -lived and breathed and promised a lifetime of patterned contentment. It -would take a lot of mental welding to hold back the horror of that kiss. - -But he would try. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS WORLD IS OURS! *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: This World is Ours!</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Emil Petaja</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 19, 2021 [eBook #65874]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS WORLD IS OURS! ***</div> - - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>"THIS WORLD IS OURS!"</h1> - -<h2>By Emil Petaja</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Orion</span> was something new in science fiction<br /> -magazines; it printed stories about aliens and<br /> -passed them off as the truth—which they were!</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -July 1952<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"He must die. It will look like an accident."</p> - -<p>"Shouldn't we take him back with us?"</p> - -<p>"We are far from through here. Don't tell me you are developing a -sympathy for these miserable creatures?"</p> - -<p>"Impossible. I merely assumed he might be of some further value in our -great crusade."</p> - -<p>"He must die."</p> - -<p>Max Field was listening at the door. He moved back so he could breathe -again. Those dozens of little wounds in his chest and on his arms -and neck stung like fire. His amiable young features were tense but -resigned. This was the end, period....</p> - -<p>Outside the little cabin an owl hooted. It was a lonely sound. But it -was a familiar earth sound, and it brought a lump to his throat.</p> - -<p>If only there was some way to outwit them. But he had thought of -everything; apparently so had they. That window, for instance, was -shuttered and bolted from outside. A sudden noise would bring them in -here in no time. The back wall was up against a cliff. There was no -outside door in this room.</p> - -<p>He was supposed to be drunk, befuddled. But he hadn't drank any of the -champagne. In that, at least, he had outwitted them. He was to die. No -question about that. The only question remaining was—how.</p> - -<p>He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out the little notebook -he'd been, at odd moments, scribbling the whole story in. Force of -habit, perhaps. Max was a science fiction writer. He flipped through -the pencilled pages. Worth money, this story. He smiled ironically. Yet -who would read it, much less believe it.</p> - -<p>Somebody might, he decided. He would hide it somewhere in this room. -Maybe slip it through a crack in the flooring, a few pages at a time.</p> - -<p>He pulled out a stub of pencil and added that final shuddery scene. -<i>Alice. Alice....</i></p> - -<p>Outside, the owl hooted.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It started, as so many stories do, with my phone ringing. I was eating -cigarettes and pounding out a cover novel for <i>Gizmo</i>. If there is -anything that gripes me where I live it is some joker calling me up -when I'm busy producing and—</p> - -<p>"Hello. Yeah. This is Max Field, the science fiction writer. And while -we're on that subject, I happen to be—"</p> - -<p>"I am Wallace Starr." It was a funny voice. Funny-strange. It sounded a -little like rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together.</p> - -<p>"Really?"</p> - -<p>I pushed out my current Camel and sneaked in a few pecks at the old -Underwood. So sandpaper-voice was Wallace Starr. Maybe I was supposed -to turn handsprings.</p> - -<p>"You don't know me," the heckler went on, "but I am very familiar with -you and your work. I have an important project in mind. A new monthly -science fiction magazine to be called <i>Orion</i>. I need a good assistant -editor. You were suggested."</p> - -<p>"<i>Orion</i>," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes. My book will feature a completely new approach. We will buy -only the best material, and each story will concern itself with the -constellation Orion and its various systems. All material will be -correlated to this end. How does this strike you?"</p> - -<p>"You won't find it so easy pinning the best writers down to Orion," I -grinned. "Writers like Swain and St. Reynard and Ric Planter like elbow -room."</p> - -<p>"Orion is vast and complex. One hundred and seven solar systems, to be -exact. That should provide ample elbow room."</p> - -<p>I whistled. "Ought to. But what's the idea?"</p> - -<p>"Novelty, Mr. Field. I have studied the imaginative magazines closely -and it occurs to me that they are already beginning to specialize. One -of them uses highly technical stories, another adheres to stories of -other planets in this system. <i>Orion</i> will link each story with all the -others in it. Instead of a hundred interpretations of the life patterns -of <i>Orion</i> we shall have but one. Of course casual stories we buy will -have to be revamped to fit in."</p> - -<p>"That's where I come in," I guessed.</p> - -<p>"Exactly. But don't you feel that we will wind up with a fascinating -pseudo-history of Orion, and that such a magazine would create a furore -with its realistic slant?"</p> - -<p>"I guess so."</p> - -<p>It tasted like my first olive. But Wallace Starr was obviously burning -with enthusiasm. He sounded just a little like a crackpot. A rich -crackpot, maybe.</p> - -<p>"It will be hard work, Mr. Field. But rewarding. Are you prepared to -accept my proposition?" He spoke like a man who means business.</p> - -<p>I hesitated. It is well-known that the mortality rate among new fiction -magazines is high. I had writing contracts to fill, I was doing okay. -Editing a monthly is a full-time job.</p> - -<p>"About salary—" I hinted.</p> - -<p>He named a figure that made my hair curl. What could I say but, "When -do we start, Boss?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Starr wasn't like any editor I've known. He wasn't like an editor at -all. He wasn't much like <i>anybody</i> I've known. Which puts him in a -class all by himself. He was brown and thin and had peculiarly big -eyes, like a grasshopper's.</p> - -<p>He spent so much money getting started I figured he wasn't long for -this racket. But he did have a knack and the first couple issues, while -not wildly successful, went over well.</p> - -<p>One morning he called me into his office. From the tone of that dry -voice of his I knew I was in for it.</p> - -<p>"What's all this?" he buzzed, rattling a manuscript in front of me. -From the cheap yellow paper I knew it was the lead novelette of the -forthcoming issue. Ric Planter was one of our top writers and also a -very bad boy. Ric loved to put an editor on the spot, bless his little -pointed head.</p> - -<p>"Didn't he change that ending?" I asked. The tic in my left eye started -up. I had never had this twitch until the first time I saw Starr. I -think it was something about those eyes of his. Every time I looked at -him....</p> - -<p>"He changed it all right!" Starr hissed. "He turned the Kiriki into -villains. When their benevolent plan to spread patterned contentment -throughout the circle of outer planets was just taking hold he had the -semi-civilized Green Ones rise up and destroy their power by smashing -their means of telepathic communication."</p> - -<p>"How could he do that?" I clucked.</p> - -<p>"Supersonic wave interrupter of some kind."</p> - -<p>I hadn't meant that, and somehow I couldn't help grinning. Trust -Ric to latch on to the Kiriki vulnerable point. The Kiriki, as -Starr had outlined them, were highly communal. Like our ants, only -very much more advanced. They depended on this intricate pattern of -inter-communication, mind with mind, for their very existence, since -each Kiriki was by birth fitted to perform only one basic function -in their communal society. Their ingenious "Army of Patterned -Contentment" was helpless, when reduced by the adaptable Green Ones to -individuals.</p> - -<p>"Will you please stop laughing," Starr rasped. "This hack writer of -yours has outraged the history of an ancient, noble race!"</p> - -<p>"I didn't get a chance to read his revision," I defended myself. Starr -had grabbed it off my desk as he went through. "I told Planter the -Kiriki were good guys, not bad guys."</p> - -<p>"Good guys, bad guys!" Starr cried. "How naive can we be. Let us hope -that our readership is on a different intelligence level, otherwise our -great plan will fail miserably."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was the way he said it, and I don't think he meant to. He was mad -and the fact that my dialog had lapsed to comic book levels gave him -the idea, perhaps, that I was too dumb to worry about. There had -been other hidden meanings behind other things he'd said or done. My -subconscious mind was working on it.</p> - -<p>"What plan is that?" I ventured mildly.</p> - -<p>"Never mind! Get busy on this—this <i>libel</i>."</p> - -<p>My left eye twitched. "Okay. I'll change it myself. I know Planter's -style. By the way, when am I getting that secretary you promised me? My -desk's flooded. I need a girl bad."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes." It was supposed to be a smile, I guess. "Very soon. -Meanwhile, kindly fill out this form."</p> - -<p>I took it without comment and went back to my office. This made -altogether the fifth form Starr had dreamed up for me to fill out. Must -be some weird complex he had, wanting to know what color socks I prefer -and if my mother kept goats.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, I grinned, as I grabbed up the phone and dialed Ric Planter's -number, it gave Starr ideas for my Christmas presents for the next -twenty years.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," Ric's sleepy voice yawned. "It's me. What a head."</p> - -<p>I passed the beef on to him, good.</p> - -<p>"Shut up, Max," he yawned. "I was just having a little fun."</p> - -<p>"Fun-schmun. It's <i>my</i> job!"</p> - -<p>"Come off it, Maxie. Okay. Tell you what. The first outline you sent me -about the Kiriki and their habits isn't nearly complete enough. Have -that boss of yours dream up a more complete dossier, just for little -ole me. I like those Kiriki, they're such smug, heartless devils."</p> - -<p>"Listen, Starr's hot for them. He'll buy anything glorifying the -Kiriki. They're his little dream-babies."</p> - -<p>"Sure, sure. Here's what you do, Maxie. Get Starr to make me out a -complete dossier on them, but complete. You know me. I like to use -the little out of the way touches like what color they paint their -toenails. I'll give him some stuff that will curl his eyebrows. Okay?"</p> - -<p>"No more tricks?"</p> - -<p>"Cross my cast-iron heart."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Ric. But remember, Ric rhymes with tic."</p> - -<p>"How's that?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The moment Alice walked in my office I knew she was for me. I guess -every guy has a girl all built up in his imagination, a girl who is and -has everything he likes. Alice Corey was mine. Soft blue eyes, lots of -brown wavy hair, a little well-shaped nose, and let's just say the rest -of her was well-shaped, too. It was all there, including a lot of hard -to define details of speech and manner that were exactly right. Maybe -it was chemical, or maybe it just added up to every dream I'd ever had -about my ideal girl.</p> - -<p>"My name is Alice Corey," she said, with soft violins in the -background. "I understand you need an editorial secretary." She went on -briskly, when I found myself speechless, "I worked two years with Tower -Periodicals in London and—"</p> - -<p>"You're hired," I said.</p> - -<p>"But those other girls waiting outside?"</p> - -<p>"Would you please inform them that the job's filled—Alice?"</p> - -<p>I had to deal with the boss about Alice. He didn't like her. She -was too pretty, he thought. Couldn't be efficient. He went over her -background with a fine-tooth comb. He found fault with most everything -about her. But I stuck to my guns. He had his Kiriki. Alice was mine -and I was damned if I would leave her out of my sight. She filled my -working hours with golden sunshine and my nights with platinum dreams.</p> - -<p>What's more, she <i>was</i> efficient. And she would work until twelve the -night before a deadline without a murmur. She was diffident about -having dinner with me, first, but as time went by we spent many an -evening together, strolling in the park listening to the carousel or -sipping chocolate sodas at Howard Johnson's. Alice didn't talk much, -but she was a good listener. I must have told her everything I had ever -thought or done during those evenings.</p> - -<p>I was in such a sublime spin these days I forgot to worry about -Wallace Starr's peculiarities. The questions that had sprouted in my -subconscious began to fade. I did what I was told. So, strangely, did -Ric Planter. I supplied him with a detailed outline which Starr made up -about the Kiriki. That wasn't enough so we sent him another, with even -more details.</p> - -<p>He kicked through with story after story about the Kiriki. Big dramatic -stories, and in each one the Patterned Contentment boys were built up -higher than in the last.</p> - -<p>Starr purred like a kitten. He raised Planter's word-rates and my -salary.</p> - -<p><i>Orion</i> caught on.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The fans loved the idea of a pseudo-history of a whole constellation of -systems. The Kiriki, with their breathtaking crusade of contentment, -sweeping over system after system until finally it outdistanced Orion -and tentacled out from their home system into deepest space.... It -captured the imagination. Where would it end?</p> - -<p>Eventually we hit <i>Life</i> magazine, with a big spread. The slicks -went after Ric Planter, but Starr had him tied up with an iron-clad -contract. After all, the conception was Starr's. And I could see why -he wouldn't let Planter hit the slicks. Because <i>he</i> could not dictate -their policies. Only in <i>Orion</i> could he manipulate the strings from -behind. The Kiriki were his babies and they must follow <i>his</i> pattern.</p> - -<p>The night before our anniversary issue went to press it happened.</p> - -<p>I had left Alice on her doorstep, just off the Drive. It was almost -midnight, a blazing hot July night. Everybody and his dog was out for -a breather. The Drive was alive with young lovers, old lovers, and dog -lovers.</p> - -<p>It hit me. In my hurry to get away from the office I had neglected to -check with Starr about a last minute cover change. Starr hadn't been in -all day. The printers would be closing the forms first thing in the -morning and I had let the change go through without Starr's okay. Starr -never came in until eleven.</p> - -<p>I found a Whalen Drug Store and phoned Starr. No answer. I called the -operator and found out the line was temporarily out of order.</p> - -<p>On impulse, I snagged a cross-town bus. I had never been to Starr's, -never been invited or particularly wanted to visit him. He lived in a -loft not far from Third Avenue.</p> - -<p>It was an ordinary type building of ancient vintage. It would never cop -an Oscar for beauty, nor did it smell from Chanel No. 5. I made my way -up in the half-dark from one landing to another without enthusiasm. -I don't know just what it is about musty office buildings, after -they've been darkened and bedded down for the night; it isn't anything -calculated to cheer. Six flights, and no elevator after eight.</p> - -<p>I could see right away that Starr loved to be alone. Most of the -upper-floor offices were empty. My mind snagged hold of some creepy -ideas as I mounted those stairs. I thought about Starr's odd ways, -his odd voice, for that matter. As if he had a machine down in his -throat, a talking machine designed by a clever somebody who had once -heard a human voice. About how hepped Starr was on the Kiriki, how -painstakingly he had drawn them. He talked about them as if they were -real. Of course, being a science fiction writer myself, I understood -that brand of wackiness, or thought I did.</p> - -<p>I rapped on his door.</p> - -<p>There was light pushing out under his door so I knew he must be there. -It was noisy inside, which was why he hadn't heard me. I bent my ear -closer. What a noise! It sounded like a bullfrog-grasshopper duet.</p> - -<p>I banged on the door again. No answer.</p> - -<p>I tried the doorknob. It turned. I was half in when I stopped cold. -This I did not believe. Put it on a book jacket and label it Edd -Cartier and I'll buy it.</p> - -<p>I blinked to make it go away but it wouldn't. I whimpered. So it -<i>was</i>—what my mind had been half-suspecting for months, and laughing -at itself even as it suspected—it was <i>true</i>!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Thing at the machine was a giant insect. Ten feet high, at -least. It was brown-green and had lots of claw-like appendages. The -most terrible thing about it was its familiarity. I had surveyed it -critically on half a dozen of our cover originals.</p> - -<p>I had quibbled with our artists about it. Not horrible enough, I had -said. Well, it was. It was horrible....</p> - -<p>It was busy with that machine, making noises into a cone and twisting -dials and knobs with its many appendages. The noises it made were -carefully inflected. Speech, in fact. It was talking into the cone, -which absorbed the sounds, and transmitted them—where?</p> - -<p>My shoes were glued to the floor.</p> - -<p>The Thing finished talking, snapped off the machine, turned. It saw me.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>It yelled and tried to duck out. It moved in a blur. Seven pairs of -claws flexed out and grabbed for me. Some of the weaving cilea touched -me. I screamed at the sting, like a dozen raking barbs, tearing my -clothes and me.</p> - -<p>I made the hall, yelling.</p> - -<p>But I couldn't reach the stairs. It got me. It pinned me over the -elevator shaft. I bent back further and further so those tentacles -couldn't rake my face. Those criss-cross insect eyes were cold as ice, -emotionless. The barbs made ready to tear me to rags.</p> - -<p>I shrieked and let myself fall. First I didn't think to save myself. -Better a clean jolting death than those hundreds of needle-like cilea. -But my hands grabbed involuntarily for something. They caught the -cable, clung to it.</p> - -<p>It was greasy. I went down fast. I wrapped my legs around it, which -helped a little, straining to hold back. When I hit bottom I think -every tooth in my head jarred loose. My legs collapsed under me like -rubber. For a minute I blacked out.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The buzzing over my head snapped me up. I was a goner if I didn't move, -but fast. Sobbing, I wrenched my legs to a crouching position, and -leaped down off the elevator. I dove for the front door. Then I was -outside, gulping air, running like billy-hell for the Lexington subway.</p> - -<p>I didn't know what else to do, so having put half of Manhattan between -me and It, I telephoned Alice. I needed the sound of her voice. I -needed her to stop me from shuddering. My tic was slowly jerking my jaw -out of alignment.</p> - -<p>She listened patiently while I dumped in dimes.</p> - -<p>"Max," she asked when I had finished. "Are you <i>sure</i> you haven't been -eating benzedrine tablets?"</p> - -<p>"No! And I'm not drunk!"</p> - -<p>"Where are you now?"</p> - -<p>"Some joint in Harlem."</p> - -<p>"How long have you been in there?" She sounded suspicious.</p> - -<p>"Alice!" I groaned. "If you could only see me! My suit's ripped in a -dozen places. I'm all greasy where I slid down the cable and my hands -are burned raw. I hurt."</p> - -<p>"Poor boy," she soothed. She was silent for a moment, then became her -briskest self. "Listen, Max. We have to consider every possibility. -This might be a self-hypnotic illusion brought on by overwork. -Remember, you've seen these things on many covers and interiors, too. -You've lived fictionally with the Kiriki for a year. Consider that—"</p> - -<p>"Nuts!" I yelled. "I'm going to the police!"</p> - -<p>"And spend the night in the drunk tank?" Alice queried severely. "Just -who do you think will believe your story?"</p> - -<p>"I can take them to this loft."</p> - -<p>"Think, Max! What will they find? Nothing! Even if it is true, do -you imagine this—this Kiriki is going to be caught like a fish in a -barrel? He has been spotted. Obviously, he will leave the loft at once."</p> - -<p>She was so right, and I knew it. I groaned.</p> - -<p>"Who or what is this Thing?" Alice asked, but it was plain she only -half-believed my story.</p> - -<p>"That's easy," I said bitterly. "I should have caught on months ago. -It's Wallace Starr. Starr is a Kiriki."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Having better sense than to go home, I rented a cheap room on 125th -Street. I didn't sleep much. I paced and ate cigarettes. Very early -next morning I woke up a cleaner on Third Avenue and bought a cheap -uncalled-for suit out of his window. It was the most uncalled-for suit -I ever did see, but it fit pretty well and made me decent.</p> - -<p>A quick coffee and I went up to the office. I had given Alice strict -orders not to come to work until I phoned her. I didn't want her mixed -up in this. Starr hadn't liked her from the first. Maybe he figured -she might catch on to him better than me.</p> - -<p>I picked up a manuscript from the slush pile, called <i>Challenge of the -Slime People</i>. The phone made me jump.</p> - -<p>"Morning, Maxie. This is Ric Planter."</p> - -<p>"Ric," I found myself blurting. "The most terrifying thing has -happened!"</p> - -<p>"Invasion of Kiriki, no doubt."</p> - -<p>Planter had that way. You wanted to wring his neck. Somehow, the way he -said it, made me backtrack. I didn't want to get the horse laugh from -him and all fandom. For the first time I asked myself, <i>could Alice be -right?</i> Could it have been an illusion?</p> - -<p>"Listen, Ric, how does this sound for a plot? Suppose an alien, but -alien, culture from the stars decides it wants to take over our system. -They don't want to just drop in on us. They dislike physical warfare -because it isn't orderly. Also they don't want to kill any of their -numbers, or their potential slaves. Also a sudden alien invasion might -drive humans completely off their rocker.</p> - -<p>"So here's what they do. They send down a secret fifth columnist. His -job is to spread propaganda over the planet, to prepare humans for -their advent, make them amenable to this alien culture. Of course he's -to build them up in human minds, make them think their cosmic crusade -is beneficent and noble. How would he start?"</p> - -<p>"Buy a newspaper. Buy ten."</p> - -<p>"Under ordinary circumstances, sure. But wouldn't it be hard to slyly -mention what great guys the Whoziz are in a daily newspaper? Any -comment about his home folks would stick out like a sore thumb. No. It -would have to be something less obvious. How about him buying a science -fic—"</p> - -<p>A long thin shadow blotted the opaque glass door in front of me. The -door opened. Wallace Starr stepped in.</p> - -<p>"Shall I get to work on it?" Ric asked.</p> - -<p>"Yeah. And make it good." I hung up.</p> - -<p>Starr walked over to my desk. I picked up my letter opener.</p> - -<p>"You might have told me," he preluded.</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"The changes naturally. I spent three hours at the printers last night. -Didn't get home until after two."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He stalked into his office and slammed the door behind him. Then I -phoned the printers.</p> - -<p>"Lemme talk to Corky," I told the girl who answered.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Corkendahl is not here," her Brooklynese voice trilled. "Mr. -Corkendahl is home in bed, on account of he spent half the night -rechanging some changes for Mr. Starr."</p> - -<p>"Was Mr. Starr there last night?"</p> - -<p>"Why yes."</p> - -<p>"Sure?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Corkendahl informed me he was here until almost two. Mr. -Corkendahl is not in the habit of prevaricating, Mr. Field."</p> - -<p>I hung up in a daze. If Wallace Starr was definitely not in his loft -apartment at twelve-thirty last night, then.... I rang up Alice. No -answer. I rang her every fifteen minutes until she did.</p> - -<p>"Where were you?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"Why, Max." She sounded piqued. "All right, I'll tell you. I was up at -Wallace Starr's apartment."</p> - -<p>"But he's here!"</p> - -<p>"I know. I waited until he left. Then I went up to the loft. I told -the janitor I worked for Mr. Starr and he let me in. I went over the -place with a fine-tooth comb. Max, there's simply nothing there to get -excited about. He's quite neat for a bachelor. Everything very prosaic -and natural, except for that big amateur radio of his."</p> - -<p>"Amateur radio?"</p> - -<p>"You know. Amateur sending and receiving. Mr. Starr is a ham."</p> - -<p>"H-ham?" I swallowed hard. "Alice, you're right. I'm going off my -rocker."</p> - -<p>"Just overwork," she protested, soothingly. "You take your science -fiction too seriously. What you need is a nice vacation, away from the -office and everything that even smells like work."</p> - -<p>"I'll do it," I said meekly. Right then a thought hit me. It had been -simmering in my mind for a long time. Now it exploded into words.</p> - -<p>"Alice—let's make it a honeymoon!"</p> - -<p>She gasped. "Max, are you sure you're well enough?"</p> - -<p>"Am I? You're just what the doctor ordered to put me back on my -rollers. Will you marry me, Alice? Please?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Max. Whenever you say."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We told nobody where we were going for our two weeks' honeymoon, least -of all Starr. He grumbled for a while, then kicked through with a nice -fat check for a wedding present, along with a bottle of good champagne. -We hopped in a rented jallopy and headed north along the river.</p> - -<p>There was a pale round moon overhead and as we got out of the city and -night came on it brightened and made a glowing path on the water. After -while we left the main road and headed into the Catskills. At last we -dipped down into a deep little glen where there was a cosy two-room -cabin I'd often rented before when I had a tough writing assignment -that demanded absolute solitude.</p> - -<p>There was no one within miles.</p> - -<p>We unloaded the car like a couple of kids. I had practically bought out -a delicatessen. Then Alice started fussing around the cabin, putting -away my fishing tackle and hanging up some curtains and pictures she -had picked up at Woolworth's. I kept on pinching myself to believe she -had really married me and marveling how every little thing she did -suited me perfectly.</p> - -<p>"Hungry, darling?"</p> - -<p>"You said it!" I made a tentative bite at her ear, grinning, but she -eluded me teasingly.</p> - -<p>I uncorked the champagne, managed to spill my first glass, then decided -I was too hungry to bother with it now. We ate cold chicken and all -kinds of fixings. Outside the night lay deep and warm. The moon -shimmered on the evergreens.</p> - -<p>I got up from my chair and went to Alice.</p> - -<p>Now she wanted that kiss. She put up her lips.</p> - -<p>I kissed her.</p> - -<p>The world rocked.</p> - -<p>A buzzing noise sounded behind me. It made my blood crawl, because it -was familiar. I jumped back from Alice just in time.</p> - -<p>"No," I moaned. "<i>No—Alice!</i>"</p> - -<p>But it happened.</p> - -<p>I imagine that I'm the only man who ever kissed his bride on their -wedding night, then watched her turn into a monstrous bug before his -eyes....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Outside the owl hooted.</p> - -<p>Max Field tossed aside his notebook and pounded his knee with his -fist. God! To have <i>seen</i> that happen! To sweet little Alice!</p> - -<p>His dream girl. But naturally. She had been too perfect, actually. -She was designed for him, perhaps only a clever illusion clothed in -flesh by his own imagination. At any rate she was the reason for him -filling out all those forms. To discover just what he liked in every -department. To give them a pattern for "Alice".</p> - -<p>They were cute. Even to the point of having Starr pretend to dislike -her. When Starr pretended to poke carefully into her background, that -was enough to prevent Max from doing just that. Because actually she -had no background. It was phony.</p> - -<p>That phone call he had made to Corky. The girl who answered. That could -have been Alice, using a heavy Brooklyn accent to cover her voice. She -had been so convincing he hadn't bothered to check back later.</p> - -<p>Now, the two of them were in the kitchen planning his death. "Science -Fiction Editor Accidentally Killed in Mountain Retreat. Bride -Stricken." Then the grief-stricken bride would carry on in his place. -<i>Orion</i> was going great guns now. It really didn't need Max Field. -And without him their propaganda machine could move forward all the -faster—forward to the day when the Kiriki cosmic crusade moved down -into this solar system. The Patterned Contentment boys would take over. -Whose pattern? Kiriki, of course....</p> - -<p>The kitchen door opened slowly. Max tensed.</p> - -<p>It was—<i>Alice</i>.</p> - -<p>She wore that clinging black lace negligee he had bought in an -exclusive Fifth Avenue shop.</p> - -<p>"Max."</p> - -<p>He stood up stiffly, staring.</p> - -<p>"Change, damn you! <i>Change!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Why, Max," she pouted. "Don't you love me any more?"</p> - -<p>It was intended to drive him nutty, maybe to suicide.</p> - -<p>"You should have drunk the champagne," she said softly. "It would have -been easier for you. Would you like a drink now?" She held out a glass.</p> - -<p>All of a sudden he wanted that glass more than he had ever wanted -anything in his life. Even Alice. It was the end of the line, the -dropping off point. He couldn't take it any more. Not Alice—like that.</p> - -<p>He walked over to her and took the glass. He lifted it to his lips.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Something slapped the glass out of his hand as the window behind them -shattered inward. Alice flashed an angry glance at the face in the -window, then moved quickly back into the kitchen.</p> - -<p>"Ric!"</p> - -<p>Max's bewilderment changed to sudden hope.</p> - -<p>"Hurry!" Planter cried. "Get through this window!"</p> - -<p>Max dove through while the writer yanked him by the elbows. Max was -shivering and sweating at the same time. But the cool night breeze -helped a little.</p> - -<p>"W-where in the billy-hell did you—"</p> - -<p>"Come from?" Ric finished. "Been on Starr's trail for weeks. Had this -thing figured out for some time, even before you tipped me off on the -phone that day. I followed Starr here. Been watching and waiting."</p> - -<p>He was wearing a fish-basket and, incongruously, it was filled with -bombs. He handed some to Max.</p> - -<p>"Start heaving. Aim for the kitchen door before they close it."</p> - -<p>He tossed a handful of the bombs into the room. Max followed suit. -Inside, the bombs broke, letting out a pungent gas.</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Insecticide," Ric grinned. "More potent than DDT. Those outlines Starr -made out furnished the clews. It should do it."</p> - -<p>"Won't they get out the kitchen door?"</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh. I sealed it up proper. It and the window."</p> - -<p>The door between the rooms slammed shut but not before half a dozen -bombs had got through. Ric slammed the shutters too. They waited.</p> - -<p>"If it doesn't kill them it'll put them to sleep for hours. Basically, -from Starr's dossiers on the Kiriki, they have all the vulnerable -points of our grasshoppers. And fire will destroy them utterly. I'm -afraid we can't take chances, so this cabin will have to go. Match?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They watched it burn down to the last slab of stilted-up planking. Max -stared down at the two small charred remainders of the Kiriki advance -guard and shuddered.</p> - -<p>On the road back to New York, Max said: "Do you think they'll try it -again?"</p> - -<p>"The Kiriki? Not for a while. Like you said, they dislike war. They -like it the easy way."</p> - -<p>"Propaganda. Invasion of minds. Well, two can play at that. We'll keep -<i>Orion</i> going—only we'll print the real story. We'll make men detest -and despise the Kiriki so that any feelers they send down will send -them hopping to the furthest end of space. Maybe we can get somebody -started on that telepathic wave interrupter of yours, too. So if they -do land we can cut them off from each other. We'll work on this reverse -propaganda hard."</p> - -<p>Max jerked his eyes back on the road and put his foot on the gas hard. -Sure he would work, work to save his sanity, too.</p> - -<p>It wasn't going to be easy to forget a lost dream—a dream that had -lived and breathed and promised a lifetime of patterned contentment. It -would take a lot of mental welding to hold back the horror of that kiss.</p> - -<p>But he would try.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS WORLD IS OURS! ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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