The invaders were going to make galactic history. Fate made it a comedy of errors.
Zurg thwirmed, and admitted to himself that he was uneasy. Arching his thorax, he unrolled his antennae slowly in a lazy gesture he hoped would conceal the unseemly nervousness he felt now that the ship had swung into an orbit around the strange planet. When a commander briefs his officers, he must radiate confidence and calm.
"Companions, an historic moment has arrived," he began pompously, his antennae moving in the deliberate, stylized movements of the Court language. "Below us lies the verdant expanse of the third planet, green gem of the heavens."
At this, several of his subordinates turned a rather puzzled yellow around their head orifices, obviously unable to understand a gesture of what he was saying. Only the second-in-command seemed unconcerned; he knew from long experience that his commander would revert to common vernacular when he had finished the usual ceremonial preamble.
Zurg did so, noting the relieved hues of his officers as he continued: "As you all know, our scouts have reconnoitered this world on several occasions. But now the time has arrived to make an actual landing. In fact, companions, we are the vanguard of an invasion." Pausing to let this register, he was pleased to see that none of the officers seemed to be suppressing thwirms. If anything, they were calmer than he was.
"Not a great deal is known about the inhabitants of the planet, but the dominant form of life, strangely enough, is mammalian, and possesses some intelligence. Her Majesty desires conquest without undue destruction. As the Queen wills, her servants shall act."
All dipped their antennae at this formula, and watched in attentive hues as the commander went on to explain that due to the high percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere, special coverings would have to be worn. They would filter the air before it reached the ventral tracheae, and leaving the head exposed, would shield all the rest of the body. A bit clumsy, the commander admitted, but absolutely essential.
"Now as to our behavior toward the natives—previous experience with mammalian life-types shows that they are susceptible to panic and fear when confronted with something totally strange, so we will use tactics which basically are very simple. First, we will land near a native settlement. When we march into the area, our alien appearance will stun the natives. Our detachment of all-range telepathic sensitives will notify us when the state of shock has set in, then our attack support will open up with full-scale mental assault, and keep the creatures paralyzed while we seize the area before a defense can be organized. Then the Grand Fleet will proceed here at top speed."
"Remember that in this, as in all operations where the powers of the collective mind are used, we must first trigger the enemy's reaction by physical means, therefore nothing can be done until we know that they are in the needed state of shock. Now are there any questions?"
How strange actually, mused the commander as he returned to his cubicle, that a race like his own, so gifted at pure mental contact with other life-forms, should still use signals and colorations to communicate among themselves. The chafed spot on his left antenna was paining again after the exercise of the briefing. The report had said that these mammalians were believed to converse through some kind of atmospheric vibrations.... Odd too, that mental warfare, refined and developed though it was, could still only be used against minds agitated by a specific physical stimulus. And that physical stimulus had to be provided by the invaders appearing on the scene, and if necessary performing the Dra, a series of dances and contortions so repulsive to most life-forms that all thinking would fade into panic. Having once thwirmed himself at a performance of the Dra, he hoped it wouldn't be necessary ... his musings were interrupted as the ship's lights flickered to orange, signalling hands to stations for planetfall.
Leaving the con of the ship to his second-in-command, he shut himself in his cubicle and made preparations to be miserably sick, as he always was during deceleration. Stroking the chafed spot on his antenna with the smooth edge of his left forearm's prehensile claw, Zurg raised his medicine kit in his secondary tentacles and snapped off the heavy lead seal with his jagged incisor mandibles. I wonder, he speculated, why alien races always find us so frightening....
The brilliant orange sun was high in the sky, but only a few filtered beams penetrated to the sheltered copse where the slate-colored ship lay partially concealed by artfully placed vines and underbrush. Drawn up in three ranks beside the ship, only their heads protruding from the loose-fitting coveralls, stood the detail picked to make the entry into the native settlement. Zurg led them out through the underbrush barrier they had thrown up the night before, and they emerged onto a little-traveled dirt road leading off across the fields toward a cluster of buildings that marked the edge of town.
No creatures appeared as the invading column lumbered along. As they neared the edge of the settlement, Zurg, his antennae drooping slightly from the unusual heat, turned to remind the others: "Remember, the mental assault won't begin until we are well into the area and shock reaction is effected, so stay in formation until I order otherwise."
There were still no natives in sight on the small side street by which they entered town; but as they turned a corner and swung on to the broad central thoroughfare, the commander saw that the street was clogged with natives, a great milling mass of them moving up the street in the same direction as his column, about a hundred yards ahead.
For a moment they didn't appear to notice the newcomers, but soon a growing number had turned and were gesturing excitedly to each other, pointing at the approaching troop. Watching them anxiously, Zurg saw no evidence of panic.
The column kept moving, and the crowd began parting to let them pass through. Some darted forward as though to get a closer look at the strangers. The commander fought off a thwirm as he realized the crowd was now all around them, pressing in more closely on every side. The atmosphere itself seemed to vibrate strangely, and looking around, he saw that the creatures were opening small head orifices and striking the ends of their forward limbs together. Were they communicating—or was it something else? It was surely not panic.
Feeling increasingly dizzy from the heat and vibrations, he glanced anxiously over his followers, and saw at once that they were more upset than he. Colors were flushing their faces in meaningless successions. One or two seemed to be staggering. The shock threshold of these beings has been horribly underestimated, thought Zurg desperately. Only one thing left to do—turning again, he signalled the detail to begin the Dra. Perhaps that would overcome this incomprehensible counterattack....
"I tell you Charlie, you've got to discipline that gang! They didn't show up on time, they didn't complete the route, they put on a public ritual that wasn't scheduled, apparently stealing the entire show—stupid crowd yelled themselves hoarse. Then they all reeled off into a side street. They must have been drunk to a man—I understand about half of them had to be carried! And when I confronted Andy Sharpe, he swore up and down that they weren't out of their hotel that morning. All sleeping off that spree they had the night before. He actually had the nerve to say, 'I don't know who those boys were that you claim were a block behind the end of the parade, but they weren't our boys.'"
Charlie Dils, new Commander of the Illinois chapter of the American Legion, leaned back in his chair car seat and blew a cloud of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. "Maybe they were men from Mars," he grinned. Then, remembering his dignity, he sobered abruptly. "Anyway, one bunch looks about the same as another, once they get their masks on—good Lord, it was a hot day for masks—but it certainly made the parade more impressive. People are still talking about it. We're even getting credit for having a flying saucer. Some farmer out at the edge of town claims he saw one take off after the parade last night. Says it was going west like a bat out of hell.
"If we can get that kind of publicity, Frank, I wouldn't worry about Andy and the boys. I'll write him a letter. It was a great convention—let's let it go at that."