They Came From Outer Space

 

 

            The giant hubcap flying saucers were the first to appear.

            One afternoon, they abruptly flashed into being on military scanners and screens as blips of pulsing energy and light, too hot and fast to photograph as they entered the atmosphere.  But as they descended toward Earth, they slowed dramatically, and it was possible to film them: silver, round, rather tacky in a 1950s way, they wobbled down through the air . . . and oddest of all, what appeared to be a taut string was clearly visible, rising from the fat center of each one.  No NASA or Defense Department scientist cared to speculate on the technical function of these strings.

            There were three ships.  They landed in the Nevada desert, a few miles downwind of the original nuclear testing sites.  The general public was kept in the dark, as a team of scientists and a platoon of soldiers were flow out to greet the visitors.

            The hatch of each ship at last creaked clumsily open. The creatures who emerged were strange to look upon.  Lizards with skin textured like cheap plastic and metal grid eyes, who lumbered in a way that suggested they really ought to be one hundred times larger and ravaging Tokyo with Mothra. Pale, sexy women with pointy tits and slinky dresses and Vampira hairdos.  Far-out undead zombies, and a robot built like an old-fashioned boiler, with waving arms and TV antennae on its head. And one tall guy who looked suspiciously like Michael Rennie in "The Day the Earth Stood Still."

            General Clarridge of NASA stepped out of his sand scooter, and strode deliberately forward, head high, to greet the visitors, on whom fifty soldiers' guns remained trained. "On behalf of the President, and the Government of the United States, I welcome you," he told them.

            The Michael Rennie figure stepped forward. "Greetings, Earthling," he intoned.  "Take me to your leader.  We are here To Serve Man."

            There was a moment of silence, as a parched wind whipped across the dunes of the desert.  Then there was a snort, and a young soldier buried his giggles in the sleeve of his uniform.

 

                                                *                      *                      *

 

            The visitors and their ships were flown to Washington, and there was much debate as to what they signified.  It was never determined what purpose the strings served, or how they stayed taut.  Likewise, many lights on the control panels of the ships seemed to flash on and off for no particular reason; the aliens could not explain their function.

            It was impossible to learn anything about these aliens. Some spoke English, but expressed themselves only in cryptic, contradictory cliches.  Others made silly noises, and when the lizard creatures would open their toothy mouths, bad, melodramatic background music would issue forth.

            Scientists, anthropologists, even eminent writers of speculative fiction were called in to explain the visitors, and what sort of society they might represent.  Small tissue samples were taken from them; their flesh was rubbery and apparently not divided into cells, in our sense.  The liquid in their veins was thick and viscous.  It was the same with all of them: the lizards, the sexy women, the robot rolling on its treads . . . Many normal medical machines simply gave no readings when used on the visitors.  Several broke.

            "How galling," murmured one cultural anthropologist, after spending a morning trying to talk with an Elvira clone. "All the hopes, fears and theories about what an alien society might be like.  So much sophisticated speculation about our neighbors . . . and, in the end, it turns out that Edward D. Wood was the one who got it right."

            It was not unusual for the academics and scientists to find themselves talking in exposition around the visitors.   

They also found themselves saying things like "Confound it!" and "What in blazes?" a lot.

 

                                                *                      *                      *

 

            Another ship arrived.  It splashed down in the Hudson. NASA hurriedly explained that the object to fall from the sky was a malfunctioning satellite, one of our own, and the media officially accepted that explanation.

            When the ship was recovered, it was found to be a small, cunning, white, very "sixties" craft -- and to be full of modified chimpanzees.  No one was terribly surprised when the chimps began to talk.

            Professor Leopold Dressler, a bitter, heavy-set, laconic European scientist, questioned the female chimp closely. "Vy?!  Vy do you appear to us in zis vay?" he demanded.

            The chimp snorted.  "Well, the orangutans say God created apes in his own image . But who listens to them? Reactionary old fools!"

            Dr. Dressler was not diverted.  He leaned forward.  "I haf a theory as to vy you are coming in zese forms," he told her. "Ven ze Spaniards first landed in ze New World, Montezuma's people saw zeir white skin, and thought of Quetzalcoatl, zeir mythical pale savior.  You are taking old, even comic, alien forms, videly known in zis culture, to soothe or amuse ze populace, ya? -- Until you invade.  Are you not?" he barked,

            The female chimp looked away.  "Oh, I don't know.  I don't remember anything anymore," she said, and then buried her head in her hairy hands, and began to cry.

 

                                                *                      *                      *

           

            Weeks passed.  News came of a fifth ship, hovering over a comfortable suburban town in Connecticut.  It loomed above a white, gingerbread house, flashing lights and playing tunes like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," "Yankee Doodle," and, most frequently, "Da da da da dum," a la "Close Encounters."  The ship looked like nothing so much as the old, round, flashing computer toy called Simon. The media exploded with the story; television crews could not be kept away, and the whole world watched as the local fire department guided the ship to land in a nearby baseball field.

            Tall, white, skinny, fetus-like creatures emerged from the ship, and a few cuddly brown E.T.s were found in the hold. Steven Spielberg threatened to sue.

            Now that the story could not be suppressed, the US Government admitted the existence of the other aliens, showed their images to the world, and called an international

symposium on what they might possibly mean.  Dr. Dressler spoke at the symposium, and his theory of "Cultural Diversionism Preceding an Alien Attack" caused much alarm.

            There was another paper given by a Swedish philosopher on "Cultural Cannibalism," which argued that these intelligent, sentient beings, our peers in many regards, apparently monitored our media and felt a need to devour our cultural images, due to the sterility of their own.  "They are the parasite culture," he told the assembled high-brows. "And we are the host."

            Dr. Frieda Kellerman, a young, earnest psychologist from San Diego, spoke next.  She elaborated on this view, but in a kinder way.  "I have talked with aliens of each variety," she told the symposium.  "I have concluded they are a weak and lost people, with a tendency toward co-dependency, possessing underdeveloped personal identities, and strong imitative inclinations.  Really, they just want our attention and approval," she said, her voice quavering.  "They only want to be loved."

            Her paper calmed the fears of many.  But the U.S. Government remained troubled by Dr. Dressler's views.  As the Michael Rennie figure was the most humanoid and most articulate of the aliens, he was brought down to a cramped cubicle in the bowels of the Pentagon, put under a bright,

white light, and subjected to intensive questioning by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

            "What are your intentions?" his interrogators demanded. "What is your planet of origin?"

            "Long, long ago," the alien at last said slowly, "in a galaxy far, far away . . . "

            "Yes, yes?"  The Joint Chiefs leaned collectively forward.

            But the alien let the thought trail off.  His eyes had become glazed.  He had entered a state akin to catatonia.

            As months passed, and no invasion force from outer space appeared, and as scientists got nowhere questioning the visitors about their planet of origin, it was decided to perform a minor experiment.  A class full of small children was taken to meet some of the aliens.  Both the children and the space creatures appeared delighted by the encounter.

            Positions were secured for the aliens at Florida theme parks. New rides and performance spaces were created around them.  The "Close Encounters" creatures and a few E.T.s, who really had nothing to say for themselves, were put in a petting zoo at Disneyland.  The rest of the E.T.s hung out at Universal Studios; after kids took a ride across the moon with E.T., they got to cuddle him, and get his autograph.  A roller disco cabaret act was put together for the zombies, Vampiras, the lizard and the chimps.  They popped up periodically in cameos on sit-coms and award shows.  Michael Rennie and the shlock robot became "First Class" tour guides at the Epcot Center.

            All the aliens lived out their days greeting parents and enthusiastic children, who were delighted to meet corny old B-movie extras, as well as living special f/x from high-budget, more recent flicks.  The theme parks did an even brisker business than before.  All concerned lived happily ever after.

            And the public, and the press, and even the Pentagon exhorted Hollywood to keep its new images of alien encounters hopeful, and benign.  Though the creatures that had shown up so far had not chosen to base their forms on truly scary patterns -- why tempt fate?

            In Space, perhaps it is true, No One Can Hear You Scream.  But, everybody, apparently, can hear us dream.