From the Ocean from teh Stars (50 page)

☆
PUBLICITY CAMPAIGN

T
he concussion of the last atom bomb still seemed
to linger as the lights came on again. For a long time, no one moved.
Then the assistant producer said innocently: "Well, R.B., what do you
think of it?"

R.B. heaved himself out of his seat while his acolytes waited to see
which way the cat would jump. It was then that they noticed that R.B.'s cigar had gone out. Why, that hadn't happened even at the preview of
"G.W.T.W.!"

"Boys," he said ecstatically, "we've got something here! How much
did you say it cost, Mike?"

"Six and a half million, R.B."

"It was cheap at the price. Let me tell you, I'll eat every foot of it if
the gross doesn't beat 'Quo Vadis.'" He wheeled, as swiftly as could be
expected for one of his bulk, upon a small man still crouched in his seat
at the back of the projection room. "Snap out of it, Joe! The Earth's saved!
You've seen all these space films. How does this line up with the earlier
ones?"

Joe came to with an obvious effort.

"There's no comparison," he said. "It's got all the suspense of The
Thing,' without that awful letdown at the end when you saw the monster was human. The only picture that comes within miles of it is 'War of the Worlds.' Some of the effects in that were nearly as good as ours, but of
course George Pal didn't have 3 D. And that sure makes a difference!
When the Golden Gate Bridge went down, I thought that pier was going
to hit me!"

"The bit I liked best," put in Tony Auerbach from Publicity, "was when the Empire State Building split right up the middle. You don't
suppose the owners might sue us, though?"

"Of course not. No one expects
any
building to stand up to—what

did the script call them?—city busters. And, after all, we wiped out the rest of New York as well. Ugh—that scene in the Holland Tunnel when
the roof gave way! Next time, I'll take the ferry!"

"Yes, that was very well done—almost
too
well done. But what really got me was those creatures from space. The animation was perfect—how
did you do it, Mike?"

"Trade secret," said the proud producer. "Still, I'll let you in on it. A
lot of that stuff is genuine."

"What!"

"Oh, don't get me wrong! We haven't been on location to Sirius B.
But they've developed a microcamera over at Cal Tech, and we used
that to film spiders in action. We cut in the best shots, and I think you'd have a job telling which was micro and which was the full-sized studio
stuff. Now you understand why I wanted the Aliens to be insects, and
not octopuses, like the script said first."

"There's a good publicity angle here," said Tony. "One thing worries
me, though. That scene where the monsters kidnap Gloria. Do you sup
pose the censor
...
I mean the way we've done it, it almost looks . . ."

"Aw, quit worrying!
That's
what people are supposed to think! Anyway, we make it clear in the next reel that they really want her for dissec
tion, so that's all right."

"It'll be a riot!" gloated R.B., a faraway gleam in his eye as if he was
already hearing the avalanche of dollars pouring into the box office.
"Look—we'll put another million into publicity! I can just see the posters —get all this down, Tony,
watch the sky! the sirians are coming!
And we'll make thousands of clockwork models—can't you imagine
them scuttling around on their hairy legs! People love to be scared, and we'll scare them. By the time we've finished, no one will be able to look
at the sky without getting the creeps! I leave it to you, boys—this picture
is going to make
history!"

He was right. "Monsters from Space" hit the public two months later.
Within a week of the simultaneous London and New York
premieres,
there could have been no one in the western world who had not seen the posters screaming
earth beware!
or had not shuddered at the photographs of the hairy horrors stalking along deserted Fifth Avenue on their
thin, many-jointed legs. Blimps cleverly disguised as spaceships cruised
across the skies, to the vast confusion of pilots who encountered them, and clockwork models of the Alien invaders were everywhere, scaring
old ladies out of their wits.

The publicity campaign was brilliant, and the picture would un
doubtedly have run for months had it not been for a coincidence as

disastrous as it was unforeseeable. While the number of people fainting
at each performance was still news, the skies of Earth filled suddenly
with long, lean shadows sliding swiftly through the clouds. . . .

Prince Zervashni was good-natured but inclined to be impetuous—
a well-known failing of his race. There was no reason to suppose that his
present mission, that of making peaceful contact with the planet Earth,
would present any particular problems. The correct technique of ap
proach had been thoroughly worked out over many thousands of years, as the Third Galactic Empire slowly expanded its frontiers, absorbing planet
after planet, sun upon sun. There was seldom any trouble: really intelli
gent races can always co-operate, once they have got over the initial shock
of learning that they are not alone in the universe.

It was true that humanity had emerged from its primitive, warlike
stage only within the last generation. This, however, did not worry Prince Zervashni's chief adviser, Sigisnin II, Professor of Astropolitics.

"It's a perfectly typical Class E culture," said the professor. "Technically advanced, morally rather backward. However, they are already
used to the conception of space flight, and will soon take us for granted.
The normal precautions will be sufficient until we have won their con
fidence."

"Very well," said the prince. "Tell the envoys to leave at once."
It was unfortunate that the "normal precautions" did not allow for Tony Auerbach's publicity campaign, which had now reached new
heights of interplanetary xenophobia. The ambassadors landed in New
York's Central Park on the very day that a prominent astronomer, unu
sually hard up and therefore amenable to influence, announced in a
widely reported interview that any visitors from space probably would
be unfriendly.

The luckless ambassadors, heading for the United Nations Building,
had got as far south as 60th Street when they met the mob. The encounter
was very one-sided, and the scientists at the Museum of Natural History
were most annoyed that there was so little left for them to examine.

Prince Zervashni tried once more, on the other side of the planet,
but the news had got there first. This time the ambassadors were armed,
and gave a good account of themselves before they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Even so, it was not until the rocket bombs started
climbing up toward his fleet that the prince finally lost his temper and
decided to take drastic action.

It was all over in twenty minutes, and was really quite painless. Then
the prince turned to his adviser and said, with considerable understate-

ment: "That appears to be that. And now—can you tell me exactly what
went wrong?"

Sigisnin II knitted his dozen flexible fingers together in acute anguish. It was not only the spectacle of the neatly disinfected Earth that distressed
him, though to a scientist the destruction of such a beautiful specimen is always a major tragedy. At least equally upsetting was the demoUtion of
his theories and, with them, his reputation.

"I just don't understand it!" he lamented. "Of course, races at this
level of culture are often suspicious and nervous when contact is first made. But they'd never had visitors before, so there was no reason for
them to be hostile."

"Hostile! They were demons! I think they were all insane." The
prince turned to his captain, a tripedal creature who looked rather like a
ball of wool balanced on three knitting needles.

"Is the fleet reassembled?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Then we will return to Base at optimum speed. This planet depresses
me."

On the dead and silent Earth, the posters still screamed their warn
ings from a thousand hoardings. The malevolent insectile shapes shown
pouring from the skies bore no resemblance at all to Prince Zervashni,
who apart from his four eyes might have been mistaken for a panda with
purple fur—and who, moreover, had come from Rigel, not Sirius.

But, of course, it was now much too late to point this out.

☆
ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

When the quiet knock came on the door, Robert Ashton surveyed the room in one swift, automatic movement. Its dull respectability satisfied him and should reassure any visitor. Not that he had any reason to expect the pohce, but there was no point in taking chances.

"Come in," he said, pausing only to grab Plato's
Dialogues
from the shelf beside him. Perhaps this gesture was a little too ostentatious, but it always impressed his clients.

The door opened slowly. At first, Ashton continued his intent reading, not bothering to glance up. There was the slightest acceleration of his heart, a mild and even exhilarating constriction of the chest. Of course, it couldn't possibly be a flatfoot: someone would have tipped him off. Still, any unheralded visitor was unusual and thus potentially dangerous.

Ashton laid down the book, glanced toward the door and remarked in a noncommittal voice: "What can I do for you?" He did not get up; such courtesies belonged to a past he had buried long ago. Besides, it was a woman. In the circles he now frequented, women were accustomed to receive jewels and clothes and money—but never respect.

Yet there was something about this visitor that drew him slowly to his feet. It was not merely that she was beautiful, but she had a poised and effortless authority that moved her into a different world from the flamboyant doxies he met in the normal course of business. There was a brain and a purpose behind those calm, appraising eyes—a brain, Ashton suspected, the equal of his own.

He did not know how grossly he had underestimated her.

"Mr. Ashton," she began, "let us not waste time. I know who you are and I have work for you. Here are my credentials."

She opened a large, stylish handbag and extracted a thick bundle of notes.

"You may regard this," she said, "as a sample."

Ashton caught the bundle as she tossed it carelessly toward him. It was the largest sum of money he had ever held in his life—at least a
hundred fivers, all new and serially numbered. He felt them between his
fingers. If they were not genuine, they were so good that the difference
was of no practical importance.

He ran his thumb to and fro along the edge of the wad as if feeling a
pack for a marked card, and said thoughtfully, "I'd like to know where
you got these. If they aren't forgeries, they must be hot and will take some
passing."

"They are genuine. A very short time ago they were in the Bank of England. But if they are of no use to you throw them in the fire. I merely
let you have them to show that I mean business."

"Go on." He gestured to the only seat and balanced himself on the
edge of the table.

She drew a sheaf of papers from the capacious handbag and handed
it across to him.

"I am prepared to pay you any sum you wish if you will secure these
items and bring them to me, at a time and place to be arranged. What is
more, I will guarantee that you can make the thefts with no personal
danger."

Ashton looked at the list, and sighed. The woman was mad. Still, she
had better be humored. There might be more money where this came
from.

"I notice," he said mildly, "that all these items are in the British Mu
seum, and that most of them are, quite literally, priceless. By that I mean
that you could neither buy nor sell them."

"I do not wish to sell them. I am a collector."

"So it seems. What are you prepared to pay for these acquisitions?"

"Name a figure."

There was a short silence. Ashton weighed the possibilities. He took
a certain professional pride in his work, but there were some things that
no amount of money could accomplish. Still, it would be amusing to see
how high the bidding would go.

He looked at the list again.

"I think a round million would be a very reasonable figure for this
lot," he said ironically.

"I fear you are not taking me very seriously. With your contacts, you
should be able to dispose of these."

There was a flash of light and something sparkled through the air. Ashton caught the necklace before it hit the ground, and despite himself