Insistence of Vision by David Brin
Meanwhile, the visitors fanned out, most of them striding with amazing speed northward, out of the Florida peninsula, into America proper. Whether cross-country, by highway or through a dense urban center, the specific path seemed at first to make no difference. Only direction, each one seeking a single-minded goal.
Most people quickly got out of their way, though gawkers and the passionately curious shouted questions whenever a Martian loped by – tailed by frantic journalists and hurriedly-assembled teams of marshals, assigned to protect these alien visitors from our more unbalanced citizens. Almost fifty little swarms, like fast-moving and erratic movie stars chased by fans and paparazzi and bodyguards. The marshals had to work in relays in order to keep up.
All of that soon changed, however, when a motorist stopped abruptly near one of the creatures, flung open his passenger door and offered a ride – in exchange for a fistful of riches.
This caught the escorting marshals flat-footed, as the alien quickly agreed, tucking away its solar collector wings and folding its long legs inside.
The pickup truck sped off.
Nobody could think of any legal reason to stop it.
Frenzied phone calls brought in helicopters to keep the truck in sight. But soon, word somehow spread to the rest of the visitors. Wherever they were, other tall aliens abruptly headed for the nearest road and began sticking out their thumbs.
They must communicate, I thought at the time, pondering how well coordinated it all seemed.
Word spread quickly among humans, too. While a majority of citizens kept back in fear, there was no shortage of bold drivers, suddenly eager to pull over.
Hitchhiking Martians paid well for rides.
And for information – always seeking some person listed on one of those scrolls. Despite a rising sense of public unease, it wasn’t hard for each alien to find someone – a shopkeeper or some passerby with a wireless link – willing to do a quick internet name-and-address search and then point the right way, often with a printed map.
Well, those diamonds were top quality.
Anyway, the government was loathe at first to interfere. This offered one way to find out why they had come and who they were looking for. No Martian asked for secrecy. So most of the information providers cashed-in twice by swiftly telling everything to the news media.
In a matter of hours we knew more than forty names.
What would you do, if you heard on TV that a Martian was looking for you?
After what we all witnessed at Cape Canaveral, acute interest focused on those who were asked-for. A diverse group, they shared one common trait – a passion for spaceflight. Only a few were scientists or engineers or NASA officials... some were school teachers, or accountants, or mechanics. But all believed in human expansion and adventure in the cosmos.
Not much to go on... though I began to wonder.
Any normal person, upon hearing that an alien was coming, would prudently stay away from home. Especially after what happened to Bill Nye. But as I said, those being sought weren’t exactly normal. Most of them had dreamed of first contact from an early age, cutting their teeth on science fiction tales. Several, in fact, reacted to the news with excitement, hurrying toward their aliens, eager to meet them halfway.
By coincidence, the first two of these zealots reached their rendezvous within minutes of each other – thirty-one and a half hours after the ship from Mars arrived – several hundred miles apart.
“Are you Frank Martin?” A green visitor asked, near Gary, North Carolina.
“Yes I am,” answered a well-known space engineer, grinning and holding out his hand.
Whereupon the creature shot him dead.
“I seek another individual,” it then said, turning toward the appalled journalists while their cameras beamed a gruesome scene across the world. Nervous marshals and guardsmen drew their weapons while frantically consulting Washington. But the Martian just ignored them.
“I will pay for information leading me to a human named Danny Hillis.”
Meanwhile, at almost the same moment in Gainesville, standing over the smoldering corpse of a fiction author named Joe Haldeman, another alien said:
“I will now pay for information leading to Penelope Boston.”
ᚖ
There was no more ambiguity. No hope that Bill Nye’s death was a fluke.
We now had a general idea why the Martians had come – with a narrowly focused sense of purpose. One by one, they aimed to hunt down and kill every person whose name appeared on a list.
But what list?
All of those mentioned so far were Americans, a fact that offered strange reassurance elsewhere. Across the globe, near-panic ebbed away, replaced with a rising sense of this-doesn’t-directly-threaten-us interest... accompanied perhaps by a kind of spectator schadenfreude at seeing the planet’s Top Dog face its long-deserved come-uppance from dauntingly advanced extraterrestrials. Those who had been loudly demanding establishment of an International Contact Agency became less shrill. World leaders now urged patience – an attitude of watching, waiting.
That was fine for them. Within the borders of the United States, tension fizzed and nearly frothed-over. By now, forty-seven alien creatures had dispersed from coast to coast, with nine of them unaccounted-for, having vanished into some confusion of either traffic or countryside. We discovered the hard way that those photo-active wings of theirs had multiple uses. Wrapped around the body, they could suddenly go into a mode that mimicked the environs, turning a Martian almost invisible.
Army special forces augmented the marshals now, trying to keep a wide cordon around each alien, using bullhorns, warning people to stay back. It didn’t always work, though. The creatures moved fast. Without notice, one of them might veer toward anyone in sight, offering a handful of treasure for information or a ride.
Most people ran away, but so what? Roughly one in a hundred consented. That was enough.
The third, fourth and fifth deaths occurred before two full days had passed. A dozen more of the targeted people barely left their homes in time. But always, some neighbor was willing to point helpfully in the direction they had fled. Others might shout “collaborator!” – but diamonds can help overcome hurt feelings. And no one could legally stop it. Or at least, nobody in authority could cite a law that fit a case like this.
People – even governments – are capable of acting quickly in an emergency. A special session of Congress was called, aimed at passing a quick national security bill to close the loopholes, outlawing cooperation with the Martians and confiscating whatever payments they made. Anyone who helped guide them to a victim could be prosecuted as an accessory. Instant polls showed huge public support, driven by disgust toward that self-serving minority among us who would cooperate in this alien death-hunt, betraying their neighbors for riches.
The President promised to sign the bill within twenty-four hours. She sent Secret Service agents to protect every person known to be a target.
That’s when I phoned up Dan Jensen, in Senator Green’s office.
“Dan, you’ve got to get me into the hearing tomorrow.”
“I dunno,” he answered. “It’s crazy up here on the Hill. We’re on war footing. The hearing is supposed to last just the morning, then we rush the bill to the floor. What’s wrong? Not urgent enough?”
“Maybe too urgent. There’s something they have to know, before passing that law. Something I think I figured out.”
“You think? Buddy boy, you better –”
“I better get down there and talk to you in person tonight. Lay it out. Just do me - do us all - a favor. Set aside fifteen minutes for me to speak tomorrow morning. You can cancel if I don’t convince you tonight.”
It took some persuading. But I had that much pull.
I wound up getting ten minutes. I just prayed I’d be in time.
ᚖ
“The names,” I said, after being sworn-in, “are all included on a disk that was carried to the Mart
“On a disk?” one member of the committee asked. “For what purpose?”
“Public relations, Senator. Arranged by The Planetary Society, in collaboration with the LEGO Company. A mini-DVD, so small and light that it could be added without affecting mission performance or cost. It contained educational material, plus a list of space program supporters – people who signed on for the honor of having their names carried all the way to Mars.”
“Some honor. But I don’t get it. None of the footage from those rover-robots showed signs of intelligent life. Or any life at all.”
“The Martians appear to be – well – extremely adaptable, Senator. As you might expect for beings that evolved in such a challenging environment. We witnessed them change shape before our eyes, just after arriving. And those cape-like wings, that they spread to absorb sunlight, can shift from perfect black to green to intricate patterns mimicking any background. There may have been Martians in plain sight, for all I know, or dwelling nearby underground. Certainly close enough to be offended by one of the MER machines, in some way we don’t yet understand.”
“And you think this disk filled with names... it covers everybody that the aliens have asked for?”
“So far. It’s the only trait that every one of them has in common. It also explains how the Martians would have such a list in hand, the moment they arrived. They must have gotten it directly from the disk.”
“Interesting. That’s one mystery solved... and about a hundred still unexplained. Like why they seem determined to go around killing people on the list! Do you have any ideas about that, doctor?”
“Some possibilities come to mind. Perhaps they did not like the idea of machines landing to spy on their planet – though a dozen earlier probes never triggered such response. Perhaps they are angry over where the two probes landed. Or something bad happened when they did. Anyway, the truth should be easy enough to find out.”
“Oh, how’s that?”
“Ask them. They are traders, above all else. For the right price, I’m sure one of the Martians will explain it all, in detail.”
The committee’s chief counsel spoke up.
“We’ve tried to ask! They ignore our representatives.”
“True enough. And yet they speak to private citizens.”
“In order to bribe them! To hitch rides from traitors, or else buy directions that will help them hunt down some American! The same kind of nasty, treasonous help that we’re going to outlaw.”
“Right. Exactly. And I’m here to warn you... that could be a terrible mistake.”
ᚖ
Silence filled the conference room, until the chief counsel spoke again.
“You... oppose the bill currently before this committee?” He sounded perplexed, so unanimous had been the support up till now.
“I must oppose it, since the consequences of passing such a bill could be disastrous.”
The senior senator from Oklahoma leaned forward, speaking softly.
“Could you please explain, doctor? So far, we’ve been careful not to shoot back at the creatures – though a public majority now wants massive retaliation next time another citizen is killed. This restraint is overwhelmingly difficult to maintain. “
“Indeed, Senator. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the administration’s wisdom in that regard. History warns that a weaker tribe should be cautious during first contact, especially not to let itself be provoked. Pride can be fatally expensive. So can revenge. We may have to absorb pain... a lot of it, stoically... before we’re ready to demand respect.”
“Is that why you oppose the bill, doctor? But this proposed legislation has nothing to do with fighting back! All it will do is impose penalties on a few greedy humans, to deter them from helping the aliens. If we arrest the collaborators and seize all those little piles of gold and diamonds, so nobody profits... then who will step forward to help the aliens with information? It could take the creatures ages, wandering around, to find their victims. We’d have time to set up protection programs, offer new identities, and hide everybody on this list you told us about... how many people did you say are on it?”
“I didn’t say, Senator.”
A look of puzzled exasperation crossed the politician’s face. “Well, could you please tell us, now? How many names were on those disks that Spirit and Opportunity carried to Mars?”
I coughed, feeling a sudden and powerful reluctance to speak. But then, the news media were probably looking it up already, on the web.
“How many? Um, senator, the disks held four million names.”
ᚖ
It took a while for the Sergeant at Arms to restore order. I fretted as the clock finished ticking out my allotted ten minutes. Would they stop me before I got around to my real point?
I needn’t have worried. Nobody tried to usher me out of the room. All were attentive when Senator Green spoke for the first time.
“Four million? Why that’s... more than one percent of our population.”
Or ten percent of those who vote, I pondered during another long silence that finally broke when Senator Long distilled the general mood.
“Then this may not be a matter of just a few scientists and space aficionados. It could go on and on.”
“So it seems,” I answered. “Though let me correct one false impression that’s going around. Only by a quirk of chance have the targets so far all been Americans. There are plenty of Europeans, Russians, Japanese and other nationalities represented on the list, just a little further down.”
That brought a small murmur of satisfaction, amid the gloom. It can be comforting, when in pain, not to be alone.
“Still, four million. Could they really mean to hunt them all down, one by one?”
“I have no reason to think otherwise.”
“Then appeasement is out of the question. The die is cast. We are at war.”
I disagreed emphatically.
“No senator, we aren’t at war.
“In fact, I doubt our Martian visitors know the true meaning of that word.
“But we could teach it to them, if you pass this bill.”
ᚖ
I didn’t succeed at getting the legislation killed. But they agreed to wait twenty-four hours.
It was enough.
Late that afternoon – on the third day after the landing at Cape Canaveral – another of the Martians caught up with the person it was seeking, in the suburbs of Lawrence, Kansas. Someone along the way, jumping at a chance for a little extra profit, had sold this creature a nifty little PDA with map feature and Global Positioning System, supplementing its already uncanny direction sense with good old human technical ingenuity.
Still, it wasn’t exactly a surprise when the alien reached its destination. Forewarned, the news media were already there.
Though he had been alerted with plenty of time, the human quarry tried to be clever. He wasn’t home when the alien showed up, but he did stay to watch from a neighbor’s rooftop as a tall, green creature knocked at his front door, then broke the lock and bent over to step inside. There followed some brief crashing sounds – not exactly a rampage but an efficient search for hiding places. (All evidence so far showed that these creatures learned very fast.)
The Martian emerged, carrying a few scraps of paper... photos, book covers, some clippings from an album.
Standing on the front porch and turning the solar-collector wings on its shoulders to face the sun, it seemed to study the clippings carefully. Then, letting the papers fall, it stepped into the street and made a circle, scanning.
The man on the rooftop should have fled then, but he felt safe observing from the shadow of a neighbor’s chimney. He would have been safe, from any Earthly hunter.
This alien had better eyes than any Earthly hunter. Whipping out a weapon, it swiftly and efficiently shot the poor fellow, burning a two ce
Then, almost without pause, it turned to find a helpful human – someone willing to sell information about the next person in a lengthy list.
Instead, within two blocks, the Martian ran straight into a vigilante mob.
This time, bullhorn warnings from marshals and secret service agents failed to keep back the angry crowd. Armed with everything from rifles to flaming torches, neighbors of the dead man approached the tall creature and began shooting.
“Damn if I’m gonna die for that thing,” one marshal was heard saying as he joined the journalists, diving for cover. He had a first row seat for the spectacle that followed.
Quickly folding away its parasol-wings, the Martian seemed to become a blur, charging toward the irate rabble, plunging into their midst, tossing people right and left. Cries of wrath transformed to pain and dread as people fled in all directions, many of them limping.
In moments it was over, with the Martian striding off toward a nearby shopping mall in search of somebody more helpful. A couple of dozen people lay in its wake, clutching their sides, groaning or stanching the flow of blood. At first glance, it looked like a slaughter...
...till observers soon realized – nobody had died.
It took a couple of hours for experts to study footage from a dozen cameras, scrupulously analyzing each image at slow motion. Specialists traced the source of every bullet that passed near – or into – the Martian’s body. In each case, no matter which human fired a weapon, that shooter came away from the melee with an injury, while those who did not fire were unharmed. The most accurate suffered worst, receiving excruciating puncture wounds, delivered by agile, merciless alien fingers.
Nobody died, though. And we started getting the message.
Though apparently unharmed, the Martian did not like to be attacked. For every assault, it had meted proportional retaliation. Proportional punishment.
“I think I know what’s going on,” I told Senator Green, who stood next to the President’s Emergency Commissioner, watching reports from Lawrence.