Link to Table of Contents
Something entirely different
I have now completed (for now) the Table of Contents for this blog. Eventually I will re-read everything and possibly change the labeling in the TOC to be more useful. But for now, you can jump to all the books I’ve blogged here.
And now for something completely new. While looking for something else (that I’m still searching for) I discovered one of my SciFi stories from the late ‘70s. To my surprise, this story, after skimming through it a bit, seems as funny as I had remembered. And since it only exists as a typed manuscript (the work of my little Smith Corona) I am going to transpose it here. So, for the first time, I will be blogging my own fiction.
I generally think fiction should stand on its own, but there is some background to this. When I moved to SF in 1976 I didn’t have a car, or a TV, or even a telephone, but I did have a radio and I learned about the Bay Area largely by listening to the news radio station in the mornings. At the time, they had people up in planes giving reports on the traffic in the Greater Bay Area. From Gilroy to the south to Santa Rosa to the north and east to the Central Valley. At first the place and street names meant nothing to me, but gradually they became familiar and over the years I would visit most of the cities and streets. Radio let’s your imagination fill in the gaps -- especially when you fall back asleep while listening and the traffic reports mix with your dreams. Anyway, it was while I was listening to the radio every morning that I wrote this. I was also studying Roman history at the time which contributed something to Atlantian naming conventions. Here goes...
Martians in Mill Valley
“Harry! Harry! Come quick, it’s the Martians!”
“Good Lord, guess a man can’t take a nap on a Sunday afternoon without...”
“God have mercy, Harry come quick!”
Harry Johnson, a newly retired appliance dealer, walked into the living room where his wife was running from window to window shouting hysterically.
“Mabel, have you lost your mind?”
“We’re all dead, Harry! Look, Martians in the yard!”
“Did you take your pill this morning like the doctor said?”
“Look out there! She ran to the window again, “Lord, save us! Here they come!”
Out on the lawn, three silver suited Martians were climbing down from what looked like a large Airstream trailer. One dug a divot out of the Johnson’s yard with a small silver shovel. A second stuck a small flag pole in the ground and unfurled the flag. The third captured the action with some sort of camera as the others saluted the black and gold flag. All three then walked toward the Johnson’s brand new 1958 Cadillac.
“Harry! They’re coming after the Cady! Don’t let them hurt the Cady! Get your shotgun and do something!” Harry stood watching the Martians take pictures of the car; he couldn’t see that they were hurting anything. “Harry Johnson those monsters are going to steal the Cady and kill us all if you don’t do something.” It was no use arguing with Mabel. He went for the gun.
The Martians stopped examining the car when Spot, the Johnson’s three month old mongrel, barked at them. Spot raced to the Martians growling and yapping, then darted away. After several passes, he came to rest about six feet away: his front legs stretched out, his belly on the ground, his rump in the air, and his tail still wagging. The Martians looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, went back to work. One reached inside the car and pulled out a magazine and a newspaper; he placed these artifacts in a pocket of his suit.
“Hey there!” Harry had come out on the front steps, “Listen, why don’t you fellows go back to your ship, there, and leave the car alone?” He held the shotgun awkwardly, “No offence.”
One of the Martians pointed a small device at Harry and he crumpled slowly to the ground, smiling.
“Harry!” Mabel ran out onto the porch. “They’ve killed Harry! We’re all gonna die! Help! Martians! Lord, save me!” She ran along the porch yelling for help. There wasn’t another house for hundreds of wooded yards.
The Martians ignored her and continued with the car. The one with the camera fumbled a cartridge while reloading and Spot raced in, scooped it up as it hit the grass, and ran. The Martians chased after him in their awkward suits. With difficulty, they corralled him and pried the cartridge from between his teeth. He rolled on his back and pawed the air. The Martian with the magazine scratched Spot’s belly with a silver glove.
Back at the car, they finished working, pulled their flag from the lawn, and returned to the ship. They raised the steps and closed the door. More surprised then relieved, Mabel watched whimpering. She was being spared. Then, the door opened again and the steps came down again. They were coming after her for sure this time. She fell to her knees begging God, in a hoarse voice, to save her. A Martian carried Spot down the steps. The Martian found a stick and threw it toward the porch, causing Mabel to hug the ground in terror, then he hurried back aboard and closed the door before Spot returned.
When the first police car arrived, Spot had already revived Harry. He sat on the steps with what would one day be called a “spaced-out” expression. The only signs of alien invasion were four patches of crushed grass, a large divot, and a pole hole. Harry remained groggy the rest of the day. Mabel was placed under sedation by her doctor. Reporters and police at the scene wondered aloud what the Johnsons had been drinking and where they could get some. Spot chewed through a newsman’s microphone cord terminating a live report.
By the time the silver ship arrived at New Atlantis, four years later, everyone on Earth had forgotten about the alien invasion of Mill Valley except the Johnsons -- and they weren’t talking about it anymore.
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