Kate Wilhelm - Let the Fire Fall

So it was that Peter Wyett, scion of some of the intellectual giants of the century, wrote the first report suggesting that the Star Child did indeed have un-Earthly powers, powers that could and did affect those about him, influence them in ways hitherto unknown. He suggested that the Star Child was potentially more dangerous than the hydrogen bomb and biological warfare and chemical warfare all combined. When his powers were fully developed, it was suggested, the estate might no longer hold him, man might be reduced to slavery, he might indeed be the conquerer of Earth single-handed. Or, his people might have sent the ship with the expendable crew simply to get this one child to Earth, to prepare the way for others at some future date. How much of this Peter himself believed will never be known. He wrote his report in a straightforward manner, with proper punctuation and impeccable spelling and sentences that varied to avoid monotony. It made very fluid reading, and it was one of the smallest, neatest, coolest bombshells ever delivered by man to man. The board sat stunned when the report was read aloud to them at the monthly meeting.

Winifred gasped, the first sound heard in the meeting room. The chairman, British, a don at Cambridge before this assignment, with protocol, propriety, and procedure so deeply ingrained that he was forever enmeshed within the three-sided straitjacket, gave the report the very same attention that the medical reports received, and the financial reports, and the reports of the agents and the counteragents and the counter-counteragents. The co-chairman, a Hungarian named Skatz, called the report hogwash, or so it was said afterward. He denied this and said the word he used was much stronger. Whether or not the board believed any part of the report is no longer relevant. They acted on it as if they believed in it. By the end of the summer there were only three familiar faces on the estate. Peter Wyett was one, Lenny Mallard another, and Yura Petrov, supplies coordinator, the third. This time there were leaks when the dismissals became effective, and there was a flurry of stories in all the media.

In his Mount Laurel retreat Obie Cox read all the reports as they came in and he was very distracted for a week or longer, during which time he prayed for long hours, and had many long talks with his newest lieutenant, Merton, the one-time F.B.I. agent, now number two in the growing hierarchy of the Voice of God Church. His black head and Obie’s silver blond head were together most of the week. Obie announced his acceptance of the evil intentions of the aliens; he had known this from the beginning and had prayed for succor from the start. This was well documented. Now he prayed no longer. He demanded that the Star Child be turned over to a civilian board, which would examine it for its humanness, and if it was found lacking, prescribe a merciful death for it. This was no more and no less than was done routinely for animals. Those lacking the qualities of the breed were destroyed, not allowed to mingle with the pure strains and contaminate them. If a maverick stallion got into the corral and terrorized the gentle mares, it would be shot. If a mad dog roamed, threatening people, it would be shot. If a diseased or imperfect specimen of any sort threatened God-given order, it was man’s duty to destroy it. Let those who understood what made for humanness examine the alien and determine its fate.

Obie also said, but not for public consumption, that fate was arranging the future along the lines he had suggested when he first realized that his son had powers to heal. The alien could cause people to sicken and die, and his son could heal them. God is good. God is omniscient and provides the cure along with the complaint. Obie’s eyes glowed when he spoke thus. He tripled the number of men searching for his son. Until he had the boy back he could not make public this, the greatest message ever given to man to deliver to God’s people.

What is the Star Child? Extraordinary alien with powers that are so dangerous to man as to warrant his immediate execution, or merely a child bewildered and frightened by the attention given to him by the world’s leading scientists? For years we have been soothed by the numerous stories concerning his rather backward development, but finally the truth is leaking from that infamous stronghold where he remains a captive. One of the new staff members has been able to get word out to the public that indeed Earth does harbor a menace, more deadly than a radiation leak.

TRUTH brings you the Truth!

TRUTH! No one lives longer than three years in the presence of the Star Child!

TRUTH! The Star Child is in communication with his alien superiors!

TRUTH! The Star Child can see into YOUR mind! There are no secrets on Earth with this creature here and alive!

TRUTH! The alien has been imprinted with the knowledge of where the long missing capsule has been hidden. When the time comes, he will go to it and make use of the many deadly devices in it. To deal wholesale DESTRUCTION ON EARTH!

TRUTH! The alien is in actual command of the garrison where he is supposedly…

Yes No Undecided

48% 37% 15%

49% 32% 19%

“STEP up! Step up! See the world’s most daring drivers perform! See the Flying Cars! See Mindy and His Men in head-on collisions a hundred feet over your heads! See the world’s fastest ground car! See the parade of the champions!”

Blake motioned to Sam the barker, who stepped up the pitch, now with a blare of music that hurt ears within two hundred feet of the speaker. There was a long line of willing spectators already, and Sam stopped to a blast of trumpets that left the air vibrating.

“Okay, kid. Inside. You finish those tires?”

“Sure.” Blake looked over the crowd quickly and said, “Four thousand tonight. Not bad.”

Sam the barker nodded. He had questioned Blake’s audience count in the beginning but he no longer did. In fact, whatever Blake said, most of the crew accepted as true. Sam shoved Blake roughly toward the backdrop where Mindy and his men were revving up. “Tell ’em to make it snappy, kid. I want to get out of here before midnight tonight.”

The rough shove didn’t bother Blake. Sam liked him, and was afraid to like him too much. Blake didn’t know why, and he knew he would never find out, for Sam hid so far back from others that most people never even met him at all, but saw the shell with quick rough hands, and a mean, brusque voice. Mindy was something else. A clown in a souped-up car, with the spirit of a bird that wanted only to fly. Mindy had something wrong with his ears; mastoiditis, he had told Blake early in their relationship, kept him out of the skies, but he could still fly. And he did. He was driving a ’72 model Olds that had no trace of the original motor left in it, Under the hood chrome and stainless steel gleamed, and when he turned on the key there was a hum that sounded like it should have come from a super liner getting ready to fly around the world.

Blake listened to the motors and nodded to himself. They were all in good shape. He pulled a rag from his pocket and polished a newly painted spot on the Red Lady, Mindy’s lead car, and when Mindy slouched over to see what he was up to he motioned toward the ring. “He’s ready.” Mindy nodded. He jumped in the car and the show started. Blake watched from a comer of the backdrop.

The first act was a big precision driving number, where eight cars in the huge ring raced at eighty to one hundred miles an hour doing wheelies, about faces, right-angled turns, sudden stops and just as sudden accelerations, all in time to Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever. It was always exciting and put the crowd in a good mood for the rest of the two-hour long show. During the last five minutes of the big number Mindy’s wife Alison wandered absently about the ring, engrossed in a magazine, oblivious of the racing automobiles, each step she made as exquisitely timed as a ballet dancer’s. It was a great finale. The crowd shrieked and screamed and sighed long-drawn-out Ohhhs, every time a car barely missed Alison, who never looked up, hesitated, or speeded her measured pace through the ring.