Arthur Zagat - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IX

“Congratulations,” I said weakly. “You certainly used your head. Caught the chief’s attention with your stunting and almost knocked the crooks out with it too. That’s killing two birds with one stone, all right.” Then another thought occurred to me.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked curiously. “How did you know we had those crooks on board?”

“Why—why,” Lucky sputtered, “that was simple. I just happened to look behind me and I saw those boys piling into you. So I did a little fast thinking and then I whipped the ship into a few maneuvers and, like the chief says, they caught his eye all right.”

The chief was beaming fondly and I turned my head to hide the smile on my lips. “So you just looked behind you,” I muttered. “Well, Lucky, you certainly are—and were.”

He grinned down at me and winked. “You said it, kid.”

I wanted to ask him a question then, but I decided to wait until we were alone. I closed my eyes and smiled again, thinking of his expression when I would ask him how he had been able to look behind him and see me struggling with those crooks, when the door of the pilot’s chamber was closed all the time….

There’s nothing like a parade, I always say. Of course, I’m a Martian.

Mr. Cruthers was a busy man. Coordinating the biggest parade in New York’s history is not easy. He was maneuvering his two hundred pounds around Washington Square with the agility of a quarterback. He had his hands full organizing marchers, locating floats, placing the many brass bands in their proper order and barking commands to assistants. But Mr. Cruthers approached the job with all the zeal of an evangelist at a revival meeting.

As he approached the south-west corner of the square he saw something that jarred his already frayed nerves. He stopped abruptly. The mass of clipboards and papers he was carrying fell to the street. There before him were one hundred and fifty ants, each of them at least six feet tall. His first impulse was to turn and run for the nearest doctor. He was certain that the strain of his job was proving too much for him. But one of the ants approached him. It seemed friendly enough, so Mr. Cruthers stood his ground.

“My group is waiting for their assignment.” The ant’s voice seemed to be coming from the very core of its thorax which was a violent red.

“Good Lord!” Mr. Cruthers’ mouth opened up as wide as an oven door.

“Mr. Cruthers, I believe the parade is about to start and my group—”

Mr. Cruthers managed to blurt out. “What the devil are you anyway!”

“This is the parade marking the International Geophysical Year, is it not?” The ant had a pleasant, friendly voice.

“Well, yes, but—”

“And you are Mr. Cruthers, the manager of the parade, is that not correct?”

Mr. Cruthers rubbed his eyes and took another look at the strange creature. Its head was a brilliant yellow. It had two large goggle eyes which rolled like itinerant marbles when it spoke. The low slung abdomen was a burnt brown. It was bad enough, Cruthers thought, that these ants were six feet tall, but it was nightmarish to see them in three colors.

“Mr. Cruthers,” the ant continued, “haven’t you been instructed by the National Academy of Sciences that the Martian V.F.W. is to participate in this parade?”

“The Martian—!!” Mr. Cruthers’ mouth was open again. Then he realized that when the ant spoke its mouth didn’t move. He picked up his clipboard and papers from the street. His voice was hostile now. “What the hell is this, some kind of a gag! What are you trying to do, scare a man half to death!”

“Oh, we’re not joking, Mr. Cruthers. The National Academy—”

“They didn’t say anything to me about a bunch of clowns dressed up like ants!” Mr. Cruthers’ indignation became intensified. He was loathe to admit that he’d been taken in by such obviously animated costumes. “Now look here, I’m a very busy man.”

“The arrangements have been made, Mr. Cruthers. If my group is refused a place in this parade we shall file suit immediately. As manager you’ll be named co-defendant.” The ant was gentle but firm.

The thought of being sued softened Mr. Cruthers’ attitude. “Well, I’m very sorry, pal, but every contingent in this parade is listed on my clipboard and you’re not. I know this list by heart. What did you say the name of your group was?”

“The Martian V.F.W.”

Mr. Cruthers was amused. “Those sure are the craziest outfits I’ve ever seen,” he chuckled. “Where’d you get them? Walt Disney make them for you?” He followed his own little joke with a long throaty laugh.

The ant was impatient. “About the parade, Mr. Cruthers, there isn’t much time.”

“Oh, yes, the parade. Well, let me see,” he thumbed through the clipboard, “I guess there’s always room for a few laughs. How many in your group?”

“One hundred and fifty. And we also have a float with us. Not a very large one. It measures twenty by twenty.”

“Tell you what. You move your group to the corner of Thompson Street and Third Street. Get behind the Tiffany float and follow them, okay?”

The ant paused a moment to record the instructions in his mind. Then he turned to leave.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Mr. Cruthers cried before the ant could rejoin his group. “Just who did you speak to at the National Academy of Sciences?”

“I believe it was a Mr. Canfield.”

Mr. Cruthers’ face lit up. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place! I’d have placed you right away.”

“That’s perfectly all right, Mr. Cruthers.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you guys do but those costumes should certainly bring the house down. There’s going to be four million people watching this parade. I bet that’s the biggest audience you’ve ever seen.”

“It certainly is.” With that the ant strode away.

“Good luck!” Mr. Cruthers shouted after him.

“Daddy! Daddy, look! Look at the big rocket!” The little boy jumped up and down gleefully. “It must be a whole mile long, Daddy! What kind is it?”

“That’s the Vanguard, son.”

An autumn breeze from the East River chilled their vantage point at Sixty-First Street and Fifth Avenue.

“The Vanguard?” The name meant nothing to the boy. “Gee, I’ll bet it can fly all the way to the stars!”

“It’s the rocket that carried the first artificial satellite into space.”

The parade, now three hours old, continued past the reviewing stand.

“I wanna get a better look at the Vanguard!” the boy shouted.

The father lifted the boy onto his shoulders. The little fellow laughed and whooped it up, firing several shots from his Captain Video Ray gun at the passing missile.

The rocket moved on and the noise of the crowd diminished slightly.

A one-hundred piece brass band was passing in front of them. They were playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” They were followed by the Sak’s Fifth Avenue display; nine small floats, each depicting life on another planet. The National Academy of Sciences had a success on its hands.

“Wow! Daddy, I wanna ride on it! I wanna ride on that float and visit all those planets! Can I, Daddy!” The boy became all limbs trying to squirm down from his father’s shoulders.

“You stay right where you are, young man,” the father struggled to hold his balance.

“But I wanna go to the stars. I can watch the rest of the parade from Venus or Mercury! Please, Daddy!”

The father grinned. “Not just yet, son, but it won’t be long before man will go to the stars.”