MARTIAN V. F. W. By G. L. VANDENBURG _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 NewYork's history is not easy. He was maneuvering his two hundred poundsaround Washington Square with the agility of a quarterback. He had hishands full organizing marchers, locating floats, placing the many brassbands in their proper order and barking commands to assistants. But Mr. Cruthers approached the job with all the zeal of an evangelist at arevival meeting. As he approached the south-west corner of the square he saw somethingthat jarred his already frayed nerves. He stopped abruptly. The mass ofclipboards and papers he was carrying fell to the street. There beforehim were one hundred and fifty ants, each of them at least six feettall. His first impulse was to turn and run for the nearest doctor. Hewas certain that the strain of his job was proving too much for him. Butone 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 becoming 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 itnot?" The ant had a pleasant, friendly voice. "Well, yes, but--" "And you are Mr. Cruthers, the manager of the parade, is that notcorrect?" * * * * * Mr. Cruthers rubbed his eyes and took another look at the strangecreature. Its head was a brilliant yellow. It had two large goggle eyeswhich rolled like itinerant marbles when it spoke. The low slung abdomenwas a burnt brown. It was bad enough, Cruthers thought, that these antswere six feet tall, but it was nightmarish to see them in three colors. "Mr. Cruthers, " the ant continued, "haven't you been instructed by theNational Academy of Sciences that the Martian V. F. W. Is to participatein this parade?" "The Martian--!!" Mr. Cruthers' mouth was open again. Then he realizedthat when the ant spoke its mouth didn't move. He picked up hisclipboard and papers from the street. His voice was hostile now. "Whatthe hell is this, some kind of a gag! What are you trying to do, scare aman 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 likeants!" Mr. Cruthers' indignation became intensified. He was loathe toadmit that he'd been taken in by such obviously animated costumes. "Nowlook here, I'm a very busy man. " "The arrangements _have_ been made, Mr. Cruthers. If my group is refuseda place in this parade we shall file suit immediately. As manager you'llbe named co-defendant. " The ant was gentle but firm. The thought of being sued softened Mr. Cruthers' attitude. "Well, I'mvery sorry, pal, but every contingent in this parade is listed on myclipboard and you're not. I know this list by heart. What did you saythe name of your group was?" "The Martian V. F. W. " Mr. Cruthers was amused. "Those sure are the craziest outfits I've everseen, " he chuckled. "Where'd you get them? Walt Disney make them foryou?" He followed his own little joke with a long throaty laugh. The ant was impatient. "About the parade, Mr. Cruthers, there isn't muchtime. " "Oh, yes, the parade. Well, let me see, " he thumbed through theclipboard, "I guess there's always room for a few laughs. How many inyour group?" "One hundred and fifty. And we also have a float with us. Not a verylarge one. It measures twenty by twenty. " "Tell you what. You move your group to the corner of Thompson Street andThird Street. Get behind the Tiffany float and follow them, okay?" The ant paused a moment to record the instructions in his mind. Then heturned to leave. "Oh, wait a minute, " Mr. Cruthers cried before the ant could rejoin hisgroup. "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 firstplace! 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 shouldcertainly bring the house down. There's going to be four million peoplewatching this parade. I bet that's the biggest audience you've everseen. " "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 upand down gleefully. "It must be a whole mile long, Daddy! What kind isit?" "That's the Vanguard, son. " An autumn breeze from the East River chilled their vantage point atSixty-First Street and Fifth Avenue. "The Vanguard?" The name meant nothing to the boy. "Gee, I'll bet it canfly all the way to the stars!" "It's the rocket that carried the first artificial satellite intospace. " 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 laughedand whooped it up, firing several shots from his Captain Video Ray gunat 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 wereplaying "The Stars and Stripes Forever. " They were followed by the Sak'sFifth Avenue display; nine small floats, each depicting life on anotherplanet. 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 visitall those planets! Can I, Daddy!" The boy became all limbs trying tosquirm down from his father's shoulders. "You stay right where you are, young man, " the father struggled to holdhis balance. "But I wanna go to the stars. I can watch the rest of the parade fromVenus or Mercury! Please, Daddy!" The father grinned. "Not just yet, son, but it won't be long before manwill go to the stars. " "Who lives up there, Daddy?" "Oh, there isn't any life up there yet. " "If no one's living up there why does anyone want to go there?" "Well, maybe there'll be too many people on earth someday and then we'llhave to find other planets with more room. " Another monstrous brass band was going by. The boy became restless. Hebegan to toy with his ray gun, half interested in seeing if there wereany sparks left in it. "Why can't there be something besides so manybands in a parade? I wanna see another float. " The father tried to interest the boy by pointing out all the famouspeople who were also there: a variety of statesmen the world's leadingscientists and religious and cultural leaders, the president of theUnited States. * * * * * The boy was interested but not in what his elder was saying to him. Hewas looking downtown, his eyes squinting, trying to make out figures asfar away as Fifty-sixth Street. Then his mouth opened, not uttering asound yet, just waiting to burst with joy at what was coming towardthem. His father looked up at him. "I wish you'd tell me what you are lookingat. I'm all the way down here on street level, remember?" "Daddy, they look like ants!" "What?" "Ants, Daddy, ants! A whole army of them. Ain't it exciting?" "What on earth are you talking about?" "They're doing somersaults and back flips and everything! They're comingright this way! Gee, there's hundreds of them. And they got a floatbehind them, Daddy! A great big float with something burning on it. " The child sitting on his shoulders made mobility impossible for thefather. And he couldn't see around the spectators. He resigned himselfto stand and wait for this new spectacle to overtake them. The reactionto this new sight had already begun to work its way uptown. In thedistance, but getting closer every second, he could hear unrestrainedlaughter and rejoicing. "Hey, take it easy!" The boy was beginning to ride the shoulders like abronco buster. "By the time they get here I won't have any shouldersleft. Where are they now?" "They're almost here, Daddy! And they aren't ants at all. They're just abunch of clowns dressed up like it. " He began to giggle hysterically. "Golly, they're funny. Can you see them yet, Daddy?" Before the father could produce an answer the ants were in view. Theywere a sight that couldn't fail to stimulate the funny bone. Bycomparison with real ants everything about them had been grosslyexaggerated to achieve the proper effect. They walked on their two backlegs but the four front apertures were far from idle. Some of themturned somersaults, others did complicated flips consisting of two orthree spins in mid-air. Still others, doing a kind of animated cakewalk, carried toy ray guns which they fired at random into the crowd. Theguns were something like the little boy's Captain Video ray gun, onlylarger. They emitted little streaks of blue sparks which shone brightlybut disappeared when contact was made with air. They were easily the hit of the parade, a three ring circus all bythemselves, as they pranced and clowned their way up Fifth Avenue givingthe spectators a whale of a show that was completely new. The guests on the reviewing stand refrained from any hilarity until theysaw the float that four of the ants were pulling behind them. It was inkeeping with the rest of the nonsense they were perpetrating. The floatboasted eight larger ray guns, three on either side and two in the rear, that fired the same fascinating blue sparks. Behind each gun an antstood on its head, wildly waving six legs in the breeze, begging to benoticed and laughed at. Above the guns, emblazoned in fiery orangeletters, were the words: "MARTIAN V. F. W. " This was interpreted by oneand all as a punch line and was treated accordingly. It was heartwarming to be able to see the president and so many otherdignitaries abandon composure in favor of a good old fashioned bellylaugh. "Daddy, I can't laugh any more, " the boy had to pause between everyother word. "My stomach hurts. Aren't they the funniest things you eversaw?" The father was too convulsed to be able to answer him. "Daddy, one of them is coming this way! He's firing his Captain Videoray gun at us!" They boy squeezed his father and held on tight. The father took a deep breath in order to be able to speak. "Take yourgun and fire back at him, son. Fire away! Go on, he's just beingplayful!" He broke forth with another gust of laughter. "I won't seeanything as funny as this again if I live to be a hundred!" The ant pranced over to where they were standing, firing its gun inevery direction. The boy fired back. The ant took one look at the lad'sgun and let out a long cackling sound which built to a crescendo andthen stopped as though it had been turned off. The ant rejoined thegroup and they continued on their merry way. * * * * * The boy fired several shots into the float as it passed. He wanted tosee if he could knock out those blazing orange letters: MARTIAN V. F. W. The letters continued to burn, but in the boy's mind he was certain hehad made several direct hits. The boy and his father watched the float until it was out of sight. Theyknew there wouldn't be another attraction like those ants. They musthave been real professionals, the father thought. Such teamwork! Suchprecision! Each one of them having a specific job to do and each doingit to perfection. After them everything was bound to be anticlimactic. More marchers, more bands, a few more floats. The boy was beginning totire. It had been a long day. Now everything was dull. "Daddy, I don'twant to see any more. Let's go home. " "We'll stay another five minutes. " * * * * * The parade somehow seemed to be slowing down. The father yawned and lethis son down from his shoulders. He looked across the street at thepresident and the other dignitaries on the reviewing stand. All wereslowly raising their hands in salute as another color guard drowsilymade its way by. Soon the last group in the parade was passing the reviewing stand. Another brass band. They were moving with the speed of a glacier. A fullfive seconds elapsed between each note of music. Everything washappening in slow motion. On the reviewing stand the dignified handswent up, agonizingly slow, to a final salute and they stayed there. Thegreatest minds in the world stood motionless, unalterably still. Just aseach wave of pandemonium had unfurled itself up Fifth Avenue during theparade, so now did silence take command. The little boy tugged at his father's coat. "Daddy! Daddy, " hepleaded, "why has the parade stopped? I wan-na-go-home--" Hiswords came more slowly with each passing second, like a highspeed phonograph playing at thirty-three and a third r. P. M. "Dad-dy--why--don't--you--an--swer--me--Da--ddy--why--don't--" Hisfather never heard him. * * * * * Fifty miles above the Atlantic the fleet of spaceships hung suspendedlike lanterns. In the lead ship the ant in charge of communicationsreported to the commander. "We've just received the first communique from the advance guard, sir. " "Read it to me. " The communications chief read from a large perforated paper. "Time--0600--mission accomplished. Manhattan island cut down themiddle--immediate result of super-isonic rays; four million dead--raysspreading east and west--estimated time of rays' full effect;0800--island will then be neutralized--awaiting further orders. " The antfolded the paper and looked up at the commander. "Shall I relay furtherorders, sir?" "No. " The commander of the ants paused and stroked his chin. "We'removing in. " THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ May 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyrighton this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errorshave been corrected without note.