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                              THE INVADER

                            By Alfred Coppel

[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of
Science and Fantasy February 1953. Extensive research did not uncover
any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


[Sidenote: Invading Earth was going to be a cinch, the Triomed scout
decided. But to make certain he must study its inhabitants--as one of
them!]


The Triomed advanced stealthily across the floor of the dark cell toward
the sleeping figure huddled in the corner. After the long, lonely
voyage, the nearness to a host filled the Triomed with eager
anticipation.

The tiny spaceship that had carried him into this lush planetary system
far from the galaxy's heart lay well hidden behind him. So far as he
could tell, his descent had not been detected, and that was as it should
be--for he was a Triomed and a scientist. One of the finest in the
service of his dying race. Dying that is, until now, he thought. No
longer would the race of Triomeds weaken and die for lack of suitable
hosts. This third planet of the yellow sun was a paradise thick with
warm-blooded biped mammals....

       *       *       *       *       *

The sleeping creature stirred uneasily, as though sensing the approach
of danger. The Triomed froze into immobility. It was unlikely that he
could be seen, he knew, though the sense of sight was only a synthesized
abstraction to him. It was not one of his own proper senses, but he had
been able to detect at long distance that almost every living creature
on this planet received impressions through certain specialized organs
mounted on and within their structure. There were plants, of course, as
there were on Triom, but they were unimportant.

There were viruses, too, and he had been afraid when he had discovered
this fact that he had arrived too late. But the first attempts at
establishing communication had relieved the Triomed of his fears. The
indigenous viruses were primitive; not at all like his own illustrious
ancestors of ancient Triom.

The sleeping biped relaxed and the Triomed inched forward again, a flat,
almost two dimensional smear of glistening matter on the floor in front
of the biped.

From high above the planet's night side, the Triomed had sensed the
city. He had absorbed its shape and size and meaning while his craft
settled through the heavy, oxygen-rich air. It was not enough that his
instruments told of suitable hosts. He was a scientist and believed in
absolute proof. Also, he had been in space long--without the
satisfaction of a host--and he yearned for the rapport, the domination
of a warm-blooded creature.

There had been a dark segment in the brilliant pattern of the city. An
island of solitude amid the myriad confluences. It was there that he had
landed his tiny probe ship and hidden it among the thickly wooded
glades. Almost immediately he had sensed the nearness of many creatures.
Insects, plants, warm-blooded quadrupeds and bipeds. There had been
machines and buildings and winding roadways among the trees. Darkness
had covered his progress until at last he found himself near the
sleeping creature, ready to infiltrate and take command.

       *       *       *       *       *

The glistening shape elongated, became a thread-like tendril of almost
gossamer thickness. It touched the flesh of the sleeper and thrilled
with pleasure. Cautiously, the Triomed moved up the hairy leg, an
invisible strand of alien life close to the warm skin. Presently, the
strand found the opening it sought. It slithered imperceptibly into the
moist warmth of the sleeper's nostril, moved through the tear-duct into
the space behind the eyeball. Here it probed through muscle and membrane
along the base of the brain, seeking the pineal gland.

And found it, penetrated it, coiling like a microscopic serpent within
the gland. A surge of pleasure went through the Triomed. Here was
safety. The host was large, powerful and vibrant with life. Quickly, the
Triomed established dominance. It was shockingly easy. The creature's
mind was immature, primitive. Briefly it struggled and then died as the
alien poisoned the identity centers of the brain.

New sensations poured in through unfamiliar sense organs. Sounds of the
faraway city, small sounds from the many living creatures in the
darkness. Smells and sights and pressures from all about him presented
themselves--were evaluated and recorded in the atomic structure of the
Triomed.

He was now equipped, he reflected with satisfaction, to carry out
further exploration. In the guise of the indigenous biped he could roam
among the natives at will. He remained in a sitting position, however,
while he familiarized himself with his host.

He had two articulated appendages fixed to the trunk at a point near and
below the skull-case. These ended in complex extremities consisting of
five jointed fingers. The same pattern was repeated at the lower end of
the trunk, but the extremities were suited there for the carrying of the
creature's considerable weight. Within the trunk were the customary
viscera generally associated with warm-blooded beings: lungs,
intestines, stomach, liver, bladder, reproductive organs and assorted
ducted and ductless glands. It was apparent to the Triomed that his
present body was in excellent health. He was greatly pleased.

After some careful experiments, the Triomed rose. If there was a proper
method of egress from the cubicle in which he found himself, it was not
imprinted on the biped's brain. For a moment this gave the alien pause.
He could, of course, determine the proper method by a tedious process of
trial and error, but that would take time and he had no desire to waste
the hours of darkness. One wall, he noted, consisted of vertical risers
fixed in the substance of the floor and ceiling. Beyond, he could see
the darkling woods and the sky-glow of the city. The answer, then, was
simple force. He did not doubt there was strength enough in the host's
musculature to distort the risers.

His assumption was quite correct.

       *       *       *       *       *

Stepping through the bent risers, he picked his way along a narrow
walkway lined with cubicles similar to the one he had left. Within them,
dark shapes moved or lay sleeping. Some were alert, others were not. But
none gave an alarm. The Triomed reached the end of the walk, scaled a
fence easily and stood on a surface of wet grass that sloped away from
the low dark building toward the woods.

Behind him he heard a shout. A narrow beam of light pierced the night,
swinging to and fro with a searching motion. He had a fleeting glimpse
of a small biped running down the walk toward the cubicle he had
deserted.

The Triomed broke toward the wood with a long loping pace that covered
the ground with unbelievable swiftness. The probing light did not find
him. Once among the trees he paused and took his bearings. The woods
were not thick. He could see the lights of the city through the foliage.
They began at the very edge of the trees, where a wide open area could
be discerned. Wheeled vehicles moved past with breathtaking speed.

If there was pursuit, it was inefficient, for the Triomed moved through
the woods undisturbed until he stood at the edge of the avenue,
sheltered by the shadow of a large tree. Most of the traffic was
vehicular, he noted. There were few pedestrians. From the noise and odor
he classified the vehicles as being powered by internal combustion
engines burning hydro-carbons. Primitive. That was good, he reflected.
When the fleets of Triom descended on this planet, there would be no
science worthy of the name to oppose them.

He waited until there was an interval in the traffic, and then stepped
out confidently, crossing the avenue. As he reached the opposite side he
heard a screech of brakes and a garbled, choking sound. He did not turn
to discover the source of the disturbance until he had reached the
shelter of a building on the far side of the walk bordering the street.

A vehicle had stopped at an oblique angle to the lane in which it was
travelling, and its single occupant, a very pale-faced biped was
goggling stupidly in the direction of the hidden Triomed.

For the first time, the alien being felt a twinge of apprehension.
Certainly he had done nothing out of the ordinary in crossing the open
space on foot? But perhaps there were tribal taboos and traditions among
the natives that could not be ignored without attracting attention.

The Triomed promised himself that he would exercise more caution in such
matters. Too much depended on this reconnaissance to allow it to be
disturbed by carelessness.

He worked his way through the shadows between the many buildings until
the wide highway was far behind him. He was very aware of the teeming
life all about him--in the buildings, in the vehicles on the streets.
Still, some odd impulse that stemmed from the numbed brain of his host
rather than his own, kept him fairly hidden. This, he decided with
something akin to annoyance, was not as it should be. If his survey were
to be of any value, he must roam at will and without fear of detection,
secure in his disguise.

       *       *       *       *       *

Presently he came upon a street where streams of bipeds jostled one
another, each seemingly intent upon its own particular incomprehensible
errands. For a long while he watched from the shelter of an alley
doorway, classifying and integrating the information his host's sharp
eyes brought him. It was miraculous. Hosts of every size and description
were in abundance--an unlimited supply of them. Enough for the whole
population of Triom. It was beyond belief, but he could not doubt. And
this was but a single concentration. A single city. From the
stratosphere he had seen hundreds of similar cities. Paradise! He
envisioned the fleets of Triom descending, the Triomeds emerging and
infiltrating. The thoughts brought pride and anticipation. It had been
so easy....

He decided not to linger. He felt now that he had his proofs and that he
should return at once to his ship. Triom must be told immediately. The
communicator in the ship could carry the message as soon as the craft
reached a suitable distance from planetary mass. He would return, send
the ship aloft, dispatch his message and then return to his host to
await the others of his race.

His decision made, he stepped confidently out into the throng of bipeds,
seeking the shortest route back to his hidden craft.

The result was instantaneous and amazing.

The crowd drew back with a howling, shrieking noise, leaving him
standing in the center of a circle of dead white faces.

Behind the first row of bipeds, he could see others running in every
direction, and screaming at the top of their voices. The racket,
combined with the noises of the city, was most unpleasant. The Triomed
began to be afraid.

[Illustration]

He broke into a rapid walk, and the crowd parted before him with much
louder screeching. Here and there a biped, apparently braver than the
rest, made threatening motions with bundles or knotted fists. A package
struck him on the shoulder.

The Triomed began to run. He noted for the first time that he towered
head and shoulders over most of the bipeds nearby, and his host's brain
interpreted the smells of hate and fear all about him.

The crowd scattered wildly at his approach, but he was being followed.
Panic began to clutch at the alien. What had he done wrong? Somewhere a
wailing sound began--vehicles with glaring red lights swept past him
with vicious, explosive noises. He felt a stinging pain in one leg, and
glanced down to see it streaked with red.

Ahead of him a line of bipeds all clothed in identical blue sacs of
fabric had formed, spilling from the vehicles as they halted. The
Triomed stopped, sensing mortal danger. Behind him, the mob rumbled.
Ahead the blue bipeds stood holding artifacts that the Triomed did not
for an instant doubt were weapons.

No street opened on either side of him. He was trapped between the
weapons, the mob, and two tall buildings. He hesitated only for a
moment. With a desperate leap, he reached the second level of windows of
the building nearest him and clung there, gasping.

A white-faced creature appeared and began poking at him with a steel rod
that burned like fire when it touched his host's flesh. The creature
screamed shrilly all the while.

With a sob, the Triomed swung himself onto the window ledge and began
climbing upward, toward the roof of the building. It was slow work and
the pain in his leg and burned shoulder slowed him down. He dare not
free himself of his host now, for he was much too far from his ship to
be able to return in his natural form.

       *       *       *       *       *

There were searchlights in the street below, probing at him as he clung
to the sheer facade of the building. Panic drove him upward. A
continuous, wailing roar rose from the canyon below, a fear-laden
hideous cacophony. The Triomed felt himself weak with terror, part of
which was his host's and part of which stemmed from within himself. The
terror and fear of not knowing what had gone wrong and why he stood now
in such peril.

At last he reached the roof. He heaved himself over the parapet and lay
for a moment, flanks heaving painfully. Then he stiffened with a new
fear. He was not alone. The roof was occupied. A score or more of armed
bipeds blocked him into a triangular corner of the roof. He got to his
feet and stumbled backward. Their weapons were aimed at him. He
retreated until the parapet stopped him, warning of the sheer drop to
the street far below.

A figure separated itself from the armed mass. A flash of recognition
came--partially his own, partially his host's. It was the small biped he
had seen in the searchlight beam running toward the cubicle he had
deserted so long ago it seemed.

The small creature began speaking, making soft, soothing noises,
advancing all the while, a tiny glass vial in his hands.

Without knowing why, the Triomed felt his lips pull away from his teeth
in a snarl. He heard a deep, rumbling growling sound in his own throat.
The biped stopped, and the Triomed could smell his sudden fear.

He felt a surge of incomprehensible rage come over him--he crouched
menacingly.

The creature took a step closer. Another. The Triomed tensed.

The creature was within reach, extending the vial. The alien could see
that it was tipped with a sliver of steel. He sprang--

The weapons crashed. The alien felt the thudding impact of projectiles
penetrating the brain case. In a panic he began to extrude from the
pineal gland. If death overcame the host while he had rapport, he, too,
would die. And if he died, Triom would die.

He felt his huge body totter. There was another blast from the weapons
and he sensed the projectile coming--with what seemed to be agonizing
slowness to his quickened senses. It was spinning in the darkness. It
struck the eye, smashed it, moved inward, along the base of the
brain....

The Triomed felt one deep, searing agony that was his alone as the
bullet crushed him. The hot metal acrid touch was the last thing he knew
before death came....

       *       *       *       *       *

The policemen stood about in a circle, staring down in mixed awe and
relief at the huge body on the roof.

"I've seen him a dozen times in the park," one said. "He always seemed
so--so peaceable." He shook his head. "What in hell do you suppose came
over him?"

The keeper looked up from where he knelt over the deep, still chest,
bloody and riddled with bullets. "It happens like this sometimes," he
said. "You can never tell about gorillas."