The Second Science Fiction MEGAPACK®. Robert Silverberg

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СКАЧАТЬ They follow one another but do not come simultaneously. They do not mix as signals on the same wave length would ordinarily do. They are not ‘just waves.’”

      “Would you say they are intelligent?”

      Professor Helmetz took off his glasses and polished them thoughtfully. He said, “I doubt if we shall ever know. The intelligence of such beings, if any, would be on such a completely different plane from ours that there would be no common point from which we could start intercourse. We are material; they are immaterial. There is no commonality between us.”

      “But if they are intelligent at all—”

      “Ants are intelligent, after a fashion. Call it instinct, if you will, but instinct is a form of intelligence; at least it enables them to accomplish some of the same things intelligence would enable them to accomplish. Yet we cannot establish communication with ants, and it is far less likely that we shall be able to establish communication with these invaders. The difference in type between ant-intelligence and our own would be nothing to the difference in type between the intelligence, if any, of the invaders and our own. No, I doubt if we shall ever communicate.”

      The professor had something there. Communication with the ’vaders—a clipped form, of course, of invaders—was never established.

      * * * *

      Radio stocks stabilized on the exchange the next day. But the day following that someone asked Dr. Helmets a sixty-four dollar question and the newspapers published his answer:

      “Resume broadcasting? I don’t know if we ever shall. Certainly we cannot until the invaders go away, and why should they? Unless radio communication is perfected on some other planet far away and they’re attracted there.

      “But at least some of them would be right back the moment we started to broadcast again.”

      Radio and TV stocks dropped to practically zero in an hour. There weren’t, however, any frenzied scenes on the stock exchanges; there was no frenzied selling because there was no buying, frenzied or otherwise. No radio stocks changed hands.

      Radio and television employees and entertainers began to look for other jobs. The entertainers had no trouble finding them. Every other form of entertainment suddenly boomed like mad.

      * * * *

      “Two down,” said George Bailey. The bartender asked what he meant.

      “I dunno, Hank. It’s just a hunch I’ve got.”

      “What kind of hunch?”

      “I don’t even know that. Shake me up one more of those and then I’ll go home.”

      The electric shaker wouldn’t work, and Hank had to shake the drink by hand.

      “Good exercise; that’s just what you need,” George said. “It’ll take some of that fat off you.”

      Hank grunted, and the ice tinkled merrily as he tilted the shaker to pour out the drink.

      George Bailey took his time drinking it and then strolled out into an April thundershower. He stood under the awning and watched for a taxi. An old man was standing there too.

      “Some weather,” George said.

      The old man grinned at him. “You noticed it, eh?”

      “Huh? Noticed what?”

      “Just watch a while, mister. Just watch a while.”

      The old man moved on. No empty cab came by, and George stood there quite a while before he got it. His jaw dropped a little, and then he closed his mouth and went back into the tavern. He went into a phone booth and called Pete Mulvaney.

      He got three wrong numbers before he got Pete. Pete’s voice said, “Yeah?”

      “George Bailey, Pete. Listen, have you noticed the weather?”

      “Damn right. No lightning, and there should be with a thunderstorm like this.”

      “What’s it mean, Pete? The ’vaders?”

      “Sure. And that’s just going to be the start if—”

      A crackling sound on the wire blurred his voice out.

      “Hey, Pete, you still there?”

      The sound of a violin. Pete Mulvaney didn’t play violin. “Hey, Pete, what the hell—?”

      Pete’s voice again. “Come on over, George. Phone won’t last long. Bring—” There was a buzzing noise and then a voice said, “—come to Carnegie Hall. The best tunes of all come—”

      George slammed down the receiver.

      He walked through the rain to Pete’s place. On the way, he bought a bottle of Scotch. Pete had started to tell him to bring something and maybe that’s what he’d started to say.

      * * * *

      It was.

      They made a drink apiece and lifted them. The lights flickered briefly, went out, and then came on again but dimly.

      “No lightning,” said George. “No lightning and pretty soon no lighting. They’re taking over the telephone. What do they do with the lightning?”

      “Eat it, I guess. They must eat electricity.”

      “No lightning,” said George. “Damn. I can get by without a telephone, and candles and oil lamps aren’t bad for lights—but I’m going to miss lightning. I like lightning. Damn.”

      The lights went out completely.

      Pete Mulvaney sipped his drink in the dark. He said, “Electric lights, refrigerators, electric toasters, vacuum cleaners—”

      “Juke boxes,” George said. “Think of it, no more God damn juke boxes. No public address systems, no—hey, how about movies?”

      “No movies, not even silent ones. You can’t work a projector with an oil lamp. But listen, George, no automobiles—no gasoline engine can work without electricity.”

      “Why not, if you crank it by hand instead of using a starter?”

      “The spark, George. What do you think makes the spark.”

      “Right. No airplanes either, then. Or how about jet planes?”

      “Well—I guess some types of jets could be rigged not to need electricity, but you couldn’t do much with them. Jet plane’s got more instruments than motor, and all those instruments are electrical. And you can’t fly or land a jet by the seat of your pants.”

      “No radar. But what would we need it for? There won’t be any more wars, not for a long time.”

      “A damned long time.”

      George sat up straight suddenly. “Hey, Pete, what about atomic fission? Atomic energy? Will it still work?”

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