"Michael Kandel - Strange Invasion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kandel Michael)

STRANGE INVADERS
by Michael Kandel
____________________________________
A Bantam Spectra Book September 1989
Copyright © 1989 by Michael Kandel
Cover art copyright © 1989 by Edwin B. Hirth III
ISBN 0-553-28146-1

eBook scanned & proofed by Binwiped 11-2-02 [v1.0]




Bonkers?
The spaceship, landing in my backyard, disguised itself as a bird feeder with birds. The
birds—sparrows, a couple of grackles, a cardinal—hopped and pecked with such verisimilitude that I
experienced a moment of doubt. Had I seen a spaceship or hadn't I seen a spaceship?
There was a knock at the back door; a man dressed as a letter carrier gestured at me through the
glass. It occurred to me, my hand on the knob, that perhaps I should not open to him. But this was silly.
If they could cross interstellar space, what protection would a locked door give me? I took a breath and
opened.
"Mr. Griffith?" asked the mailman (really an alien).
"Yes?"
"For you," he said, holding out a long, white envelope.
The letter was addressed to me, all right, but had no stamp or postmark. I signed on the mailman's
clipboard, which I noticed was filled with signatures.
The envelope was made of the finest paper—stiff, parchmentlike. Was I supposed to open the
envelope now? And was an answer expected? I was going to ask the mailman. But, looking up, I found
that he was gone, and with him the bird feeder and the birds. One bird did remain, a house sparrow, but
it was probably real.
Delicately, I held the letter, sniffed it. What did it contain? What could it possibly contain, seeing as I
knew not a soul outside Earth. And not a soul outside Earth could be expected to know me. My name,
after all, had never been on radio or television, whose signals travel into outer space. Once, at the age of
nine, I was in the local paper, in the community activities—a Boy Scout picnic. I was awarded
something, I forget what. A badge. Surely an extraterrestrial superrace would not follow our affairs that
closely.
I picked up the phone and dialed Lucille. She was in.
"Hello, Wally," she said. "Having trouble?"
I explained that I had seen a spaceship and was debating whether or not to open a letter from it.
That the spaceship had vanished, but not the letter.
"Well, open the letter," she said, cheerful. But I could feel her sympathy over the wire. Though a
doctor, Lucille is a very caring person.
"All right," I said, and hung up.
I opened the letter. It read:

Mr. Griffith:
We feel that one who every day must
cope—and who copes successfully, on
the whole—with an exotic neurological
 disorder that causes him to suffer