The Man Who Fell to Earth

“We could call it what you just called it — manipulation, or guidance. And it might not work. It might not work at all. You might blow your world apart first, or you might find us out and begin a witch hunt — we are vulnerable, you know. Or, even if we do get a large measure of power, we cannot control every accident. But we can reduce the probability of Hitlers, and we can protect your major cities from destruction. And that.” he shrugged, “is more than you can do.”

“And you want to do this just to help us?” Bryce heard the sarcasm in his voice, and hoped that Newton did not notice.

If Newton had noticed he gave no sign of it. “Of course not. We are coming here to save ourselves. But,” he smiled, “we do not want the Indians burning up our reservation after we have settled on it.”

“What are you saving yourselves from?”

“Extinction. We have almost no water, no fuel, no natural resources. We have feeble solar power — feeble because we are so far from the sun — and we still have large stores of food. But they are dwindling. There are less than three hundred Antheans alive.”

“Less than three hundred? My God, you did almost wipe yourselves out!”

“We did indeed. As, I imagine, you will do before long, if we don’t come.

“Maybe you should come,” he said. “Maybe you should.” Bryce felt a tenseness in his throat. “But if something should… happen to you, before the ship is complete? Wouldn’t that be the end of it?”

“Yes. That would end it.”

“No fuel for another ship?”

“No fuel.”

“Then.” Bryce said, feeling himself tense, “what is to prevent me from stopping this — this invasion, or manipulation? Shouldn’t I kill you? You’re very weak, I know. I imagine your bones are like a bird’s, from what Betty Jo told me.”

Newton’s face was completely undisturbed. “Do you want to stop it? You’re quite right; you could snap my neck like a chicken’s. Do you want to? Now that you know my name is Rumplestiltskin do you want to drive me from the palace?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at the floor.

Newton’s voice was soft. “Rumplestiltskin did weave straw into gold.”

Bryce looked up, suddenly angry. “Yes. And he tried to steal the princess’s child.”

“Of course he did,” Newton said. “But if he hadn’t woven the straw into gold the princess would have died. And there would not have been any child at all.”

“All right,” Bryce said. “I won’t wring your neck to save the world.”

“Do you know?” said Newton, “I almost wish, now, that you could. It would make things much simpler for me.” He paused. “But you can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“I didn’t come to your world unprepared for discovery. Although I did not expect to be telling anyone what I have told you. But there was a great deal I did not expect.” He looked down at his hands again, seeming to examine the nails. “In any event, I am carrying a weapon. I always carry it.”

“An Anthean weapon?”

“Yes. A very effective one. You would never have made it across the floor to my bed.”

Bryce inhaled rapidly. “How does it work?”

Newton grinned. “Does Macy’s tell Gimbel’s?” he said. “I may have to use it on you yet.”

A quality in the way that Newton had just spoken — not the ironic or pseudo-sinister quality of the statement itself, but some minor strangeness in the manner — reminded Bryce that he was, after all, talking to someone not human. The practiced veneer of humanness that Newton assumed might be merely that; a very thin veneer. Whatever was beneath the veneer, the essential part of Newton, his specifically Anthean nature, might very well be inaccessible to him, Bryce, or for that matter to anyone on Earth. The way that Newton actually felt or thought might be beyond his comprehension, totally unavailable to him.

“Whatever your weapon is,” he spoke more carefully now, “I hope you won’t have to use it.” And then he looked around him again, at the big hotel room, the almost untouched tray of liquor, and back at Newton, reclining in bed. “My God,” he said. “It’s hard to believe. To sit in this room and believe that I’m talking to a man from another planet.”

“Yes,” Newton said, “I’ve thought that myself. I’m talking to a man from another planet too, you know.”

Bryce stood up and stretched. Then he walked to the window, parted the draperies, looked down at the street. Car headlights were everywhere, hardly moving. A huge, illuminated billboard directly across from the hotel showed Santa Claus drinking a Coca-Cola. Clusters of flickering bulbs made Santa’s eyes twinkle, made the soft drink sparkle. Somewhere, faintly, Bryce could hear chimes playing Adeste Fideles.

He turned back to Newton, who had not moved. “Why have you told me? You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to tell you.” He smiled. “I haven’t been at all sure of my motives for the past year; I’m not certain why I wanted to tell you. Antheans don’t necessarily know everything. Anyway, you already knew about me.”

“Are you talking about what Canutti said? That might have been only a stab in the dark on my part. It might have been nothing.”