Not In The Script

Colen Shratt studied his image in the silver-framed mirror. His mustache was neatly clipped, his face clean shaven and well talcumed. His captain's uniform—light blue—was pressed and looked as if it had just been bought. He was fastidious in everything he did.

He looked away from the mirror as the valet approached.

"Mr. Barnes is ready to see you, sir," the valet said.

"Good."

Captain Shratt was ushered into a study where Jules Barnes was waiting.

"Won't you be seated?" Barnes invited.

The captain sat, laid his cap on his knee.

"A drink?"

"No, thank you."

"Mind if I have one?"

"Of course not."

Barnes fixed himself a drink. He seated himself on a sofa, leaned back and said: "Now what's it all about? What would an intelligence officer want with me?"

"I'm not only representing the Americas at this moment, Mr. Barnes, but all of earth as well. I'm here to ask you to do a service for the world."

"A service?" Barnes sipped at his drink. "You must be mistaken about me captain. I'm just a playwright."

"But I haven't made a mistake, Mr. Barnes. And you can save the world. Just by writing a play."

"Oh, come now."

"Mr. Barnes, within two months we shall have a visitor from Mars."

Jules Barnes finished his drink. "You don't say?"

"I do say."

"Are you sure you won't have a drink? Or have you had too many?"

"Mind if I use your phone?"

"Go right ahead."

The captain dialled a number, said into the mouthpiece: "General?... Shratt. I'm at Barnes.... Yes. Of course. Have the President put on, will you?" The captain turned to Barnes. "You'd recognize the voice of William Livingstone, the President of the Americas, wouldn't you?"

Barnes nodded his head silently.

He took the receiver from Shratt and listened gravely.

The captain watched the playwright put down the receiver. "Well?" he said.

Barnes sat down, gulped noisily. "I'm listening."

"We're going to have a visitor from the planet Mars. Now supposedly, they will be on a friendly mission. But that will not be so. Their purpose is to determine our strength. If they decide we are ahead in nuclear physics and rocket-ship expansion we will be attacked. If they decide we are behind in experiments then we will be safe."

"I don't understand. Why shouldn't they attack us if they know we are weak?"

"They're not in any great hurry. If they believe we are strong and ready to launch rocket ships into space then they will stop us, determined we should never leave our planet to conquer space. If they believe we are weak and backward, they will let us alone, for the time being. As long as we aren't a threat then they'll feel safe, ready to conquer us at their own sweet time. They move when they think we're strong, ready to blast ships into space, ready to conquer the stars. Till then they'll let us alone, knowing we're weak and ineffectual."

"How do you know all this?" Barnes asked, moving to make himself and Shratt drinks. This time, the captain accepted his drink. "How can you possibly know of their plans?"

"We've picked up their ship by radar. We've been listening in on their conversations with Mars through a new I.B.M. machine. And Germany has sent their best code experts to give a hand. They broke down the language. And the messages between Mars and their ship was in code. So the experts did a double job, and well too, I might add. All the governments of the world have been alerted. They're all ready to cooperate."

"Well, where do I come in?"

"We want you to write a play."

"A play?"

"Yes. A play. And every industry on earth will be a participant. You will write and direct. The world will be the stage. Don't you see? You will write and direct every move that will convince the Martians we are backward, we are nothing, we are insignificant. They must be convinced our industry doesn't compare with theirs, our brains are childish to theirs, our leaders are weak and ineffectual, our weapons mere toys. You must write this play before they get here. It will be your greatest triumph. It will be the play of all plays. It will be the play that will save the world from destruction. It must be written within a month. That's what we want you to do."

"Within a month? That's impossible."

"A month to write the play. A month to rehearse. Not even a month to rehearse. You have to get busy on it right away."

"But how far are you advanced? Can you conquer space tomorrow?"

"Of course not."

"Then why go to all this trouble? Just let them see for themselves the way things really are. We can't possibly hurt them now. Why bother putting on an act for them?"

"We are advanced to some degree, of course. Progress can't be stopped. But we don't want them to know exactly how advanced we are. They are our enemy, you must remember that. We have to show them we are weaker than we really are."

"I see your logic."

"Good. You will cooperate with us, then?"

"Of course."

"You realize that it must be a silent triumph for you, if we are successful."

"Of course. I'm at your service."

"You will start immediately. I'll keep in touch with you daily. You'll need facts and figures, of course. You'll get a list of industry heads, scientists, and military men. They'll all be meeting our Martians. They must have their lines to read, their every movements that will convince the Martians of our stupidity."

"It's going to be some political football at the next election. You can't keep the politicians silent."

"Oh yes, we can."

"This will be more like a project than a play."

"I'll have to take my leave now, Mr. Barnes." The Captain stood up. "I have many matters to attend to."

"Of course. Good day, captain."

Jules Barnes worked on his play every waking hour. His eyes grew tired, his fingers grew stiff, his brain grew weary. The play was finished in twenty-five days. He handed it to Captain Shratt and went to sleep five minutes later.

Captain Shratt shrugged off all suggestion of getting a top Broadway director to handle the second assignment, that of directing the participants of the play. So Jules Barnes directed the military, the industry, the sciences, in their performances which would take place when the adversary would come face to face with the earth's genius.

Barnes and Shratt went from government to government by jet, meeting the brains of each power, directing and coaching.

"Finished," Captain Shratt said, leaning back in his seat as the jet took off for Washington.

"What if it doesn't come off?" Barnes said.

"Don't think about it."

Barnes felt his stomach jump toward his back as the ship hummed its way towards the heavens. He still hadn't gotten used to the jets. When the plane leveled off, he said: "We could always capture the Martians, hold them as hostages."

"Do you possibly think they hold as great a price on life as we do? Their philosophy is as different from ours as night and day."

"You seem to know an awful lot about them."

"Our men are listening in on every conversation that passes between their ship and Mars. We've learned a lot."

"I'm beginning to think you're more advanced than you're letting on."

"In many matters, Mr. Barnes you're still an outsider. Security, you must understand. Especially now. You've done the earth a great service but I'm still under orders. There are many things I can't let you in on. If you were a soldier, you'd readily understand. So a certain wall, not too high, though, must always remain between us."

"I'm not a soldier, true, but I do understand."

"You may be interested to know that the ship will be landing within the week."

"Really? I guess I'd better stay out of the way."

"Oh, you'll be on hand. In case something goes wrong and a new line must be written into the script fast. There must be no blunders. If there are then we must cover up. So you'll be close by, ready to write, ready to coach."

"I wonder what they'll look like."

"You'll be finding out soon enough."

In order to avert panic, the world was alerted to the coming of the Martians four days before the strange arrival.

They came.

Tall and thin with translucent skin and eyes that were almost invisible, they were that small. There were four. Two men and two women. The women's hair was as short as the men's. Their breasts made slight bulges under their tunics.

It seemed they had listened in to radio broadcasts and spoke English, French, Italian, Polish, and Spanish very well. They knew the Americas was the strongest of the world governments and so had landed there. The year, 1968, became a memorable year. The year when contact was made with another planet.

Jules Barnes stayed on the sidelines. During the three weeks the Martians remained there was no need for him. But he stayed by, ready to act in any way he was needed.

The Martians went from government to government, inspecting industry, meeting scientists and military men. Everything was as friendly as could be. When the Martians retired to their rooms, they had hurried conversations. We were behind the times, our scientists were incredibly stupid, our military men were old ladies and our industry was only fit to make children's toys.

Hidden microphones revealed all this.

"Everything has gone according to plan," Captain Shratt told Barnes the day the Martians blasted off for their home planet. "We've nothing to worry about."

"I'm glad. I've been on edge the whole time they were here."

"I've got reports to make out so I'll have to leave now. But we'll get together again sometime."

"Certainly." Barnes shook hands and Shratt left the playwright's apartment.

"Hello, General," Captain Shratt said, entering his office. He took off his cap, tossed it on a leather chair, and went behind his desk.

"I've come from the president," the general said. "He says the time has come."

"Good." Shratt sat down. "I wish I was coming along."

"You're needed here. What about this fellow Barnes? He knows an awful lot."

"We've nothing to worry from him. Besides, once we've started there's nothing anyone can do."

"Our fleet of Space ships is ready to take off within hours."

"It's best to wait till the Martian ship is well on its way. Then we can start operations. When we get to Mars they'll be unprepared. Earth will be supreme." Captain Shratt lit a cigarette. "Only Mars could have stopped us if they'd decided to attack us. Now that threat is gone. They won't know what hit them. Thanks to a playwright and his sense of devotion to earth."