Title: The Fourth Invasion
Author: Josephs, Henry
Language: English
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       _Psychopathology has offered possible answers to why, from
       time to time, people in large quantities "see" strange
       things in the sky which manage to evade trained scientific
       observers, or conform to what is known about the behavior
       of falling or flying bodies. And mass hysteria is by no
       means a product of the present century. But--what if these
       human foibles were deliberately being exploited?_


                          THE FOURTH INVASION

                            by Henry Josephs


Dr. Clayton's face was impassive as a marble mask when he turned to
young Corelli. For a moment, the little group stood there in embarrassed
silence in the classroom, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other,
feigning interest in the paperweights upon Clayton's desk, or in the
utterly uninspiring scenes on the sidewalk outside the window.

"You say, Corelli, that you saw three--er, Martian--ships. Can you
describe them?"

Corelli blinked as he felt the weight of his colleagues' eyes boring
into him. "I didn't say they were _Martian_, sir--only that they seemed
to be unearthly. And they were not the conventional saucer-shaped
things--they _acted_ like saucers skimming across the water. That's what
made me think they were genuine. And they didn't seem to be going fast
enough so that I'd expect to hear a roar like a jet-plane.

"It struck me that this might not be the way they fly, naturally, but
the way they might fly if the pilots were having trouble adjusting the
controls to a heavier atmosphere than they were used to."

Clayton tapped the tabletop with his fingers. "What about you, Marty?
Did you see three ships?"

Big Gene Marty, football star, was the least nervous. "Can't be sure
about _ships_, Doc," he rumbled. "I did see something strange
disappearing over the horizon. It--I mean they--might have been what
Tony says; but whatever it was, there were three of them. But I saw
something else, because I was looking in another direction. What I saw
first was a couple of funny-looking shapes floating down near the
ground. Didn't look like parachutists, yet they seemed big enough to be
men--or at least, small men."

"Interesting. All right, what about the rest of you? How many saw the
ships?"

       *       *       *       *       *

A chorus answered him. "I see," Clayton mused. "You all agree on the
behavior. And you all think there were three--not four--not two. Three?"

It was agreed.

Clayton rustled the pile of newspapers. "The reports in here vary. I
learn with amazement that you gentlemen seem to have missed completely
the spurts of flame that issued from the alien ships--flame which is
reported to have set a house on fire. And no one seems to have noticed
that the invaders, in descending, glided on huge black wings."

Corelli blushed a fiery crimson. "Dr. Clayton," he protested, "we aren't
making these things up for popular consumption. We're just telling you
what we actually saw--that is--what--what--we--saw looked like to us."

Clayton nodded. "Of course. That is all people were doing back in 1938
when the Martians landed in New Jersey, at the time Orson Welles
presented a radio version of H. G. Wells' 'War of the Worlds'. Or when
the 'Flying Saucer' craze first started. Or when Fantafilm put on their
big publicity stunt for the improved 3-D movie, 'The Outsiders', and
people saw the aliens over Broadway and heard them address the populace
in weird, booming tones.

"Gentlemen, I am not pleased to find students of this University
engaging in such unwanted extra-curricular activity as inventing
interplanetary scares. I don't think Washington will be amused, either."

Corelli clicked his heels. "Sir," he stated in dignified tones, "I
resent these implications. I assume they have been directed at me. At no
time have I talked about this to reporters, or in any way engaged in
what you accuse me of. If you want my resignation from this school, you
may have it."

"Really? You think that an air of dignified innocence will undo the
damage done? I am well aware of your experiments with the _y_ wave,
gentlemen--and it was on the _y_ wave that the messages came. You may be
interested to know that the number of lives lost, the property damage,
the business losses due to the panic, have not yet been fully
determined; but it makes the hysteria following the Fantafilm hoax very
small potatoes by comparison.

"You may withdraw now, gentlemen; this affair will be discussed at
greater length later, regardless of what the FBI decides. I had hoped
that the main culprit would try to save unwitting accomplices from a
measure of grief. That is all."

The seven students left Dr. Clayton's office in record time.

       *       *       *       *       *

Professor Elton rapped the table for silence. "Gentlemen," he began,
"Dr. Clayton and I both extend our sincere apologies." He smiled wanly.
"Of course, that does not exonerate anyone from the charge of
gullibility. But Harvey Gale's confession has been fully confirmed by
the FBI, and you--and this University--have been cleared. The public
knows now that your testimony helped lead to the facts in the case.

"To me, the most interesting feature of this business is the fact that
Gale was able to put over this hoax, despite the fact that the public
had been taken in three times before. The Orson Welles scare rode on a
wave of war-hysteria; the Flying Saucer craze followed world war; the
Fantafilm hoax came when the world was still in dread of sudden
bombings. But the Gale Hoax--what can we call it but what is loosely
known as the continuing gullibility of human beings?

"We trust that this demonstration you have just observed will help you
to remember that while seeing may be believing, it's wise not to believe
until it has been established just what you saw."

       *       *       *       *       *

In his private office, Dr. Clayton leaned forward over his desk. Or, to
be more exact, something that looked like Dr. Clayton leaned over the
desk. The face was impassive as marble, but, from out a slit in his
chest, a pair of black antennae-like feelers were vibrating into a
framed picture on the wall, from which the picture had been slid aside.

_"Landing safely effected. Brief panic when several Terrestrials sighted
ships; all clear now. Full report, containing details on latest
successful persuasion of Earthlings that Martians or other aliens are
imaginary, will follow."_

From the speaker beneath the desk came sounds of gasps, heavy breathing,
then shuffling footsteps. Clayton pushed the picture back into place,
then took off the skin-painted vest he wore, with the flat box on its
inside. He snapped a switch on the side of his desk.

"There; now they can't hear--if any are still hanging around."

Professor Elton looked at him bewilderedly. "I don't get it. After all
the risk we went to, to convince the public that there ain't no
ghosts--as the old saying goes--you arrange to have students hear you
going into a 'report to the home planet' act. And you use a code they
all know. What's the point in undoing it?"

Clayton nodded. "It looks somewhat mad, doesn't it? Well ... the
Psychology Team was sure of the necessity. You see, more and more humans
remain unconvinced each time one of these hoaxes are exposed. The
unconvinced are sure that something fiendish is going on beneath the
surface, that the authorities--all kinds from civil to scientific--are
engaged in a vast cover-up. We can't prevent this belief; we don't know
how to keep it from spreading. So--the alternative is to direct it."

Elton nodded slowly. "I can see possibilities along that line--but just
what direction was this supposed to kind of bring about?"

"Why, obviously, if large-scale invasion from Mars is imminent--and this
is the belief that we're all catering to--then it follows that the
invasion hasn't already taken place. The two of us, and Harvey Gale,
will disappear shortly in one way or another, and gradually public cries
for effective planetary defense will mount.

"You know who will direct the defense."



Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _Future Science Fiction_ No. 30 1956.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
    typographical errors have been corrected without note.





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