Parr came to Earth as the advance guard for an invasion. His mission: to see that every person received a package that was being mailed-- SPECIAL DELIVERY By Kris Neville [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1952 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] CHAPTER I A cannonade of shell fire met the silver listening post as it zipped across the moonlit desert. It twisted erratically, trying to dodge. Then a radar controlled gun chuckled to itself, and the listening post faltered in flight, slipped air, plunged sandward. In the Advanceship, far above and to the west, one of the Knougs pressed a button and the listening post exploded in a white flare. Afterwards, no fragments could be found. The newspapers said the usual thing. The government issued the usual profession of disbelief--and finally even the gunner became convinced of the usual explanation: he had tried to pot Venus. While on the Advanceship the Knougs continued to prepare for D-Day. CHAPTER II Three days later, on D-Day minus thirty, the Advanceship began to move eastward, seeding down advancemen toward strategic centers in North America. Towns with big post offices. And then on over the Atlantic toward other continents. Parr was the first advanceman to land. The coat tails of his conservative double breasted suit fluttered gently as he fell; air, streaming by, fretted his hair. Except for the anti-grav pack strapped to his back, he could easily have been mistaken in a more probable setting for an Earthman. Minutes later his feet touched the ground with scarcely a jolt. He peeled out of the anti-grav pack, pushed the button on its disintegrator time fuse and dropped the pack. He lit a cigar and blew smoke toward the cold bright stars. He walked from the weedy lot to the nearest bus stop. No one else was waiting. Darkness had concealed his descent. He sat down, stared stolidly at the darkened filling station on the opposite corner. When he was halfway through the cigar the Los Angeles Red Bus came by and he stood up, boarded it, fumbled in his pocket for change. "Thirty cents, buddy," the driver said. Still holding the cigar, Parr counted out two dimes and two nickles. He tried to hand the driver the coins, which were excellent imitations, as was his suit, his cigar, and all the rest of the Earth articles. "Put it in the box, buddy." Parr obeyed. "Hey," the driver said as Parr turned. "Your check." The driver held out a strip of red paper. Parr took it. "No smokin' on the bus, buddy." Parr dropped the cigar and mashed it out. He shuffled down the aisle, sank into a seat and half closed his eyes.