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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24977-h.zip b/24977-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4daafe --- /dev/null +++ b/24977-h.zip diff --git a/24977-h/24977-h.htm b/24977-h/24977-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4925547 --- /dev/null +++ b/24977-h/24977-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1576 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; clear: both; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: 0 auto 1em; width: 600px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + img {border: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .illo {margin-top: 2em; text-align: center;} + .tease {margin: 2em auto 3em; text-align: justify; width: 16em;} + .theend {text-align: right; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 2em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Perfectionists + +Author: Arnold Castle + +Illustrator: Leo Summers + +Release Date: April 2, 2008 [EBook #24977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECTIONISTS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="600" height="428" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1><big>THE PERFECTIONISTS</big></h1> + +<h2>By ARNOLD CASTLE</h2> + +<p class="illo"><small><b>ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS</b></small></p> + +<div class="tease"><b><i>Is there something wrong with you? +Do you fail to fit in with your group? +Nervous, anxious, ill-at-ease? Happy +about it? Lucky you!</i></b></div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Frank Pembroke</span> sat behind +the desk of his shabby +little office over Lemark's Liquors +in downtown Los Angeles and +waited for his first customer. He +had been in business for a week +and as yet had had no callers. +Therefore, it was with a mingled +sense of excitement and satisfaction +that he greeted the tall, +dark, smooth-faced figure that +came up the stairs and into the +office shortly before noon.</p> + +<p>"Good day, sir," said Pembroke +with an amiable smile. "I +see my advertisement has interested +you. Please stand in that +corner for just a moment."</p> + +<p>Opening the desk drawer, +which was almost empty, Pembroke +removed an automatic pistol +fitted with a silencer. Pointing +it at the amazed customer, he +fired four .22 caliber longs into +the narrow chest. Then he made +a telephone call and sat down to +wait. He wondered how long it +would be before his next client +would arrive.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The series of events leading up +to Pembroke's present occupation +had commenced on a dismal, +overcast evening in the South +Pacific a year earlier. Bound for +Sydney, two days out of Valparaiso, +the Colombian tramp +steamer <i>Elena Mia</i> had encountered +a dense greenish fog which +seemed vaguely redolent of citrus +trees. Standing on the forward +deck, Pembroke was one of the +first to perceive the peculiar odor +and to spot the immense gray +hulk wallowing in the murky distance.</p> + +<p>Then the explosion had come, +from far below the waterline, +and the decks were awash with +frantic crewmen, officers, and the +handful of passengers. Only two +lifeboats were launched before +the <i>Elena Mia</i> went down. Pembroke +was in the second. The +roar of the sinking ship was the +last thing he heard for some +time.</p> + +<p>Pembroke came as close to being +a professional adventurer as +one can in these days of regimented +travel, organized peril, +and political restriction. He had +made for himself a substantial +fortune through speculation in a +great variety of properties, real +and otherwise. Life had given +him much and demanded little, +which was perhaps the reason +for his restiveness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Loyalty to person or to people +was a trait Pembroke had never +recognized in himself, nor had it +ever been expected of him. And +yet he greatly envied those +staunch patriots and lovers who +could find it in themselves to +elevate the glory and safety of +others above that of themselves.</p> + +<p>Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke +adapted quickly to the situation +in which he found himself +when he regained consciousness. +He awoke in a small room in +what appeared to be a typical +modern American hotel. The wallet +in his pocket contained exactly +what it should, approximately +three hundred dollars. +His next thought was of food. +He left the room and descended +via the elevator to the restaurant. +Here he observed that it +was early afternoon. Ordering +a full dinner, for he was unusually +hungry, he began to study the +others in the restaurant.</p> + +<p>Many of the faces seemed familiar; +the crew of the ship, +probably. He also recognized several +of the passengers. However, +he made no attempt to speak to +them. After his meal, he bought +a good corona and went for a +walk. His situation could have +been any small western American +seacoast city. He heard the hiss +of the ocean in the direction the +afternoon sun was taking. In his +full-gaited walk, he was soon approaching +the beach.</p> + +<p>On the sand he saw a number +of sun bathers. One in particular, +an attractive woman of about +thirty, tossed back her long, +chestnut locks and gazed up intently +at Pembroke as he passed. +Seldom had he enjoyed so ingenuous +an invitation. He halted +and stared down at her for a few +moments.</p> + +<p>"You are looking for someone?" +she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Much of the time," said the +man.</p> + +<p>"Could it be me?"</p> + +<p>"It could be."</p> + +<p>"Yet you seem unsure," she +said.</p> + +<p>Pembroke smiled, uneasily. +There was something not entirely +normal about her conversation. +Though the rest of her compensated +for that.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what's wrong with +me," she went on urgently. "I'm +not good enough, am I? I mean, +there's something wrong with +the way I look or act. Isn't there? +Please help me, please!"</p> + +<p>"You're not casual enough, for +one thing," said Pembroke, deciding +to play along with her for +the moment. "You're too tense. +Also you're a bit knock-kneed, +not that it matters. Is that what +you wanted to hear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—I mean, I suppose +so. I can try to be more casual. +But I don't know what to do +about my knees," she said wistfully, +staring across at the +smooth, tan limbs. "Do you think +I'm okay otherwise? I mean, as a +whole I'm not so bad, am I? Oh, +please tell me."</p> + +<p>"How about talking it over at +supper tonight?" Pembroke proposed. +"Maybe with less distraction +I'll have a better picture of +you—as a whole."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's very generous of +you," the woman told him. She +scribbled a name and an address +on a small piece of paper and +handed it to him. "Any time +after six," she said.</p> + +<p>Pembroke left the beach and +walked through several small +specialty shops. He tried to get +the woman off his mind, but the +oddness of her conversation continued +to bother him. She was +right about being different, but +it was her concern about being +different that made her so. How +to explain <i>that</i> to her?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Then he saw the weird little +glass statuette among the usual +bric-a-brac. It rather resembled +a ground hog, had seven fingers +on each of its six limbs, and +smiled up at him as he stared.</p> + +<p>"Can I help you, sir?" a middle-aged +saleswoman inquired. +"Oh, good heavens, whatever is +that thing doing here?"</p> + +<p>Pembroke watched with lifted +eyebrows as the clerk whisked +the bizarre statuette underneath +the counter.</p> + +<p>"What the hell was that?" +Pembroke demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you know—or don't you? +Oh, my," she concluded, "are you +one of the—strangers?"</p> + +<p>"And if I were?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd certainly appreciate +it if you'd tell me how I walk."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>She came around in front of +the counter and strutted back +and forth a few times.</p> + +<p>"They tell me I lean too far +forward," she confided. "But I +should think you'd fall down if +you didn't."</p> + +<p>"Don't try to go so fast and +you won't fall down," suggested +Pembroke. "You're in too much +of a hurry. Also those fake flowers +on your blouse make you look +frumpy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm supposed to look +frumpy," the woman retorted. +"That's the type of person I am. +But you can look frumpy and still +walk natural, can't you? Everyone +says you can."</p> + +<p>"Well, they've got a point," +said Pembroke. "Incidentally, +just where are we, anyway? +What city is this?"</p> + +<p>"Puerto Pacifico," she told +him. "Isn't that a lovely name? +It means peaceful port. In Spanish."</p> + +<p>That was fine. At least he now +knew where he was. But as he +left the shop he began checking +off every west coast state, city, +town, and inlet. None, to the best +of his knowledge, was called +Puerto Pacifico.</p> + +<p>He headed for the nearest +service station and asked for a +map. The attendant gave him one +which showed the city, but nothing +beyond.</p> + +<p>"Which way is it to San Francisco?" +asked Pembroke.</p> + +<p>"That all depends on where +you are," the boy returned.</p> + +<p>"Okay, then where am I?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, there's a customer," +the boy said. "This is +Puerto Pacifico."</p> + +<p>Pembroke watched him hurry +off to service a car with a sense +of having been given the runaround. +To his surprise, the boy +came back a few minutes later +after servicing the automobile.</p> + +<p>"Say, I've just figured out who +you are," the youngster told him. +"I'd sure appreciate it if you'd +give me a little help on my lingo. +Also, you gas up the car first, +then try to sell 'em the oil—right?"</p> + +<p>"Right," said Pembroke wearily. +"What's wrong with your +lingo? Other than the fact that +it's not colloquial enough."</p> + +<p>"Not enough slang, huh? Well, +I guess I'll have to concentrate +on that. How about the smile?"</p> + +<p>"Perfect," Pembroke told him.</p> + +<p>"Yeah?" said the boy delightedly. +"Say, come back again, +huh? I sure appreciate the help. +Keep the map."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. One more thing," +Pembroke said. "What's over +that way—outside the city?"</p> + +<p>"Sand."</p> + +<p>"How about that way?" he +asked, pointing north. "And that +way?" pointing south.</p> + +<p>"More of the same."</p> + +<p>"Any railroads?"</p> + +<p>"That we ain't got."</p> + +<p>"Buses? Airlines?"</p> + +<p>The kid shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Some city."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, it's kinda isolated. A +lot of ships dock here, though."</p> + +<p>"All cargo ships, I'll bet. No +passengers," said Pembroke.</p> + +<p>"Right," said the attendant, +giving with his perfect smile.</p> + +<p>"No getting out of here, is +there?"</p> + +<p>"That's for sure," the boy said, +walking away to wait on another +customer. "If you don't like the +place, you've had it."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Pembroke returned to the +hotel. Going to the bar, he recognized +one of the <i>Elena Mia's</i> paying +passengers. He was a short, +rectangular little man in his fifties +named Spencer. He sat in a +booth with three young women, +all lovely, all effusive. The topic +of the conversation turned out +to be precisely what Pembroke +had predicted.</p> + +<p>"Well, Louisa, I'd say your +only fault is the way you keep +wigglin' your shoulders up 'n' +down. Why'n'sha try holdin' 'em +straight?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it made me look +sexy," the redhead said petulantly.</p> + +<p>"Just be yourself, gal," Spencer +drawled, jabbing her intimately +with a fat elbow, "and +you'll qualify."</p> + +<p>"Me, me," the blonde with a +feather cut was insisting. "What +is wrong with me?"</p> + +<p>"You're perfect, sweetheart," +he told her, taking her hand.</p> + +<p>"Ah, come on," she pleaded. +"Everyone tells me I chew gum +with my mouth open. Don't you +hate that?"</p> + +<p>"Naw, that's part of your +charm," Spencer assured her.</p> + +<p>"How 'bout me, sugar," asked +the girl with the coal black hair.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you're perfect, too. You +are all perfect. I've never seen +such a collection of dolls as parade +around this here city. +C'mon, kids—how 'bout another +round?"</p> + +<p>But the dolls had apparently +lost interest in him. They got up +one by one and walked out of the +bar. Pembroke took his rum and +tonic and moved over to Spencer's +booth.</p> + +<p>"Okay if I join you?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the fat man. +"Wonder what the hell got into +those babes?"</p> + +<p>"You said they were perfect. +They know they're not. You've +got to be rough with them in this +town," said Pembroke. "That's +all they want from us."</p> + +<p>"Mister, you've been doing +some thinkin', I can see," said +Spencer, peering at him suspiciously. +"Maybe you've figured +out where we are."</p> + +<p>"Your bet's as good as mine," +said Pembroke. "It's not Wellington, +and it's not Brisbane, and +it's not Long Beach, and it's not +Tahiti. There are a lot of places +it's not. But where the hell it is, +you tell me.</p> + +<p>"And, by the way," he added, +"I hope you like it in Puerto +Pacifico. Because there isn't any +place to go from here and there +isn't any way to get there if +there were."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, gentlemen, but +I'm Joe Valencia, manager of the +hotel. I would be very grateful if +you would give me a few minutes +of honest criticism."</p> + +<p>"Ah, no, not you, too," groaned +Spencer. "Look, Joe, what's +the gag?"</p> + +<p>"You are newcomers, Mr. +Spencer," Valencia explained. +"You are therefore in an excellent +position to point out our +faults as you see them."</p> + +<p>"Well, so what?" demanded +Spencer. "I've got more important +things to do than to worry +about your troubles. You look +okay to me."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Valencia," said Pembroke. +"I've noticed that you +walk with a very slight limp. If +you have a bad leg, I should +think you would do better to develop +a more pronounced limp. +Otherwise, you may appear to +be self-conscious about it."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Spencer opened his mouth to +protest, but saw with amazement +that it was exactly this that +Valencia was seeking. Pembroke +was amused at his companion's +reaction but observed that Spencer +still failed to see the point.</p> + +<p>"Also, there is a certain effeminateness +in the way in which +you speak," said Pembroke. "Try +to be a little more direct, a little +more brusque. Speak in a monotone. +It will make you more acceptable."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so much," said the +manager. "There is much food +for thought in what you have +said, Mr. Pembroke. However, +Mr. Spencer, your value has failed +to prove itself. You have only +yourself to blame. Cooperation is +all we require of you."</p> + +<p>Valencia left. Spencer ordered +another martini. Neither he nor +Pembroke spoke for several minutes.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's crazy around +here," the fat man muttered +after a few moments. "Is it me, +Frank?"</p> + +<p>"No. You just don't belong +here, in this particular place," +said Pembroke thoughtfully. +"You're the wrong type. But they +couldn't know that ahead of time. +The way they operate it's a +pretty hit-or-miss operation. But +they don't care one bit about us, +Spencer. Consider the men who +went down with the ship. That +was just part of the game."</p> + +<p>"What the hell are you sayin'?" +asked Spencer in disbelief. +"You figure <i>they</i> sunk the ship? +Valencia and the waitress and +the three babes? Ah, come on."</p> + +<p>"It's what you think that will +determine what you do, Spencer. +I suggest you change your attitude; +play along with them for a +few days till the picture becomes +a little clearer to you. We'll talk +about it again then."</p> + +<p>Pembroke rose and started out +of the bar. A policeman entered +and walked directly to Spencer's +table. Loitering at the juke box, +Pembroke overheard the conversation.</p> + +<p>"You Spencer?"</p> + +<p>"That's right," said the fat +man sullenly.</p> + +<p>"What don't you like about +me? The <i>truth</i>, buddy."</p> + +<p>"Ah, hell! Nothin' wrong +with you at all, and nothin'll +make me say there is," said Spencer.</p> + +<p>"You're the guy, all right. Too +bad, Mac," said the cop.</p> + +<p>Pembroke heard the shots as +he strolled casually out into the +brightness of the hotel lobby. +While he waited for the elevator, +he saw them carrying the body +into the street. How many others, +he wondered, had gone out on +their backs during their first day +in Puerto Pacifico?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Pembroke shaved, showered, +and put on the new suit and shirt +he had bought. Then he took +Mary Ann, the woman he had +met on the beach, out to dinner. +She would look magnificent even +when fully clothed, he decided, +and the pale chartreuse gown she +wore hardly placed her in that +category. Her conversation seemed +considerably more normal +after the other denizens of +Puerto Pacifico Pembroke had +listened to that afternoon.</p> + +<p>After eating they danced for +an hour, had a few more drinks, +then went to Pembroke's room. +He still knew nothing about her +and had almost exhausted his +critical capabilities, but not once +had she become annoyed with +him. She seemed to devour every +factual point of imperfection +about herself that Pembroke +brought to her attention. And, +fantastically enough, she actually +appeared to have overcome every +little imperfection he had been +able to communicate to her.</p> + +<p>It was in the privacy of his +room that Pembroke became +aware of just how perfect, physically, +Mary Ann was. Too perfect. +No freckles or moles anywhere +on the visible surface of +her brown skin, which was more +than a mere sampling. Furthermore, +her face and body were +meticulously symmetrical. And +she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous.</p> + +<p>"With so many beautiful +women in Puerto Pacifico," said +Pembroke probingly, "I find it +hard to understand why there are +so few children."</p> + +<p>"Yes, children are decorative, +aren't they," said Mary Ann. "I +do wish there were more of +them."</p> + +<p>"Why not have a couple of +your own?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they're only given to maternal +types. I'd never get one. +Anyway, I won't ever marry," +she said. "I'm the paramour +type."</p> + +<p>It was obvious that the liquor +had been having some effect. +Either that, or she had a basic +flaw of loquacity that no one else +had discovered. Pembroke decided +he would have to cover his +tracks carefully.</p> + +<p>"What type am I?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Silly, you're real. You're not +a type at all."</p> + +<p>"Mary Ann, I love you very +much," Pembroke murmured, +gambling everything on this one +throw. "When you go to Earth +I'll miss you terribly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you'll be dead by +then," she pouted. "So I mustn't +fall in love with you. I don't want +to be miserable."</p> + +<p>"If I pretended I was one of +you, if I left on the boat with +you, they'd let me go to Earth +with you. Wouldn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'm sure they would."</p> + +<p>"Mary Ann, you have two +other flaws I feel I should mention."</p> + +<p>"Yes? Please tell me."</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said Pembroke, +"you should be willing to +fall in love with me even if it +will eventually make you unhappy. +How can you be the paramour +type if you refuse to fall in +love foolishly? And when you +have fallen in love, you should be +very loyal."</p> + +<p>"I'll try," she said unsurely. +"What else?"</p> + +<p>"The other thing is that, as +my mistress, you must never +mention me to anyone. It would +place me in great danger."</p> + +<p>"I'll never tell anyone anything +about you," she promised.</p> + +<p>"Now try to love me," Pembroke +said, drawing her into his +arms and kissing with little +pleasure the smooth, warm perfection +of her tanned cheeks. +"Love me my sweet, beautiful, +affectionate Mary Ann. My paramour."</p> + +<p>Making love to Mary Ann was +something short of ecstasy. Not +for any obvious reason, but because +of subtle little factors that +make a woman a woman. Mary +Ann had no pulse. Mary Ann did +not perspire. Mary Ann did not +fatigue gradually but all at once. +Mary Ann breathed regularly +under all circumstances. Mary +Ann talked and talked and talked. +But then, Mary Ann was not +a human being.</p> + +<p>When she left the hotel at midnight, +Pembroke was quite sure +that she understood his plan and +that she was irrevocably in love +with him. Tomorrow might bring +his death, but it might also ensure +his escape. After forty-two +years of searching for a passion, +for a cause, for a loyalty, Frank +Pembroke had at last found his. +Earth and the human race that +peopled it. And Mary Ann would +help him to save it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The next morning Pembroke +talked to Valencia about hunting. +He said that he planned to go +shooting out on the desert which +surrounded the city. Valencia +told him that there were no living +creatures anywhere but in +the city. Pembroke said he was +going out anyway.</p> + +<p>He picked up Mary Ann at her +apartment and together they +went to a sporting goods store. +As he guessed there was a goodly +selection of firearms, despite the +fact that there was nothing to +hunt and only a single target +range within the city. Everything, +of course, had to be just +like Earth. That, after all, was +the purpose of Puerto Pacifico.</p> + +<p>By noon they had rented a +jeep and were well away from +the city. Pembroke and Mary +Ann took turns firing at the paper +targets they had purchased. At +twilight they headed back to the +city. On the outskirts, where the +sand and soil were mixed and no +footprints would be left, Pembroke +hopped off. Mary Ann +would go straight to the police +and report that Pembroke had attacked +her and that she had shot +him. If necessary, she would conduct +the authorities to the place +where they had been target +shooting, but would be unable to +locate the spot where she had +buried the body. Why had she +buried it? Because at first she +was not going to report the incident. +She was frightened. It +was not airtight, but there would +probably be no further investigation. +And they certainly would +not prosecute Mary Ann for killing +an Earthman.</p> + +<p>Now Pembroke had himself to +worry about. The first step was +to enter smoothly into the new +life he had planned. It wouldn't +be so comfortable as the previous +one, but should be considerably +safer. He headed slowly for the +"old" part of town, aging his +clothes against buildings and +fences as he walked. He had already +torn the collar of the shirt +and discarded his belt. By morning +his beard would grow to +blacken his face. And he would +look weary and hungry and aimless. +Only the last would be a deception.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Two weeks later Pembroke +phoned Mary Ann. The police +had accepted her story without +even checking. And when, when +would she be seeing him again? +He had aroused her passion and +no amount of long-distance love +could requite it. Soon, he assured +her, soon.</p> + +<p>"Because, after all, you do owe +me something," she added.</p> + +<p>And that was bad because it +sounded as if she had been giving +some womanly thought to the situation. +A little more of that and +she might go to the police again, +this time for vengeance.</p> + +<p>Twice during his wanderings +Pembroke had seen the corpses +of Earthmen being carted out of +buildings. They had to be Earthmen +because they bled. Mary Ann +had admitted that she did not. +There would be very few Earthmen +left in Puerto Pacifico, and +it would be simple enough to locate +him if he were reported as +being on the loose. There was +no out but to do away with Mary +Ann.</p> + +<p>Pembroke headed for the +beach. He knew she invariably +went there in the afternoon. He +loitered around the stalls where +hot dogs and soft drinks were +sold, leaning against a post in +the hot sun, hat pulled down over +his forehead. Then he noticed +that people all about him were +talking excitedly. They were discussing +a ship. It was leaving +that afternoon. Anyone who +could pass the interview would +be sent to Earth.</p> + +<p>Pembroke had visited the +docks every day, without being +able to learn when the great +exodus would take place. Yet he +was certain the first lap would be +by water rather than by spaceship, +since no one he had talked +to in the city had ever heard of +spaceships. In fact, they knew +very little about their masters.</p> + +<p>Now the ship had arrived and +was to leave shortly. If there was +any but the most superficial examination, +Pembroke would no +doubt be discovered and exterminated. +But since no one seemed +concerned about anything but his +own speech and behavior, he assumed +that they had all qualified +in every other respect. The reason +for transporting Earth People +to this planet was, of course, +to apply a corrective to any of +the Pacificos' aberrant mannerisms +or articulation. This was +the polishing up phase.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Pembroke began hobbling toward +the docks. Almost at once +he found himself face to face +with Mary Ann. She smiled happily +when she recognized him. +<i>That</i> was a good thing.</p> + +<p>"It is a sign of poor breeding +to smile at tramps," Pembroke +admonished her in a whisper. +"Walk on ahead."</p> + +<p>She obeyed. He followed. The +crowd grew thicker. They neared +the docks and Pembroke saw that +there were now set up on the +roped-off wharves small interviewing +booths. When it was +their turn, he and Mary Ann +each went into separate ones. +Pembroke found himself alone in +the little room.</p> + +<p>Then he saw that there was +another entity in his presence +confined beneath a glass dome. It +looked rather like a groundhog +and had seven fingers on each of +its six limbs. But it was larger +and hairier than the glass one +he had seen at the gift store. +With four of its limbs it tapped +on an intricate keyboard in front +of it.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" queried +a metallic voice from a speaker +on the wall.</p> + +<p>"I'm Jerry Newton. Got no +middle initial," Pembroke said in +a surly voice.</p> + +<p>"Occupation?"</p> + +<p>"I work a lot o' trades. Fisherman, +fruit picker, fightin' range +fires, vineyards, car washer. Anything. +You name it. Been out of +work for a long time now, +though. Goin' on five months. +These here are hard times, no +matter what they say."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of the +Chinese situation?" the voice inquired.</p> + +<p>"Which situation's 'at?"</p> + +<p>"Where's Seattle?"</p> + +<p>"Seattle? State o' Washington."</p> + +<p>And so it went for about five +minutes. Then he was told he +had qualified as a satisfactory +surrogate for a mid-twentieth +century American male, itinerant +type.</p> + +<p>"You understand your mission, +Newton?" the voice asked. "You +are to establish yourself on +Earth. In time you will receive +instructions. Then you will attack. +You will not see us, your +masters, again until the atmosphere +has been sufficiently chlorinated. +In the meantime, serve +us well."</p> + +<p>He stumbled out toward the +docks, then looked about for +Mary Ann. He saw her at last +behind the ropes, her lovely face +in tears.</p> + +<p>Then she saw him. Waving +frantically, she called his name +several times. Pembroke mingled +with the crowd moving toward +the ship, ignoring her. But still +the woman persisted in her +shouting.</p> + +<p>Sidling up to a well-dressed +man-about-town type, Pembroke +winked at him and snickered.</p> + +<p>"You Frank?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Hell, no. But some poor +punk's sure red in the face, I'll +bet," the man-about-town said +with a chuckle. "Those high-strung +paramour types always +raising a ruckus. They never do +pass the interview. Don't know +why they even make 'em."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mary Ann was quiet.</p> + +<p>"Ambulance squad," Pembroke's +companion explained. +"They'll take her off to the buggy +house for a few days and bring +her out fresh and ignorant as the +day she was assembled. Don't +know why they keep making 'em, +as I say. But I guess there's a +call for that type up there on +Earth."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, I reckon there is at +that," said Pembroke, snickering +again as he moved away from the +other. "And why not? Hey? +Why not?"</p> + +<p>Pembroke went right on hating +himself, however, till the +night he was deposited in a field +outside of Ensenada, broke but +happy, with two other itinerant +types. They separated in San +Diego, and it was not long before +Pembroke was explaining to the +police how he had drifted far +from the scene of the sinking of +the <i>Elena Mia</i> on a piece of +wreckage, and had been picked +up by a Chilean trawler. How he +had then made his way, with +much suffering, up the coast to +California. Two days later, his +identity established and his circumstances +again solvent, he was +headed for Los Angeles to begin +his save-Earth campaign.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Now, seated at his battered +desk in the shabby rented office +over Lemark's Liquors, Pembroke +gazed without emotion at +the two demolished Pacificos that +lay sprawled one atop the other +in the corner. His watch said +one-fifteen. The man from the +FBI should arrive soon.</p> + +<p>There were footsteps on the +stairs for the third time that +day. Not the brisk, efficient steps +of a federal official, but the hesitant, +self-conscious steps of a +junior clerk type.</p> + +<p>Pembroke rose as the young +man appeared at the door. His +face was smooth, unpimpled, +clean-shaven, without sweat on a +warm summer afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Are you Dr. Von Schubert?" +the newcomer asked, peering into +the room. "You see, I've got a +problem—"</p> + +<p>The four shots from Pembroke's +pistol solved his problem +effectively. Pembroke tossed his +third victim onto the pile, then +opened a can of lager, quaffing +it appreciatively. Seating himself +once more, he leaned back in +the chair, both feet upon the +desk.</p> + +<p>He would be out of business +soon, once the FBI agent had got +there. Pembroke was only in it to +get the proof he would need to +convince people of the truth of +his tale. But in the meantime he +allowed himself to admire the +clipping of the newspaper ad he +had run in all the Los Angeles +papers for the past week. The +little ad that had saved mankind +from God-knew-what insidious +menace. It read:</p> + +<p class="illo">ARE YOU IMPERFECT?</p> + +<p class="center">LET DR. VON SCHUBERT POINT OUT<br /> +YOUR FLAWS</p> + +<p class="center">IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE<br /> +AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE</p> + +<p class="center">FEE—$3.75</p> + +<p class="center">MONEY BACK IF NOT SATISFIED!</p> + +<p class="theend">THE END</p> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> + +This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Science Fiction Stories</i> +January 1960. 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.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECTIONISTS *** + +***** This file should be named 24977-h.htm or 24977-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/7/24977/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Perfectionists + +Author: Arnold Castle + +Illustrator: Leo Summers + +Release Date: April 2, 2008 [EBook #24977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECTIONISTS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +THE PERFECTIONISTS + +By ARNOLD CASTLE + + +ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS + + + _Is there something wrong with you? + Do you fail to fit in with your group? + Nervous, anxious, ill-at-ease? Happy + about it? Lucky you!_ + + +Frank Pembroke sat behind the desk of his shabby little office over +Lemark's Liquors in downtown Los Angeles and waited for his first +customer. He had been in business for a week and as yet had had no +callers. Therefore, it was with a mingled sense of excitement and +satisfaction that he greeted the tall, dark, smooth-faced figure that +came up the stairs and into the office shortly before noon. + +"Good day, sir," said Pembroke with an amiable smile. "I see my +advertisement has interested you. Please stand in that corner for just a +moment." + +Opening the desk drawer, which was almost empty, Pembroke removed an +automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. Pointing it at the amazed +customer, he fired four .22 caliber longs into the narrow chest. Then he +made a telephone call and sat down to wait. He wondered how long it +would be before his next client would arrive. + + * * * * * + +The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation had +commenced on a dismal, overcast evening in the South Pacific a year +earlier. Bound for Sydney, two days out of Valparaiso, the Colombian +tramp steamer _Elena Mia_ had encountered a dense greenish fog which +seemed vaguely redolent of citrus trees. Standing on the forward deck, +Pembroke was one of the first to perceive the peculiar odor and to spot +the immense gray hulk wallowing in the murky distance. + +Then the explosion had come, from far below the waterline, and the decks +were awash with frantic crewmen, officers, and the handful of +passengers. Only two lifeboats were launched before the _Elena Mia_ went +down. Pembroke was in the second. The roar of the sinking ship was the +last thing he heard for some time. + +Pembroke came as close to being a professional adventurer as one can in +these days of regimented travel, organized peril, and political +restriction. He had made for himself a substantial fortune through +speculation in a great variety of properties, real and otherwise. Life +had given him much and demanded little, which was perhaps the reason for +his restiveness. + + * * * * * + +Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized +in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. And yet he greatly +envied those staunch patriots and lovers who could find it in themselves +to elevate the glory and safety of others above that of themselves. + +Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke adapted quickly to the situation in +which he found himself when he regained consciousness. He awoke in a +small room in what appeared to be a typical modern American hotel. The +wallet in his pocket contained exactly what it should, approximately +three hundred dollars. His next thought was of food. He left the room +and descended via the elevator to the restaurant. Here he observed that +it was early afternoon. Ordering a full dinner, for he was unusually +hungry, he began to study the others in the restaurant. + +Many of the faces seemed familiar; the crew of the ship, probably. He +also recognized several of the passengers. However, he made no attempt +to speak to them. After his meal, he bought a good corona and went for a +walk. His situation could have been any small western American seacoast +city. He heard the hiss of the ocean in the direction the afternoon sun +was taking. In his full-gaited walk, he was soon approaching the beach. + +On the sand he saw a number of sun bathers. One in particular, an +attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks +and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. Seldom had he enjoyed so +ingenuous an invitation. He halted and stared down at her for a few +moments. + +"You are looking for someone?" she inquired. + +"Much of the time," said the man. + +"Could it be me?" + +"It could be." + +"Yet you seem unsure," she said. + +Pembroke smiled, uneasily. There was something not entirely normal about +her conversation. Though the rest of her compensated for that. + +"Tell me what's wrong with me," she went on urgently. "I'm not good +enough, am I? I mean, there's something wrong with the way I look or +act. Isn't there? Please help me, please!" + +"You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to +play along with her for the moment. "You're too tense. Also you're a bit +knock-kneed, not that it matters. Is that what you wanted to hear?" + +"Yes, yes--I mean, I suppose so. I can try to be more casual. But I +don't know what to do about my knees," she said wistfully, staring +across at the smooth, tan limbs. "Do you think I'm okay otherwise? I +mean, as a whole I'm not so bad, am I? Oh, please tell me." + +"How about talking it over at supper tonight?" Pembroke proposed. "Maybe +with less distraction I'll have a better picture of you--as a whole." + +"Oh, that's very generous of you," the woman told him. She scribbled a +name and an address on a small piece of paper and handed it to him. "Any +time after six," she said. + +Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small specialty +shops. He tried to get the woman off his mind, but the oddness of her +conversation continued to bother him. She was right about being +different, but it was her concern about being different that made her +so. How to explain _that_ to her? + + * * * * * + +Then he saw the weird little glass statuette among the usual +bric-a-brac. It rather resembled a ground hog, had seven fingers on each +of its six limbs, and smiled up at him as he stared. + +"Can I help you, sir?" a middle-aged saleswoman inquired. "Oh, good +heavens, whatever is that thing doing here?" + +Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre +statuette underneath the counter. + +"What the hell was that?" Pembroke demanded. + +"Oh, you know--or don't you? Oh, my," she concluded, "are you one of +the--strangers?" + +"And if I were?" + +"Well, I'd certainly appreciate it if you'd tell me how I walk." + + * * * * * + +She came around in front of the counter and strutted back and forth a +few times. + +"They tell me I lean too far forward," she confided. "But I should think +you'd fall down if you didn't." + +"Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down," suggested Pembroke. +"You're in too much of a hurry. Also those fake flowers on your blouse +make you look frumpy." + +"Well, I'm supposed to look frumpy," the woman retorted. "That's the +type of person I am. But you can look frumpy and still walk natural, +can't you? Everyone says you can." + +"Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Incidentally, just where +are we, anyway? What city is this?" + +"Puerto Pacifico," she told him. "Isn't that a lovely name? It means +peaceful port. In Spanish." + +That was fine. At least he now knew where he was. But as he left the +shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and +inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico. + +He headed for the nearest service station and asked for a map. The +attendant gave him one which showed the city, but nothing beyond. + +"Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke. + +"That all depends on where you are," the boy returned. + +"Okay, then where am I?" + +"Pardon me, there's a customer," the boy said. "This is Puerto +Pacifico." + +Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having +been given the runaround. To his surprise, the boy came back a few +minutes later after servicing the automobile. + +"Say, I've just figured out who you are," the youngster told him. "I'd +sure appreciate it if you'd give me a little help on my lingo. Also, you +gas up the car first, then try to sell 'em the oil--right?" + +"Right," said Pembroke wearily. "What's wrong with your lingo? Other +than the fact that it's not colloquial enough." + +"Not enough slang, huh? Well, I guess I'll have to concentrate on that. +How about the smile?" + +"Perfect," Pembroke told him. + +"Yeah?" said the boy delightedly. "Say, come back again, huh? I sure +appreciate the help. Keep the map." + +"Thanks. One more thing," Pembroke said. "What's over that way--outside +the city?" + +"Sand." + +"How about that way?" he asked, pointing north. "And that way?" pointing +south. + +"More of the same." + +"Any railroads?" + +"That we ain't got." + +"Buses? Airlines?" + +The kid shook his head. + +"Some city." + +"Yeah, it's kinda isolated. A lot of ships dock here, though." + +"All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke. + +"Right," said the attendant, giving with his perfect smile. + +"No getting out of here, is there?" + +"That's for sure," the boy said, walking away to wait on another +customer. "If you don't like the place, you've had it." + + * * * * * + +Pembroke returned to the hotel. Going to the bar, he recognized one of +the _Elena Mia's_ paying passengers. He was a short, rectangular little +man in his fifties named Spencer. He sat in a booth with three young +women, all lovely, all effusive. The topic of the conversation turned +out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted. + +"Well, Louisa, I'd say your only fault is the way you keep wigglin' your +shoulders up 'n' down. Why'n'sha try holdin' 'em straight?" + +"I thought it made me look sexy," the redhead said petulantly. + +"Just be yourself, gal," Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with a +fat elbow, "and you'll qualify." + +"Me, me," the blonde with a feather cut was insisting. "What is wrong +with me?" + +"You're perfect, sweetheart," he told her, taking her hand. + +"Ah, come on," she pleaded. "Everyone tells me I chew gum with my mouth +open. Don't you hate that?" + +"Naw, that's part of your charm," Spencer assured her. + +"How 'bout me, sugar," asked the girl with the coal black hair. + +"Ah, you're perfect, too. You are all perfect. I've never seen such a +collection of dolls as parade around this here city. C'mon, kids--how +'bout another round?" + +But the dolls had apparently lost interest in him. They got up one by +one and walked out of the bar. Pembroke took his rum and tonic and moved +over to Spencer's booth. + +"Okay if I join you?" + +"Sure," said the fat man. "Wonder what the hell got into those babes?" + +"You said they were perfect. They know they're not. You've got to be +rough with them in this town," said Pembroke. "That's all they want from +us." + +"Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see," said Spencer, +peering at him suspiciously. "Maybe you've figured out where we are." + +"Your bet's as good as mine," said Pembroke. "It's not Wellington, and +it's not Brisbane, and it's not Long Beach, and it's not Tahiti. There +are a lot of places it's not. But where the hell it is, you tell me. + +"And, by the way," he added, "I hope you like it in Puerto Pacifico. +Because there isn't any place to go from here and there isn't any way to +get there if there were." + +"Pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm Joe Valencia, manager of the hotel. I +would be very grateful if you would give me a few minutes of honest +criticism." + +"Ah, no, not you, too," groaned Spencer. "Look, Joe, what's the gag?" + +"You are newcomers, Mr. Spencer," Valencia explained. "You are therefore +in an excellent position to point out our faults as you see them." + +"Well, so what?" demanded Spencer. "I've got more important things to do +than to worry about your troubles. You look okay to me." + +"Mr. Valencia," said Pembroke. "I've noticed that you walk with a very +slight limp. If you have a bad leg, I should think you would do better +to develop a more pronounced limp. Otherwise, you may appear to be +self-conscious about it." + + * * * * * + +Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it was +exactly this that Valencia was seeking. Pembroke was amused at his +companion's reaction but observed that Spencer still failed to see the +point. + +"Also, there is a certain effeminateness in the way in which you speak," +said Pembroke. "Try to be a little more direct, a little more brusque. +Speak in a monotone. It will make you more acceptable." + +"Thank you so much," said the manager. "There is much food for thought +in what you have said, Mr. Pembroke. However, Mr. Spencer, your value +has failed to prove itself. You have only yourself to blame. Cooperation +is all we require of you." + +Valencia left. Spencer ordered another martini. Neither he nor Pembroke +spoke for several minutes. + +"Somebody's crazy around here," the fat man muttered after a few +moments. "Is it me, Frank?" + +"No. You just don't belong here, in this particular place," said +Pembroke thoughtfully. "You're the wrong type. But they couldn't know +that ahead of time. The way they operate it's a pretty hit-or-miss +operation. But they don't care one bit about us, Spencer. Consider the +men who went down with the ship. That was just part of the game." + +"What the hell are you sayin'?" asked Spencer in disbelief. "You figure +_they_ sunk the ship? Valencia and the waitress and the three babes? Ah, +come on." + +"It's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer. I suggest +you change your attitude; play along with them for a few days till the +picture becomes a little clearer to you. We'll talk about it again +then." + +Pembroke rose and started out of the bar. A policeman entered and walked +directly to Spencer's table. Loitering at the juke box, Pembroke +overheard the conversation. + +"You Spencer?" + +"That's right," said the fat man sullenly. + +"What don't you like about me? The _truth_, buddy." + +"Ah, hell! Nothin' wrong with you at all, and nothin'll make me say +there is," said Spencer. + +"You're the guy, all right. Too bad, Mac," said the cop. + +Pembroke heard the shots as he strolled casually out into the brightness +of the hotel lobby. While he waited for the elevator, he saw them +carrying the body into the street. How many others, he wondered, had +gone out on their backs during their first day in Puerto Pacifico? + + * * * * * + +Pembroke shaved, showered, and put on the new suit and shirt he had +bought. Then he took Mary Ann, the woman he had met on the beach, out to +dinner. She would look magnificent even when fully clothed, he decided, +and the pale chartreuse gown she wore hardly placed her in that +category. Her conversation seemed considerably more normal after the +other denizens of Puerto Pacifico Pembroke had listened to that +afternoon. + +After eating they danced for an hour, had a few more drinks, then went +to Pembroke's room. He still knew nothing about her and had almost +exhausted his critical capabilities, but not once had she become annoyed +with him. She seemed to devour every factual point of imperfection about +herself that Pembroke brought to her attention. And, fantastically +enough, she actually appeared to have overcome every little imperfection +he had been able to communicate to her. + +It was in the privacy of his room that Pembroke became aware of just how +perfect, physically, Mary Ann was. Too perfect. No freckles or moles +anywhere on the visible surface of her brown skin, which was more than a +mere sampling. Furthermore, her face and body were meticulously +symmetrical. And she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous. + +"With so many beautiful women in Puerto Pacifico," said Pembroke +probingly, "I find it hard to understand why there are so few children." + +"Yes, children are decorative, aren't they," said Mary Ann. "I do wish +there were more of them." + +"Why not have a couple of your own?" he asked. + +"Oh, they're only given to maternal types. I'd never get one. Anyway, I +won't ever marry," she said. "I'm the paramour type." + +It was obvious that the liquor had been having some effect. Either that, +or she had a basic flaw of loquacity that no one else had discovered. +Pembroke decided he would have to cover his tracks carefully. + +"What type am I?" he asked. + +"Silly, you're real. You're not a type at all." + +"Mary Ann, I love you very much," Pembroke murmured, gambling +everything on this one throw. "When you go to Earth I'll miss you +terribly." + +"Oh, but you'll be dead by then," she pouted. "So I mustn't fall in love +with you. I don't want to be miserable." + +"If I pretended I was one of you, if I left on the boat with you, they'd +let me go to Earth with you. Wouldn't they?" + +"Oh, yes, I'm sure they would." + +"Mary Ann, you have two other flaws I feel I should mention." + +"Yes? Please tell me." + +"In the first place," said Pembroke, "you should be willing to fall in +love with me even if it will eventually make you unhappy. How can you be +the paramour type if you refuse to fall in love foolishly? And when you +have fallen in love, you should be very loyal." + +"I'll try," she said unsurely. "What else?" + +"The other thing is that, as my mistress, you must never mention me to +anyone. It would place me in great danger." + +"I'll never tell anyone anything about you," she promised. + +"Now try to love me," Pembroke said, drawing her into his arms and +kissing with little pleasure the smooth, warm perfection of her tanned +cheeks. "Love me my sweet, beautiful, affectionate Mary Ann. My +paramour." + +Making love to Mary Ann was something short of ecstasy. Not for any +obvious reason, but because of subtle little factors that make a woman a +woman. Mary Ann had no pulse. Mary Ann did not perspire. Mary Ann did +not fatigue gradually but all at once. Mary Ann breathed regularly under +all circumstances. Mary Ann talked and talked and talked. But then, Mary +Ann was not a human being. + +When she left the hotel at midnight, Pembroke was quite sure that she +understood his plan and that she was irrevocably in love with him. +Tomorrow might bring his death, but it might also ensure his escape. +After forty-two years of searching for a passion, for a cause, for a +loyalty, Frank Pembroke had at last found his. Earth and the human race +that peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it. + + * * * * * + +The next morning Pembroke talked to Valencia about hunting. He said that +he planned to go shooting out on the desert which surrounded the city. +Valencia told him that there were no living creatures anywhere but in +the city. Pembroke said he was going out anyway. + +He picked up Mary Ann at her apartment and together they went to a +sporting goods store. As he guessed there was a goodly selection of +firearms, despite the fact that there was nothing to hunt and only a +single target range within the city. Everything, of course, had to be +just like Earth. That, after all, was the purpose of Puerto Pacifico. + +By noon they had rented a jeep and were well away from the city. +Pembroke and Mary Ann took turns firing at the paper targets they had +purchased. At twilight they headed back to the city. On the outskirts, +where the sand and soil were mixed and no footprints would be left, +Pembroke hopped off. Mary Ann would go straight to the police and report +that Pembroke had attacked her and that she had shot him. If necessary, +she would conduct the authorities to the place where they had been +target shooting, but would be unable to locate the spot where she had +buried the body. Why had she buried it? Because at first she was not +going to report the incident. She was frightened. It was not airtight, +but there would probably be no further investigation. And they certainly +would not prosecute Mary Ann for killing an Earthman. + +Now Pembroke had himself to worry about. The first step was to enter +smoothly into the new life he had planned. It wouldn't be so comfortable +as the previous one, but should be considerably safer. He headed slowly +for the "old" part of town, aging his clothes against buildings and +fences as he walked. He had already torn the collar of the shirt and +discarded his belt. By morning his beard would grow to blacken his face. +And he would look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be a +deception. + + * * * * * + +Two weeks later Pembroke phoned Mary Ann. The police had accepted her +story without even checking. And when, when would she be seeing him +again? He had aroused her passion and no amount of long-distance love +could requite it. Soon, he assured her, soon. + +"Because, after all, you do owe me something," she added. + +And that was bad because it sounded as if she had been giving some +womanly thought to the situation. A little more of that and she might go +to the police again, this time for vengeance. + +Twice during his wanderings Pembroke had seen the corpses of Earthmen +being carted out of buildings. They had to be Earthmen because they +bled. Mary Ann had admitted that she did not. There would be very few +Earthmen left in Puerto Pacifico, and it would be simple enough to +locate him if he were reported as being on the loose. There was no out +but to do away with Mary Ann. + +Pembroke headed for the beach. He knew she invariably went there in the +afternoon. He loitered around the stalls where hot dogs and soft drinks +were sold, leaning against a post in the hot sun, hat pulled down over +his forehead. Then he noticed that people all about him were talking +excitedly. They were discussing a ship. It was leaving that afternoon. +Anyone who could pass the interview would be sent to Earth. + +Pembroke had visited the docks every day, without being able to learn +when the great exodus would take place. Yet he was certain the first +lap would be by water rather than by spaceship, since no one he had +talked to in the city had ever heard of spaceships. In fact, they knew +very little about their masters. + +Now the ship had arrived and was to leave shortly. If there was any but +the most superficial examination, Pembroke would no doubt be discovered +and exterminated. But since no one seemed concerned about anything but +his own speech and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified in +every other respect. The reason for transporting Earth People to this +planet was, of course, to apply a corrective to any of the Pacificos' +aberrant mannerisms or articulation. This was the polishing up phase. + + * * * * * + +Pembroke began hobbling toward the docks. Almost at once he found +himself face to face with Mary Ann. She smiled happily when she +recognized him. _That_ was a good thing. + +"It is a sign of poor breeding to smile at tramps," Pembroke admonished +her in a whisper. "Walk on ahead." + +She obeyed. He followed. The crowd grew thicker. They neared the docks +and Pembroke saw that there were now set up on the roped-off wharves +small interviewing booths. When it was their turn, he and Mary Ann each +went into separate ones. Pembroke found himself alone in the little +room. + +Then he saw that there was another entity in his presence confined +beneath a glass dome. It looked rather like a groundhog and had seven +fingers on each of its six limbs. But it was larger and hairier than the +glass one he had seen at the gift store. With four of its limbs it +tapped on an intricate keyboard in front of it. + +"What is your name?" queried a metallic voice from a speaker on the +wall. + +"I'm Jerry Newton. Got no middle initial," Pembroke said in a surly +voice. + +"Occupation?" + +"I work a lot o' trades. Fisherman, fruit picker, fightin' range fires, +vineyards, car washer. Anything. You name it. Been out of work for a +long time now, though. Goin' on five months. These here are hard times, +no matter what they say." + +"What do you think of the Chinese situation?" the voice inquired. + +"Which situation's 'at?" + +"Where's Seattle?" + +"Seattle? State o' Washington." + +And so it went for about five minutes. Then he was told he had qualified +as a satisfactory surrogate for a mid-twentieth century American male, +itinerant type. + +"You understand your mission, Newton?" the voice asked. "You are to +establish yourself on Earth. In time you will receive instructions. Then +you will attack. You will not see us, your masters, again until the +atmosphere has been sufficiently chlorinated. In the meantime, serve us +well." + +He stumbled out toward the docks, then looked about for Mary Ann. He saw +her at last behind the ropes, her lovely face in tears. + +Then she saw him. Waving frantically, she called his name several times. +Pembroke mingled with the crowd moving toward the ship, ignoring her. +But still the woman persisted in her shouting. + +Sidling up to a well-dressed man-about-town type, Pembroke winked at him +and snickered. + +"You Frank?" he asked. + +"Hell, no. But some poor punk's sure red in the face, I'll bet," the +man-about-town said with a chuckle. "Those high-strung paramour types +always raising a ruckus. They never do pass the interview. Don't know +why they even make 'em." + +Suddenly Mary Ann was quiet. + +"Ambulance squad," Pembroke's companion explained. "They'll take her off +to the buggy house for a few days and bring her out fresh and ignorant +as the day she was assembled. Don't know why they keep making 'em, as I +say. But I guess there's a call for that type up there on Earth." + +"Yeah, I reckon there is at that," said Pembroke, snickering again as he +moved away from the other. "And why not? Hey? Why not?" + +Pembroke went right on hating himself, however, till the night he was +deposited in a field outside of Ensenada, broke but happy, with two +other itinerant types. They separated in San Diego, and it was not long +before Pembroke was explaining to the police how he had drifted far from +the scene of the sinking of the _Elena Mia_ on a piece of wreckage, and +had been picked up by a Chilean trawler. How he had then made his way, +with much suffering, up the coast to California. Two days later, his +identity established and his circumstances again solvent, he was headed +for Los Angeles to begin his save-Earth campaign. + + * * * * * + +Now, seated at his battered desk in the shabby rented office over +Lemark's Liquors, Pembroke gazed without emotion at the two demolished +Pacificos that lay sprawled one atop the other in the corner. His watch +said one-fifteen. The man from the FBI should arrive soon. + +There were footsteps on the stairs for the third time that day. Not the +brisk, efficient steps of a federal official, but the hesitant, +self-conscious steps of a junior clerk type. + +Pembroke rose as the young man appeared at the door. His face was +smooth, unpimpled, clean-shaven, without sweat on a warm summer +afternoon. + +"Are you Dr. Von Schubert?" the newcomer asked, peering into the room. +"You see, I've got a problem--" + +The four shots from Pembroke's pistol solved his problem effectively. +Pembroke tossed his third victim onto the pile, then opened a can of +lager, quaffing it appreciatively. Seating himself once more, he leaned +back in the chair, both feet upon the desk. + +He would be out of business soon, once the FBI agent had got there. +Pembroke was only in it to get the proof he would need to convince +people of the truth of his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himself +to admire the clipping of the newspaper ad he had run in all the Los +Angeles papers for the past week. The little ad that had saved mankind +from God-knew-what insidious menace. It read: + + ARE YOU IMPERFECT? + + LET DR. VON SCHUBERT POINT OUT + YOUR FLAWS + + IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE + AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE + + FEE--$3.75 + + MONEY BACK IF NOT SATISFIED! + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ + January 1960. 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. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECTIONISTS *** + +***** This file should be named 24977.txt or 24977.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/7/24977/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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