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Gilbert + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,.hd1 {text-align: center;} + h1 {margin-top: 0;} + h2 {font-weight: normal;} + hr {width: 20%; margin: 2em auto;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + img {border: none;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em; width: auto;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .bk1 {background: url("images/001.png") top left no-repeat; width: 600px; height: 407px; margin: 0 auto; overflow: hidden;} + .bk2 {padding-left: 300px; padding-bottom: 172px;} + .bk3 {margin: 2em auto; width: 23em;} + .bk3 p {text-indent: 2em;} + .hd1 {margin-top: 2em;} + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 146px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; min-height: 230px;} + .trn p {margin: 15px;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stopover Planet, by Robert E. Gilbert + +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: Stopover Planet + +Author: Robert E. Gilbert + +Illustrator: W. E. Terry + +Release Date: September 17, 2009 [EBook #30015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STOPOVER PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><div class="bk2"><h1>STOPOVER PLANET</h1> + +<h2><i>By<br /> +Robert E. Gilbert</i></h2></div></div> + +<div class="bk3"><p><big><b>Early morning deliveries were part of +the Honeychile Bakery Service. But on this +particular morning the service was reversed!</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">At</span> 2:34 a.m., Patrolman Louis +Whedbee left the Zip Cab +station. With arch supports +squeaking and night stick swinging, +Whedbee walked east to the call +box at the corner of Sullivan and +Cherokee. The traffic signal suspended +above the intersection +blinked a cautionary amber. Not +a car moved on the silent streets.</p> + +<p>Whedbee reached for the box. +Then he swore softly and stepped +off the curb. "Pardon me," he said, +for he believed that a policeman +should be courteous at all times, +even when arresting a school zone +speedster. This, however, was not +a speedster. It seemed to be a +huge man standing on top of a +truck and cutting down the stop +light. "What's going on here?" +Whedbee asked.</p> + +<p>HONEYCHILE BAKERY was +advertised on the side of the truck. +Instinctively, Whedbee jammed his +whistle in his mouth when he +realized that the man on the truck +wore something like a suit of long +underwear made of improbable +black fur sprinkled with tiny red +spots.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing to the stop +light?" Whedbee demanded.</p> + +<p>The amber light quit blinking +without the expected electrical display. +Sinuous as beheaded snakes, +the wires and cables supporting the +traffic signal fell into the street. +The unusual man pocketed his +cutting tool—a long thin tube—and +lowered the stop light to the +truck. He looked at Whedbee. +The corner street lamp reacted +upon his eyes like a flashlight +thrown on a tomcat in an alley. +The eyes gleamed green.</p> + +<p>Whedbee's whistle arced to the +end of the chain and clanked +against his metal buttons. A block +away on Center Street, a heavy +truck roared through the business +section. The bell of a switch engine +tolled near the freight depot, +and a small dog barked suddenly +at the obscured sky.</p> + +<p>"I am promoting you to captain. +You will replace Hanks, whom I +am demoting," the figure on the +truck announced.</p> + +<p>"Chief Grindstaff?" Whedbee +wondered.</p> + +<p>The chief of police glared down +at the patrolman. He hooked a +bright metal globe to the stop +light, lifted it in one hand, and +jumped, landing lightly on the +pavement. "Put this in the mobile +unit," he said. "The truck, I +evil."</p> + +<p>"Huh? Sure, chief," Whedbee +said. He tucked his night stick +under his arm and prepared to accept +a heavy load. Tensed muscles +almost felled him when the +signal proved to weigh not more +than one pound.</p> + +<p>Chief Grindstaff opened the +doors in the rear of the truck, releasing +a faint odor of stale bread. +The truck was empty. Whedbee +deposited the almost weightless +burden. The chief looked him in +the eye. "I am promoting you to +captain," he repeated. "You will +replace Hanks, whom I am demoting."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, chief!" Whedbee exalted. +"You know Hanks didn't +treat me fair that time I—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know all about that," +the chief interposed. "Go bring +the postage box and place it in +the truck."</p> + +<p>"The which? Oh, you mean +the mailbox!" Whedbee walked +across the street to the +square green box with the rounded +metal top. Another of the globes +had been attached to the mailbox, +and the legs had been burned loose +from the concrete sidewalk. Confidently, +Whedbee lifted the light +object, carried it to the truck, and +deposited it inside.</p> + +<p>"Bleachers there," said Chief +Grindstaff.</p> + +<p>"What you say, chief?"</p> + +<p>"Stands there. No, stand there."</p> + +<p>Patrolman Whedbee stood by +the back of the truck. Chief +Grindstaff placed a device like +an atomizer under Whedbee's nose +and released the spray.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Miss</span> Betsy Tapp awoke after +not more than one hour of +fitful sleep. The door to the garage +apartment shook under the +tattoo of a heavy fist. Miss Tapp's +heart thudded somewhere inside her +thirty-eight-inch bosom. She lay +rigid in darkness penetrated only +by the glimmer of a distant street +light.</p> + +<p>The knocking ceased. Boards +creaked on the platform outside +the door. A face appeared at the +window, a face in complete shadow +except for two eyes that glowed +with greenish light.</p> + +<p>Miss Tapp, unaware of the disarray +of her nightgown, sat upright. +The alarm clock on the +floor by the bed clacked in the +stillness. The tap in the kitchen +cubicle dripped. Timbers, contracting +in the cool of early morning, +popped faintly.</p> + +<p>"I need to marry you," the face +said. "I was wrong tonight. Forgive +me."</p> + +<p>"Fred?" Miss Tapp gasped in +sudden joy.</p> + +<p>"Open the portal," Fred said.</p> + +<p>Wrenching metal curlers from +her permanently waved hair, Miss +Tapp bounded to the door. She released +the catch and threw herself +at the figure on the landing. +Fred purred, "I want to marry you. +I was wrong tonight. Forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Fred," Miss Tapp sighed. +"I knew you'd come back! You +just had too much to drink! I +forgive you, Fred! We'll—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Bring your rayon crepe +with tall tucking."</p> + +<p>"What, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"Bring your garb, your clothing. +Hurry."</p> + +<p>Miss Tapp skillfully fought a +blush. "Oh, Fred! I'm sorry. +I'll be dressed in a minute!"</p> + +<p>Fred slowly stated, "I want to +marry you. I was wrong tonight. +Forgive me." He walked into the +apartment and rapidly gathered +and rolled together the dress and +undergarments scattered on and +about the chair. He stuffed the +spike-heeled shoes into pockets +of his black fur suit and lifted +Miss Tapp in his arms.</p> + +<p>"We're eloping!" Miss Tapp +sighed as Fred carried her down +the outside stairs. A <i>Honeychile +Bakery</i> truck, with rear doors open, +waited in the driveway. Fred +tossed the roll of clothing and the +slippers into the truck, and swiftly +sprayed Miss Tapp.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">An</span> unearthly glow permeated +the bedroom and cast the +black shadows of heavy furniture +against the faded papered walls. +Within the glow, two dots of green +flickered. The Reverend Enos +Shackelford dropped on creaking +knees and bowed his grizzled head.</p> + +<p>A voice said, "Well done, good +and faithful servant. Arise and +follow me."</p> + +<p>"Lord," said Reverend Shackelford, +"I have served thee faithfully +all the days of my life. Remember +me when thou comest into thy +kingdom. Remember also—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Well done, good and +faithful servant. Arise and follow +me."</p> + +<p>Shackelford stood on tottering +old legs. His nightshirt hung below +his knees. Horrified shock +blanched his lined face. "Blasphemer!" +he cried. "False prophet! +Get thee behind me, Satan!"</p> + +<p>The glow danced and faded. A +towering black shape pointed a +bent rod. The rod hissed. The +Reverend Shackelford staggered +against a small table, dragging it +with him to the floor. He lay still +with one gnarled old hand on a +large golden-edged book that had +fallen from the table.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"You're</span> fired," the man in +the dream said over and +over.</p> + +<p>Calvin C. Kear rolled off the +half-bed, struck the floor, and +awoke. "First time I've fallen out +of bed in years," he groaned. His +shaking hand fumbled with the +switch and succeeded in turning +on the lamp.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Calvin C. Kear sprawled +on her back in the other bed and +snored. "You and your fifteen-thousand-dollar +house," Kear +muttered. He combed his thinning +hair with his fingers. "You +and your sterling silver. You and +your chosen pattern. Your service +for eight. How far do you +think fifty-four dollars a week will +go with 12-gauge shells three and +a quarter a box?"</p> + +<p>Green eyes glittered beside the +frilly dressing table. The man standing +there said, "I'm not igniting +you. I'm giving you a bonus for +your fine work. Enough currency to +pay the loan on this house. You'll be +making two hundred per week. This +fall, I'll take you hunting at my +place in the country."</p> + +<p>"Boss?" Kear mumbled. "I +mean, Mr. Darmond?"</p> + +<p>"Put on your clothing," the boss +said. "I'll show you your new office. +You may have a secretary, +also. I'm not firing you. I'm +giving you a bonus."</p> + +<p>Kear sat gasping on the floor. +"That's great, boss!" he exclaimed. +"I thought I did an extra special +job on the plastics mill design. +It'll mean a lot to the company. +We—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Dress quickly."</p> + +<p>Kear threw off his pajamas and +started stuffing arms and legs into +his clothes. Mrs. Kear opened +her eyes and squeaked like a dying +rabbit.</p> + +<p>The bent rod in the boss's hand +hissed, and Mrs. Kear stopped +squeaking.</p> + +<p>With tie flapping, shirt unbuttoned, +shoes unlaced, Kear followed +the boss through the living +room and down the flagstone walk +to the street. The boss opened the +doors of the <i>Honeychile Bakery</i> +truck and said, "In here."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Mrs.</span> Jane Huprich dropped +her mop. Her varicose legs +trotted across the wet lobby of +the Jordon Building, and her flabby +fat arms reached for the tall man +with bright eyes who stood near +the elevators. "It's me, Mom," the +man cried.</p> + +<p>"Matt!" Mrs. Huprich cried. +"Matt, baby!"</p> + +<p>"I got a full pardon, Mom," Matt +said, stroking her tangled white +hair. "Right from the ruling +state official. You won't have to +scrub floors anymore! I'm going +straight, Mom. I'm a good mechanic +now. They learned me a lot +in the enclosure. Come on. I got +a used truck outside, I bought +cheap."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Huprich and son walked +through the oddly twisted doors of +the Jordon Building and into the +gray twilight that awaited dawn. +The <i>Honeychile Bakery</i> truck +waited too.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Gary</span> Abston peddled his bicycle +against the flow of cars +carrying day-shift workers through +the half-light. He whirled into +Walnut Street, twisted a fresh +copy of the <i>Morning Herald</i> into +a fiendishly clever knot, and hurled +it in the general direction of a +front porch that flashed past on +his right. Never slowing, Gary +threw the next paper entirely across +the street. He chuckled as it +cleared a picket fence. "Bang, +bang!" he blurted. His red shirt, +with a picture of a mounted cowboy +on the back, ballooned in the +early morning breeze.</p> + +<p>"Whoa!" Gary roared. He stopped, +held the bicycle upright with +one foot on the pavement. A tall, +lanky, slightly bowlegged man with +squinting luminous green eyes +stood on the sidewalk. Gary looked +at the man. The newspapers +fluttered to the parkway. The bicycle +clattered in the street.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, partner!" the tall man +said. "The rustlers are headin' +for the plateau! We'll take the +short gash and head 'em off at the +canyon!"</p> + +<p>"Ramrod Jones?" Gary chirped.</p> + +<p>"Here's the truck I haul Quizz-kid, +the I.Q. Horse, in! Let's get +after the rustlers!" Jones said.</p> + +<p>"Gee, I've seen all your pictures, +Ramrod," Gary said. "<i>Silver City +Raiders</i>, <i>Rustlers of Silver City</i>, +<i>Silver City Rustlers</i>—"</p> + +<p>The great cowboy lifted the +newsboy into the <i>Honeychile</i> +truck.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Pink</span> and rose clouds drifted +through a brightening sky as +the <i>Honeychile Bakery</i> truck careened +along a narrow road badly +in need of rock and grading. From +the road, the truck rattled into a +rutted track through dewy woods +and skidded swaying to a stop at +the side of a long, low, grassy hill.</p> + +<p>The tall creature dressed in +black, red-spotted fur stepped from +the cab. An opening appeared in +the hillside. Four machines—dull +metal eggs balancing on single +tractor treads—rolled silently +through the opening. Jointed steel +arms darted from recesses in the +eggs. One machine opened the +truck doors.</p> + +<p>The creature walked up a ramp +inside the hill and entered a shimmering +metallic compartment.</p> + +<p>"Greetings, Eo. I have returned."</p> + +<p>Eo, who wore a suit of white fur, +hummed, "None too soon, Za. We +miscalculated dawn. What success?"</p> + +<p>"An excellent group," Za said. +He stretched and reclined on a +transparent slab. "The servants +are unloading the vehicle. I captured +a young male, a mature male, +an aged male, some sort of official +or guardian male, a mature female, +and an aged female."</p> + +<p>"Let's view them," Eo said. +"You can rest after we're away."</p> + +<p>The tall creatures entered a second +compartment furnished with a +large table upon which the silent +machines deposited inanimate bodies. +"Extraordinary!" said Eo, +staring at Miss Betsy Tapp. +"These things have reached a peak +of mammalian development!"</p> + +<p>"Her correct garments are in this +bundle," Za explained. "The servants +are bringing the properties +now. I secured a signaling device +and a box used in an extremely +primitive system of communication. +Also, I brought the quaint muscle-powered +vehicle ridden by the +young male. The photographs +should be sufficient for other details."</p> + +<p>"Any difficulty?" Eo asked as +the machines dumped Patrolman +Whedbee on the table.</p> + +<p>"The language was the greatest +obstacle," Za said. "The same +word has many different meanings, +or many different words have the +same meaning. Rather crude."</p> + +<p>"Did you use bait, or force?"</p> + +<p>"Bait," Za said. "It's much simpler. +This is a completely selfish, +egocentric breed. Most of them +have one thing in mind which they +want solely for themselves. Their +sending power is weak, but that +one selfish desire is powerful +enough to be received. I merely +dangled it before their minds, and +they were hooked." He tapped +the foot of Calvin C. Kear. "I +killed this one's female companion. +She awoke and screamed. The +males and females pair off and live +together for years. Strange custom! +Breeding seems to be only +one reason for the mutual bondage."</p> + +<p>Za pointed to Mrs. Jane Huprich. +"The old female may be an +exception to the selfishness. I +couldn't decide whether she most +wanted to be relieved of cleaning +floors by primitive methods, or +wanted her male offspring to be released +from some structure where +he had been secured for reasons I +couldn't determine."</p> + +<p>The machines deposited the Reverend +Enos Shackelford and then +lined up in a precise row. "This +thing is dead!" Eo buzzed.</p> + +<p>Za shook his head. "That was +the only genuine exception. He +confused me till I forgot his proper +clothing, but some can be devised +from the other samples. He seems +to have been a witch-doctor. His +mind was cluttered with myths and +superstitions from an ancient text. +I don't understand him, Eo, and +wish I had time to study the +phenomena. He was different from +the others. He believed in something +and considered himself lowly +and humble. The minds of the +others were in constant confusion. +They believed, actually, in nothing. +Somehow, he saw me, Eo. I was +forced to kill him."</p> + +<p>"No harm done," Eo decided. +He faced the machines and said, +"Destroy the vehicle, draw in the +camouflage net, prepare for take-off." +The machines rolled from +the compartment, and the two creatures +followed.</p> + +<p>"Seal it," Eo said. "I'll plasticize +them when we're in space. +Fine work, Za. I can see the +plaque now: 'Mounted by Eo, Collected +by Za. Typical Street Corner +on Planet <i>Earth</i>, Star <i>Sol</i>.' +The directors will surely give the +group a prominent place in the Galactic +Museum of Natural History!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Za agreed, glancing back +at the Reverend Enos Shackelford. +"This planet was a fortunate +stopover."</p> + +<p class="hd1"><i>The End</i></p> + +<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/002-2.jpg"><img src="images/002-1.jpg" width="146" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div> + +<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy</i> August 1953. +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.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stopover Planet, by Robert E. Gilbert + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STOPOVER PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 30015-h.htm or 30015-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/0/1/30015/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Gilbert + +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: Stopover Planet + +Author: Robert E. Gilbert + +Illustrator: W. E. Terry + +Release Date: September 17, 2009 [EBook #30015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STOPOVER PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + STOPOVER PLANET + + _By + Robert E. Gilbert_ + + + Early morning deliveries were part of + the Honeychile Bakery Service. But on this + particular morning the service was reversed! + + +At 2:34 a.m., Patrolman Louis Whedbee left the Zip Cab station. With +arch supports squeaking and night stick swinging, Whedbee walked east to +the call box at the corner of Sullivan and Cherokee. The traffic signal +suspended above the intersection blinked a cautionary amber. Not a car +moved on the silent streets. + +Whedbee reached for the box. Then he swore softly and stepped off the +curb. "Pardon me," he said, for he believed that a policeman should be +courteous at all times, even when arresting a school zone speedster. +This, however, was not a speedster. It seemed to be a huge man standing +on top of a truck and cutting down the stop light. "What's going on +here?" Whedbee asked. + +HONEYCHILE BAKERY was advertised on the side of the truck. +Instinctively, Whedbee jammed his whistle in his mouth when he realized +that the man on the truck wore something like a suit of long underwear +made of improbable black fur sprinkled with tiny red spots. + +"What are you doing to the stop light?" Whedbee demanded. + +The amber light quit blinking without the expected electrical display. +Sinuous as beheaded snakes, the wires and cables supporting the traffic +signal fell into the street. The unusual man pocketed his cutting +tool--a long thin tube--and lowered the stop light to the truck. He +looked at Whedbee. The corner street lamp reacted upon his eyes like a +flashlight thrown on a tomcat in an alley. The eyes gleamed green. + +Whedbee's whistle arced to the end of the chain and clanked against his +metal buttons. A block away on Center Street, a heavy truck roared +through the business section. The bell of a switch engine tolled near +the freight depot, and a small dog barked suddenly at the obscured sky. + +"I am promoting you to captain. You will replace Hanks, whom I am +demoting," the figure on the truck announced. + +"Chief Grindstaff?" Whedbee wondered. + +The chief of police glared down at the patrolman. He hooked a bright +metal globe to the stop light, lifted it in one hand, and jumped, +landing lightly on the pavement. "Put this in the mobile unit," he said. +"The truck, I evil." + +"Huh? Sure, chief," Whedbee said. He tucked his night stick under his +arm and prepared to accept a heavy load. Tensed muscles almost felled +him when the signal proved to weigh not more than one pound. + +Chief Grindstaff opened the doors in the rear of the truck, releasing a +faint odor of stale bread. The truck was empty. Whedbee deposited the +almost weightless burden. The chief looked him in the eye. "I am +promoting you to captain," he repeated. "You will replace Hanks, whom I +am demoting." + +"Thanks, chief!" Whedbee exalted. "You know Hanks didn't treat me fair +that time I--" + +"Yes, I know all about that," the chief interposed. "Go bring the +postage box and place it in the truck." + +"The which? Oh, you mean the mailbox!" Whedbee walked across the street +to the square green box with the rounded metal top. Another of the +globes had been attached to the mailbox, and the legs had been burned +loose from the concrete sidewalk. Confidently, Whedbee lifted the light +object, carried it to the truck, and deposited it inside. + +"Bleachers there," said Chief Grindstaff. + +"What you say, chief?" + +"Stands there. No, stand there." + +Patrolman Whedbee stood by the back of the truck. Chief Grindstaff +placed a device like an atomizer under Whedbee's nose and released the +spray. + + * * * * * + +Miss Betsy Tapp awoke after not more than one hour of fitful sleep. The +door to the garage apartment shook under the tattoo of a heavy fist. +Miss Tapp's heart thudded somewhere inside her thirty-eight-inch bosom. +She lay rigid in darkness penetrated only by the glimmer of a distant +street light. + +The knocking ceased. Boards creaked on the platform outside the door. A +face appeared at the window, a face in complete shadow except for two +eyes that glowed with greenish light. + +Miss Tapp, unaware of the disarray of her nightgown, sat upright. The +alarm clock on the floor by the bed clacked in the stillness. The tap in +the kitchen cubicle dripped. Timbers, contracting in the cool of early +morning, popped faintly. + +"I need to marry you," the face said. "I was wrong tonight. Forgive me." + +"Fred?" Miss Tapp gasped in sudden joy. + +"Open the portal," Fred said. + +Wrenching metal curlers from her permanently waved hair, Miss Tapp +bounded to the door. She released the catch and threw herself at the +figure on the landing. Fred purred, "I want to marry you. I was wrong +tonight. Forgive me." + +"Oh, Fred," Miss Tapp sighed. "I knew you'd come back! You just had too +much to drink! I forgive you, Fred! We'll--" + +"Yes. Bring your rayon crepe with tall tucking." + +"What, Fred?" + +"Bring your garb, your clothing. Hurry." + +Miss Tapp skillfully fought a blush. "Oh, Fred! I'm sorry. I'll be +dressed in a minute!" + +Fred slowly stated, "I want to marry you. I was wrong tonight. Forgive +me." He walked into the apartment and rapidly gathered and rolled +together the dress and undergarments scattered on and about the chair. +He stuffed the spike-heeled shoes into pockets of his black fur suit and +lifted Miss Tapp in his arms. + +"We're eloping!" Miss Tapp sighed as Fred carried her down the outside +stairs. A _Honeychile Bakery_ truck, with rear doors open, waited in the +driveway. Fred tossed the roll of clothing and the slippers into the +truck, and swiftly sprayed Miss Tapp. + + * * * * * + +An unearthly glow permeated the bedroom and cast the black shadows of +heavy furniture against the faded papered walls. Within the glow, two +dots of green flickered. The Reverend Enos Shackelford dropped on +creaking knees and bowed his grizzled head. + +A voice said, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and follow +me." + +"Lord," said Reverend Shackelford, "I have served thee faithfully all +the days of my life. Remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. +Remember also--" + +"Yes. Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and follow me." + +Shackelford stood on tottering old legs. His nightshirt hung below his +knees. Horrified shock blanched his lined face. "Blasphemer!" he cried. +"False prophet! Get thee behind me, Satan!" + +The glow danced and faded. A towering black shape pointed a bent rod. +The rod hissed. The Reverend Shackelford staggered against a small +table, dragging it with him to the floor. He lay still with one gnarled +old hand on a large golden-edged book that had fallen from the table. + + * * * * * + +"You're fired," the man in the dream said over and over. + +Calvin C. Kear rolled off the half-bed, struck the floor, and awoke. +"First time I've fallen out of bed in years," he groaned. His shaking +hand fumbled with the switch and succeeded in turning on the lamp. + +Mrs. Calvin C. Kear sprawled on her back in the other bed and snored. +"You and your fifteen-thousand-dollar house," Kear muttered. He combed +his thinning hair with his fingers. "You and your sterling silver. You +and your chosen pattern. Your service for eight. How far do you think +fifty-four dollars a week will go with 12-gauge shells three and a +quarter a box?" + +Green eyes glittered beside the frilly dressing table. The man standing +there said, "I'm not igniting you. I'm giving you a bonus for your fine +work. Enough currency to pay the loan on this house. You'll be making +two hundred per week. This fall, I'll take you hunting at my place in +the country." + +"Boss?" Kear mumbled. "I mean, Mr. Darmond?" + +"Put on your clothing," the boss said. "I'll show you your new office. +You may have a secretary, also. I'm not firing you. I'm giving you a +bonus." + +Kear sat gasping on the floor. "That's great, boss!" he exclaimed. "I +thought I did an extra special job on the plastics mill design. It'll +mean a lot to the company. We--" + +"Yes. Dress quickly." + +Kear threw off his pajamas and started stuffing arms and legs into his +clothes. Mrs. Kear opened her eyes and squeaked like a dying rabbit. + +The bent rod in the boss's hand hissed, and Mrs. Kear stopped squeaking. + +With tie flapping, shirt unbuttoned, shoes unlaced, Kear followed the +boss through the living room and down the flagstone walk to the street. +The boss opened the doors of the _Honeychile Bakery_ truck and said, "In +here." + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Jane Huprich dropped her mop. Her varicose legs trotted across the +wet lobby of the Jordon Building, and her flabby fat arms reached for +the tall man with bright eyes who stood near the elevators. "It's me, +Mom," the man cried. + +"Matt!" Mrs. Huprich cried. "Matt, baby!" + +"I got a full pardon, Mom," Matt said, stroking her tangled white hair. +"Right from the ruling state official. You won't have to scrub floors +anymore! I'm going straight, Mom. I'm a good mechanic now. They learned +me a lot in the enclosure. Come on. I got a used truck outside, I bought +cheap." + +Mrs. Huprich and son walked through the oddly twisted doors of the +Jordon Building and into the gray twilight that awaited dawn. The +_Honeychile Bakery_ truck waited too. + + * * * * * + +Gary Abston peddled his bicycle against the flow of cars carrying +day-shift workers through the half-light. He whirled into Walnut Street, +twisted a fresh copy of the _Morning Herald_ into a fiendishly clever +knot, and hurled it in the general direction of a front porch that +flashed past on his right. Never slowing, Gary threw the next paper +entirely across the street. He chuckled as it cleared a picket fence. +"Bang, bang!" he blurted. His red shirt, with a picture of a mounted +cowboy on the back, ballooned in the early morning breeze. + +"Whoa!" Gary roared. He stopped, held the bicycle upright with one foot +on the pavement. A tall, lanky, slightly bowlegged man with squinting +luminous green eyes stood on the sidewalk. Gary looked at the man. The +newspapers fluttered to the parkway. The bicycle clattered in the +street. + +"Howdy, partner!" the tall man said. "The rustlers are headin' for the +plateau! We'll take the short gash and head 'em off at the canyon!" + +"Ramrod Jones?" Gary chirped. + +"Here's the truck I haul Quizz-kid, the I.Q. Horse, in! Let's get after +the rustlers!" Jones said. + +"Gee, I've seen all your pictures, Ramrod," Gary said. "_Silver City +Raiders_, _Rustlers of Silver City_, _Silver City Rustlers_--" + +The great cowboy lifted the newsboy into the _Honeychile_ truck. + + * * * * * + +Pink and rose clouds drifted through a brightening sky as the +_Honeychile Bakery_ truck careened along a narrow road badly in need of +rock and grading. From the road, the truck rattled into a rutted track +through dewy woods and skidded swaying to a stop at the side of a long, +low, grassy hill. + +The tall creature dressed in black, red-spotted fur stepped from the +cab. An opening appeared in the hillside. Four machines--dull metal eggs +balancing on single tractor treads--rolled silently through the opening. +Jointed steel arms darted from recesses in the eggs. One machine opened +the truck doors. + +The creature walked up a ramp inside the hill and entered a shimmering +metallic compartment. + +"Greetings, Eo. I have returned." + +Eo, who wore a suit of white fur, hummed, "None too soon, Za. We +miscalculated dawn. What success?" + +"An excellent group," Za said. He stretched and reclined on a +transparent slab. "The servants are unloading the vehicle. I captured a +young male, a mature male, an aged male, some sort of official or +guardian male, a mature female, and an aged female." + +"Let's view them," Eo said. "You can rest after we're away." + +The tall creatures entered a second compartment furnished with a large +table upon which the silent machines deposited inanimate bodies. +"Extraordinary!" said Eo, staring at Miss Betsy Tapp. "These things have +reached a peak of mammalian development!" + +"Her correct garments are in this bundle," Za explained. "The servants +are bringing the properties now. I secured a signaling device and a box +used in an extremely primitive system of communication. Also, I brought +the quaint muscle-powered vehicle ridden by the young male. The +photographs should be sufficient for other details." + +"Any difficulty?" Eo asked as the machines dumped Patrolman Whedbee on +the table. + +"The language was the greatest obstacle," Za said. "The same word has +many different meanings, or many different words have the same meaning. +Rather crude." + +"Did you use bait, or force?" + +"Bait," Za said. "It's much simpler. This is a completely selfish, +egocentric breed. Most of them have one thing in mind which they want +solely for themselves. Their sending power is weak, but that one selfish +desire is powerful enough to be received. I merely dangled it before +their minds, and they were hooked." He tapped the foot of Calvin C. +Kear. "I killed this one's female companion. She awoke and screamed. The +males and females pair off and live together for years. Strange custom! +Breeding seems to be only one reason for the mutual bondage." + +Za pointed to Mrs. Jane Huprich. "The old female may be an exception to +the selfishness. I couldn't decide whether she most wanted to be +relieved of cleaning floors by primitive methods, or wanted her male +offspring to be released from some structure where he had been secured +for reasons I couldn't determine." + +The machines deposited the Reverend Enos Shackelford and then lined up +in a precise row. "This thing is dead!" Eo buzzed. + +Za shook his head. "That was the only genuine exception. He confused me +till I forgot his proper clothing, but some can be devised from the +other samples. He seems to have been a witch-doctor. His mind was +cluttered with myths and superstitions from an ancient text. I don't +understand him, Eo, and wish I had time to study the phenomena. He was +different from the others. He believed in something and considered +himself lowly and humble. The minds of the others were in constant +confusion. They believed, actually, in nothing. Somehow, he saw me, Eo. +I was forced to kill him." + +"No harm done," Eo decided. He faced the machines and said, "Destroy the +vehicle, draw in the camouflage net, prepare for take-off." The +machines rolled from the compartment, and the two creatures followed. + +"Seal it," Eo said. "I'll plasticize them when we're in space. Fine +work, Za. I can see the plaque now: 'Mounted by Eo, Collected by Za. +Typical Street Corner on Planet _Earth_, Star _Sol_.' The directors will +surely give the group a prominent place in the Galactic Museum of +Natural History!" + +"Yes," Za agreed, glancing back at the Reverend Enos Shackelford. "This +planet was a fortunate stopover." + + +_The End_ + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Imagination Stories of Science and + Fantasy_ August 1953. 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 Stopover Planet, by Robert E. 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