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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30015 ***
+
+[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. Gilbert
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30015 ***