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61007 | Why does Adam refuse to play checkers?
Choices:
(A) He does not want to humiliate the priest by beating him.
(B) The priest is too eager to go up against him, and he doesn't want to disappoint.
(C) He has no reason to play. He is omniscient and would win without contest.
(D) He is scared of losing and giving away his true identity. | [
"D",
"He is scared of losing and giving away his true identity. "
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<p class="ph1">
IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE
<br/>
WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A
<br/>
CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS
</p>
<h1>
IN THE GARDEN
</h1>
<h2>
BY R. A. LAFFERTY
</h2>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there be
life traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. So
they skipped several steps in the procedure.
</p>
<p>
The chordata discerner read
<i>
Positive
</i>
over most of the surface. There
was spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omitted
several tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thought
on the body?
</p>
<p>
Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; it
required a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they found
nothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Then
it came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only.
</p>
<p>
"Limited," said Steiner, "as though within a pale. As though there were
but one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of the
surface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hours
before it's back in our ken if we let it go now."
</p>
<p>
"Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest of
the world to make sure we've missed nothing," said Stark.
</p>
<p>
There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult of
analysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This was
designed simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this might
be so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and the
designer of it were puzzled as to how to read the results.
</p>
<p>
The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locator
had refused to read
<i>
Positive
</i>
when turned on the inventor himself,
bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he had
extraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. He
told the machine so heatedly.
</p>
<p>
The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, that
Glaser did
<i>
not
</i>
have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinary
perception to an extraordinary degree. There is a
<i>
difference
</i>
, the
machine insisted.
</p>
<p>
It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but built
others more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the owners
of Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply.
</p>
<p>
And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (or
Eppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read
<i>
Positive
</i>
on a
number of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could not
even read music. But it had also read
<i>
Positive
</i>
on ninety per cent of
the acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been a
sound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Mi
it had read
<i>
Positive
</i>
on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out of
billions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at all
was shown by the test.
</p>
<p>
So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the area
and got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently one
individual, though this could not be certain) and got very definite
action. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, and
assumed an air of importance when it ran these tests.
</p>
<p>
Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it ever
produces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrug
of the shoulders in a man. They called it the "You tell
<i>
me
</i>
light."
</p>
<p>
So among the intelligences there was at least one that might be
extraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to be
forewarned.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
"Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner," said Stark, "and the rest
of us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will go
down on that one the next time it is in position under us, in about
twelve hours."
</p>
<p>
"You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere away
from the thoughtful creature?"
</p>
<p>
"No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reason
that thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will go
down boldly and visit this."
</p>
<p>
So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, the
Captain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,
the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of the
Little Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguist
and checker champion of the craft.
</p>
<p>
Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationary
in the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probe
went down to visit whatever was there.
</p>
<p>
"There's no town," said Steiner. "Not a building. Yet we're on the
track of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, a
sort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it."
</p>
<p>
"Keep on towards the minds," said Stark. "They're our target."
</p>
<p>
"Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That looks
like an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,
I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well be
Earth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light coming
from?"
</p>
<p>
"I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'll
go to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious tool
with us."
</p>
<p>
Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people were
like them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed either
in very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a very
bright light.
</p>
<p>
"Talk to them, Father Briton," said Stark. "You are the linguist."
</p>
<p>
"Howdy," said the priest.
</p>
<p>
He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled at
him, so he went on.
</p>
<p>
"Father Briton from Philadelphia," he said, "on detached service. And
you, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag?"
</p>
<p>
"Ha-Adamah," said the man.
</p>
<p>
"And your daughter, or niece?"
</p>
<p>
It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but the
woman smiled, proving that she was human.
</p>
<p>
"The woman is named Hawwah," said the man. "The sheep is named sheep,
the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock is
named hoolock."
</p>
<p>
"I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is it
that you use the English tongue?"
</p>
<p>
"I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;
by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English."
</p>
<p>
"We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. You
wouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, would
you?"
</p>
<p>
"The fountain."
</p>
<p>
"Ah—I see."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,
but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles like
the first water ever made.
</p>
<p>
"What do you make of them?" asked Stark.
</p>
<p>
"Human," said Steiner. "It may even be that they are a little more than
human. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seem
to be clothed, as it were, in dignity."
</p>
<p>
"And very little else," said Father Briton, "though that light trick
does serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia."
</p>
<p>
"Talk to them again," said Stark. "You're the linguist."
</p>
<p>
"That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself."
</p>
<p>
"Are there any other people here?" Stark asked the man.
</p>
<p>
"The two of us. Man and woman."
</p>
<p>
"But are there any others?"
</p>
<p>
"How would there be any others? What other kind of people could there
be than man and woman?"
</p>
<p>
"But is there more than one man or woman?"
</p>
<p>
"How could there be more than one of anything?"
</p>
<p>
The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:
"Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people?"
</p>
<p>
"You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and then
you can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is named
Engineer. He is named Flunky."
</p>
<p>
"Thanks a lot," said Steiner.
</p>
<p>
"But are we not people?" persisted Captain Stark.
</p>
<p>
"No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there be
other people?"
</p>
<p>
"And the damnest thing about it," muttered Langweilig, "is, how are you
going to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling."
</p>
<p>
"Can we have something to eat?" asked the Captain.
</p>
<p>
"Pick from the trees," said Ha-Adamah, "and then it may be that you
will want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which does
not need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But you
are free to enjoy the garden and its fruits."
</p>
<p>
"We will," said Captain Stark.
</p>
<p>
They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were the
animals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, though
they offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though they
wanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you.
</p>
<p>
"If there are only two people here," said Casper Craig, "then it may be
that the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertile
wherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. And
those rocks would bear examining."
</p>
<p>
"Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else," said Stark. "A
very promising site."
</p>
<p>
"And everything grows here," added Steiner. "Those are Earth-fruits and
I never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figs
and dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,
the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But I
haven't yet tried the—" and he stopped.
</p>
<p>
"If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think," said Gilbert, "then it
will be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream or
whether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one."
</p>
<p>
"I won't be the first to eat one. You eat."
</p>
<p>
"Ask him first. You ask him."
</p>
<p>
"Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples?"
</p>
<p>
"Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
"Well, the analogy breaks down there," said Stark. "I was almost
beginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.
Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamah
and Hawwah mean—?"
</p>
<p>
"Of course they do. You know that as well as I."
</p>
<p>
"I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact same
proposition to maintain here as on Earth?"
</p>
<p>
"All things are possible."
</p>
<p>
And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: "No,
no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one!"
</p>
<p>
It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it.
</p>
<p>
"Once more, Father," said Stark, "you should be the authority; but does
not the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to a
medieval painting?"
</p>
<p>
"It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrew
exegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated."
</p>
<p>
"I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is too
incredible."
</p>
<p>
"It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here?"
</p>
<p>
"Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I never
did understand the answer, however."
</p>
<p>
"And have you gotten no older in all that time?"
</p>
<p>
"I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from the
beginning."
</p>
<p>
"And do you think that you will ever die?"
</p>
<p>
"To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property of
fallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine."
</p>
<p>
"And are you completely happy here?"
</p>
<p>
"Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taught
that it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek it
vainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing and
even death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taught
that on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost."
</p>
<p>
"Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man?"
</p>
<p>
"Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But I
am further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect."
</p>
<p>
Then Stark cut in once more: "There must be some one question you could
ask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced."
</p>
<p>
"Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how about
a game of checkers?"
</p>
<p>
"This is hardly the time for clowning," said Stark.
</p>
<p>
"I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice of
colors and first move."
</p>
<p>
"No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect."
</p>
<p>
"Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat the
champion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checker
center on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But I
never played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,
and have a go at it."
</p>
<p>
"No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.
It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only two
inhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.
</p>
<p>
"What is there, Adam?" asked Captain Stark.
</p>
<p>
"The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has long
been cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But we
are taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if we
persevere, it will come by him."
</p>
<p>
They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their time
there. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when they
left. And they talked of it as they took off.
</p>
<p>
"A crowd would laugh if told of it," said Stark, "but not many would
laugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullible
man, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure world
and that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.
Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. They
are garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness that
we have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyone
disturbed that happiness."
</p>
<p>
"I too am convinced," said Steiner. "It is Paradise itself, where the
lion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.
It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the part
of the serpent, and intrude and spoil."
</p>
<p>
"I am probably the most skeptical man in the world," said Casper Craig
the tycoon, "but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.
It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling to
the wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way that
perfection.
</p>
<p>
"So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: Ninety
Million Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,
Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,
Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large Settlement
Parties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary offices
as listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whose
names were "Snake-Oil Sam," spoke to his underlings:
</p>
<p>
"It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'll
have time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equipped
settlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to strip
and slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of."
</p>
<p>
"I think you'd better write me some new lines," said Adam. "I feel like
a goof saying those same ones to each bunch."
</p>
<p>
"You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in show
business long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I did
change Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to the
pomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becoming
better researched, and they insist on authenticity.
</p>
<p>
"This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in human
nature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks will
whoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and mar
it. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that is
strong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison what
is unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage of
this trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring you
have to acquire your equipment as you can."
</p>
<p>
He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiers
of materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuff
space-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; and
power packs to run a world.
</p>
<p>
He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and at
the rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner.
</p>
<p>
"We will have to have another lion," said Eve. "Bowser is getting old,
and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to have
a big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb."
</p>
<p>
"I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of the
crackpot settlers will bring a new lion."
</p>
<p>
"And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It's
hell."
</p>
<p>
"I'm working on it."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Casper Craig was still dictating the gram:
</p>
<p>
"Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climate
ideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from Planet
Delphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenic
and storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenial
neighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm of
our own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty—"
</p>
<p>
"And you had better have an armed escort when you return," said Father
Briton.
</p>
<p>
"Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort?"
</p>
<p>
"It's as phony as a seven-credit note!"
</p>
<p>
"You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced by
our senses? Why do you doubt?"
</p>
<p>
"It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.
Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,
zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot through
with anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers."
</p>
<p>
"What?"
</p>
<p>
"If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game of
checkers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; it
was just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally."
</p>
<p>
"They looked at the priest thoughtfully.
</p>
<p>
"But it was Paradise in one way," said Steiner at last.
</p>
<p>
"How?"
</p>
<p>
"All the time we were there the woman did not speak."
</p>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) He does not want to humiliate the priest by beating him. \n(B) The priest is too eager to go up against him, and he doesn't want to disappoint. \n(C) He has no reason to play. He is omniscient and would win without contest. \n(D) He is scared of losing and giving away his true identity. ",
"difficulty": "1",
"topic": "Short stories; Outer space -- Exploration -- Fiction; Science fiction; PS; Life on other planets -- Fiction"
} |
62349 | Why does Jig bluff to Beamish initially?
Choices:
(A) He knows he can get away with it - Beamish has the money to match what they ask.
(B) He doesn't trust Shannon to close a good deal.
(C) He doesn't trust Beamish, and wants to see if he's committed to the idea.
(D) For them to start a new tour would be costly for them, and Jig wants to get the maximum price. | [
"A",
"He knows he can get away with it - Beamish has the money to match what they ask."
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<h1>
The Blue Behemoth
</h1>
<h2>
By LEIGH BRACKETT
</h2>
<p>
Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed
<br/>
space-carny leased for a mysterious tour
<br/>
of the inner worlds. It made a one-night
<br/>
pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to
<br/>
find that death stalked it from the
<br/>
jungle in a tiny ball of flame.
</p>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Planet Stories May 1943.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. He
knocked over the pitcher of
<i>
thil
</i>
, but it didn't matter. The pitcher
was empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, not
very hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough to
spring them.
</p>
<p>
"We," he said, "are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up and
down the drain." He added, as an afterthought, "Destitute."
</p>
<p>
I looked at him. I said sourly, "You're kidding!"
</p>
<p>
"Kidding." Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me through
a curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. "He says
I'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show in
Space, plastered so thick with attachments...."
</p>
<p>
"It's no more plastered than you are." I was sore because he'd been a
lot quicker grabbing the pitcher. "The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!
I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle for
eleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!
Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks!"
</p>
<p>
I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insults
Buckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's face
unless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame.
</p>
<p>
Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see his
grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martian
girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the
slanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing round
toward us, pleased and kind of hungry.
</p>
<p>
I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven to
Shannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be.
</p>
<p>
I said, "Bucky. Hold on, fella. I...."
</p>
<p>
Somebody said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister Buckhalter
Shannon?"
</p>
<p>
Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiled
pleasantly and said, very gently:
</p>
<p>
"Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel?"
</p>
<p>
I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even if
he was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannon
settled his shoulders and hips like a dancer.
</p>
<p>
The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressed
in dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering of
grey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfully
clean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trust
with their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad.
</p>
<p>
There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with pale
blue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's.
</p>
<p>
He said, "I don't think you understand."
</p>
<p>
I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chair
back. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. I
got my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,
and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc.
</p>
<p>
Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand.
</p>
<p>
I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.
It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,
quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed.
</p>
<p>
Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. "What's eating you,
Jig? I'm not going to hurt him."
</p>
<p>
"Shut up," I said. "Look what he's got there. Money!"
</p>
<p>
The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. "Yes," he said.
"Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you?"
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. "Delighted. I'm
Shannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager." He looked down at
the table. "I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity."
</p>
<p>
The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his face
stayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a start
that it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan I
ever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any more
than you could see through sheet metal.
</p>
<p>
I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,
"Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, looking
like hungry cats at a mouse-hole."
</p>
<p>
The little guy nodded. "Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. Simon
Beamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn't
say anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a fresh
pitcher of
<i>
thil
</i>
on the table. Then I cleared my throat.
</p>
<p>
"What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish?"
</p>
<p>
Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. "I have
independent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lighten
the burden of life for those less fortunate...."
</p>
<p>
Bucky got red around the ears. "Just a minute," he murmured, and
started to get up. I kicked him under the table.
</p>
<p>
"Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish."
</p>
<p>
He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamish
ignored him. He went on, quietly,
</p>
<p>
"I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the most
valuable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation of
toil and boredom...."
</p>
<p>
I said, "Sure, sure. But what was your idea?"
</p>
<p>
"There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where no
entertainment of the—
<i>
proper
</i>
sort has been available. I propose to
remedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to make
a tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt."
</p>
<p>
Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started to
speak, and I kicked him again.
</p>
<p>
"That would be expensive, Mister Beamish," I said. "We'd have to cancel
several engagements...."
</p>
<p>
He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said,
</p>
<p>
"I quite understand that. I would be prepared...."
</p>
<p>
The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and I
glared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes.
</p>
<p>
It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terran
colony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like the
scenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding the
curtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much larger
than the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino.
</p>
<p>
He said, "Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again."
</p>
<p>
"Gertrude be blowed," growled Bucky. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
</p>
<p>
Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. "I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrude
ain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something...."
</p>
<p>
I said, "That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now."
</p>
<p>
He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber to
fit me for a coffin. "Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,
see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-pot
ship'll hold her."
</p>
<p>
He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamish
cleared his throat and said, rather stiffly,
</p>
<p>
"Gertrude?"
</p>
<p>
"Yeah. She's kind of temperamental." Bucky took a quick drink. I
finished for him.
</p>
<p>
"She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swamp
Venusian
<i>
cansin
</i>
. The only other one on the Triangle belongs to Savitt
Brothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude."
</p>
<p>
She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may be
a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped she
wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking
circus than even I could stand.
</p>
<p>
Beamish looked impressed. "A
<i>
cansin
</i>
. Well, well! The mystery
surrounding the origin and species of the
<i>
cansin
</i>
is a fascinating
subject. The extreme rarity of the animal...."
</p>
<p>
We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, "We'd have to have
at least a hundred U.C.'s."
</p>
<p>
It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.
Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of a
second I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and my
stomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly.
</p>
<p>
"I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will be
agreeable to me." He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeled
off half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table.
</p>
<p>
"By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you in
the morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night."
</p>
<p>
We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky made
grab for the money, but I beat him to it.
</p>
<p>
"Scram," I said. "There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.
Here." I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. "We
can get lushed enough on this."
</p>
<p>
Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath back
he said suddenly,
</p>
<p>
"Beamish is pulling some kind of a game."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah."
</p>
<p>
"It may be crooked."
</p>
<p>
"Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake!" I
yelled. "You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away?"
</p>
<p>
Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunic
where the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair.
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," he said. "I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury." He
poked his head outside. "Hey, boy! More
<i>
thildatum
</i>
!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport where
Shannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Late
as it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sitting
around and smoking and looking very ugly.
</p>
<p>
It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restless
under the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead and
dried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blown
red dust gritted in my teeth.
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance to
the roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on his
feet. He waved and said, "Hiya, boys."
</p>
<p>
They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. I
grinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot more
than money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out of
his own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time in
weeks we'd come in at the front door.
</p>
<p>
I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,
Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.
Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily.
</p>
<p>
"Now?" he said.
</p>
<p>
"Now," I said.
</p>
<p>
We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to join
in. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all went
home happy. They had their money, and we had their blood.
</p>
<p>
The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and the
green girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt the
muscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkers
and joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in the
passageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings.
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.
"They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I've
rewarded them."
</p>
<p>
I said, "Sure," rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed.
</p>
<p>
"Let's go see Gertrude."
</p>
<p>
I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny going
into the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a city
guy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. But
Bucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged.
</p>
<p>
"Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye."
</p>
<p>
"You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'...."
</p>
<p>
The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall down
the ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....
Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends?
</p>
<p>
It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there was
a dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started down
the long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks and
compression units.
</p>
<p>
Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't
near as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It's
the smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,
breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled
around them as strong as the cage bars.
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and
then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.
A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,
ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall.
</p>
<p>
It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the same
time. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name I
could think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a great
metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gow
had them nicely conditioned to that gong.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feel
them inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared of
them. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wanted
to put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,
all of a sudden....
</p>
<p>
Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. "She's gettin'
worse," he said. "She's lonesome."
</p>
<p>
"That's tough," said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an
owl's. He swayed slightly. "That's sure tough." He sniffled.
</p>
<p>
I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tank
and even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking a
deep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a
<i>
cansin
</i>
. There's only
two of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say will
make much difference.
</p>
<p>
They're what the brain gang calls an "end of evolution." Seems old
Dame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The
<i>
cansins
</i>
were pretty
successful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works and
now there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where even
the Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils.
</p>
<p>
I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stuck
some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little
bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big.
</p>
<p>
I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage
with her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky head
sunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.
Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire.
</p>
<p>
The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made the
mane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyes
clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked like
old Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began.
</p>
<p>
Gow said softly, "She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one."
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, "Be reasonable, Gow!
Nobody's ever seen a male
<i>
cansin
</i>
. There may not even be any."
</p>
<p>
Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.
The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. That
close, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and cold
inside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain....
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, "You'll have to snap her out of
this, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts."
</p>
<p>
He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stood
looking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then he
turned to Gertrude.
</p>
<p>
"I saved her life," he said. "When we bought her out of Hanak's wreck
and everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I know
her. I can do things with her. But this time...."
</p>
<p>
He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like a
woman's talking about a sick child.
</p>
<p>
"This time," he said, "I ain't sure."
</p>
<p>
"Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we need
her." I took Shannon's arm. "Come to bed, Bucky darlin'."
</p>
<p>
He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look at
us. Bucky sobbed.
</p>
<p>
"You were right, Jig," he mumbled. "Circus is no good. I know it. But
it's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there with
Gertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love...."
</p>
<p>
"Sure, sure," I told him. "Stop crying down my neck."
</p>
<p>
We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomed
high and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion all
around us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller.
</p>
<p>
Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mist
rose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintly
with blue, cold fire.
</p>
<p>
I yelled, "Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake!"
</p>
<p>
I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limp
and heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans and
roars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it all
I could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream.
</p>
<p>
I thought, "
<i>
Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wants
to kill us!
</i>
" I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. I
sobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me.
</p>
<p>
One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. I
rolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in the
hollow of his shoulder.
</p>
<p>
The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along the
back of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting my
mouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes.
</p>
<p>
Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,
"This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared!"
</p>
<p>
Then I went out.
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p class="ph1">
II
</p>
<p>
Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. His
little brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of his
teeth, and he gummed
<i>
thak
</i>
-weed. It smelt.
</p>
<p>
"You pretty, Mis' Jig," he giggled. "You funny like hell."
</p>
<p>
He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him and
said, "Where's Shannon? How is he?"
</p>
<p>
"Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow come
nickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell!"
</p>
<p>
I said, "Yeah," and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell down
a couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over the
washstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damned
snakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotch
plaid. I felt sick.
</p>
<p>
Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there was
a big burn across his neck. He said:
</p>
<p>
"Beamish is here with his lawyer."
</p>
<p>
I picked up my shirt. "Right with you."
</p>
<p>
Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door.
</p>
<p>
"Jig," he said, "those vapor worms were all right when we went in.
Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose."
</p>
<p>
I hurt all over. I growled, "With that brain, son, you should go far.
Nobody saw anything, of course?" Bucky shook his head.
</p>
<p>
"Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why?"
</p>
<p>
"Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped."
</p>
<p>
"One hundred U.C.'s," said Bucky softly, "for a few lousy swampedge
mining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out?"
</p>
<p>
I shrugged. "You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off the
creditors."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," Bucky said reflectively. "And I hear starvation isn't a
comfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign." He put his hand on the
latch and looked at my feet. "And—uh—Jig, I...."
</p>
<p>
I said, "Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all!"
</p>
<p>
We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,
and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around looking
like a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovian
strong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat had
kittens.
</p>
<p>
Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. It
lived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes out
of their pants. Circus people are funny that way.
</p>
<p>
Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.
Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. It
didn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you at
dinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, I
was ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute.
</p>
<p>
Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on our
itinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. It
was Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and a
bunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middle
of it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look.
</p>
<p>
I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, and
our router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned.
</p>
<p>
"A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one!"
</p>
<p>
I snarled, "What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show!" and
went out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but they
weren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venus
heat was already sneaking into the ship.
</p>
<p>
While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,
screaming.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing in
the mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and I
stood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking.
</p>
<p>
I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman was
standing in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and her
triangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything on
but her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn't
sound nice.
</p>
<p>
You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks with
the electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusian
middle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it.
</p>
<p>
Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed with
white reptilian teeth.
</p>
<p>
"Death," she whispered. "Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I can
smell it in the swamp wind."
</p>
<p>
The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin under
her jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red.
</p>
<p>
"The deep swamps are angry," she whispered. "Something has been taken.
They are angry, and I smell death in the wind!"
</p>
<p>
She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tight
and cold. Bucky said,
</p>
<p>
"Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump."
</p>
<p>
We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landing
field when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. We
could see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd.
</p>
<p>
He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three or
four tries to get our names out clear enough to understand.
</p>
<p>
Bucky said, "Jig—it's Sam Kapper."
</p>
<p>
We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeled
around to see what was happening. People began to close in on the man
who crawled and whimpered in the mud.
</p>
<p>
Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses and
carnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren't
too broke, and we were pretty friendly.
</p>
<p>
I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,
hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,
looking down at him.
</p>
<p>
Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all over
like animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned over
and put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him.
</p>
<p>
I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. I
only caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn't
realize until later that he looked familiar.
</p>
<p>
We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with a
couple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulled
the curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on the
cigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone.
</p>
<p>
Bucky said gently, "Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard lines
of his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was covered
with mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's.
</p>
<p>
He said thickly, "I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found it
and brought it out."
</p>
<p>
The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. "Help
me," he said simply. "I'm scared." His mouth drooled.
</p>
<p>
"I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It's
got to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but they
wouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it...."
</p>
<p>
He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. "I don't know
how they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.
I've got to...."
</p>
<p>
Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,
suddenly. I said, "Get what back where?"
</p>
<p>
Bucky got up. "I'll get a doctor," he said. "Stick with him." Kapper
grabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his hands
stood out like guy wires.
</p>
<p>
"Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.
Promise you'll take it back." He gasped and struggled over his
breathing.
</p>
<p>
"Sure," said Bucky. "Sure, well take it back. What is it?"
</p>
<p>
Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight for
air. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was no
use. Kapper whispered,
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
Cansin
</i>
. Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back."
</p>
<p>
"Where is it, Sam?"
</p>
<p>
I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamish
was standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kapper
made a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table.
</p>
<p>
Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky felt
Kapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew.
</p>
<p>
"Heart?" said Beamish finally.
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. "Poor Sam."
</p>
<p>
I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked at
Beamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon and
pushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap.
</p>
<p>
"Keep this guy here till I get back," I said.
</p>
<p>
Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. "Shut up," I
told him. "We got a contract." I yanked the curtains shut and walked
over to the bar.
</p>
<p>
I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in the
place. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunch
of miners in dirty shirts and high boots.
</p>
<p>
Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they never
did any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else.
</p>
<p>
The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartender
was a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white hair
coiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy.
</p>
<p>
I leaned on the bar. "
<i>
Lhak
</i>
," I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of a
green bottle. I reached for it, casually.
</p>
<p>
"That guy we brought in," I said. "He sure has a skinful. Passed out
cold. What's he been spiking his drinks with?"
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
Selak
</i>
," said a voice in my ear. "As if you didn't know."
</p>
<p>
I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standing
behind me. And I remembered him, then.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) He knows he can get away with it - Beamish has the money to match what they ask.\n(B) He doesn't trust Shannon to close a good deal. \n(C) He doesn't trust Beamish, and wants to see if he's committed to the idea. \n(D) For them to start a new tour would be costly for them, and Jig wants to get the maximum price. ",
"difficulty": "1",
"topic": "Adventure stories; Human-alien encounters -- Fiction; Science fiction; Venus (Planet) -- Fiction; Circus -- Fiction; PS"
} |
62324 | What is "La-anago Yergis"?
Choices:
(A) It's a panacea that can cure any ailment.
(B) It's medicine. It's a cure for "asteroid fever."
(C) It's purified water.
(D) It's a placebo. It's not real medicine. | [
"D",
"It's a placebo. It's not real medicine. "
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<h1>
GRIFTERS' ASTEROID
</h1>
<h2>
By H. L. GOLD
</h2>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever
<br/>
to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought!
<br/>
Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them
<br/>
five buckos for a glass of water—and got it!
</p>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Planet Stories May 1943.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,
though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, with
no dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of land
that had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontifically
into the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—his
tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something
incoherent. They met in the doorway, violently.
</p>
<p>
"We're delirious!" Joe cried. "It's a mirage!"
</p>
<p>
"What is?" asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton.
</p>
<p>
Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,
speechless for once.
</p>
<p>
In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panacea
purveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never had
they seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon.
</p>
<p>
Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in two
hands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in the
remaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpish
Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this
impossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruit
juice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously.
</p>
<p>
"Nonsense," Harvey croaked uncertainly. "We have seen enough queer
things to know there are always more."
</p>
<p>
He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:
"Water—quick!"
</p>
<p>
Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought out
two glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, asked
for more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartender
had taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water so
fast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender's
impersonal eyes studying them shrewdly.
</p>
<p>
"Strangers, eh?" he asked at last.
</p>
<p>
"Solar salesmen, my colonial friend," Harvey answered in his usual
lush manner. "We purvey that renowned Martian remedy,
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
, the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves in
the ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous in
proclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire history
of therapeutics."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah?" said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaser
glasses without washing them. "Where you heading?"
</p>
<p>
"Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gone
without water for five ghastly days."
</p>
<p>
"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.
</p>
<p>
"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't land
here unless they're in trouble."
</p>
<p>
"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."
</p>
<p>
"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents're
finished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."
</p>
<p>
Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."
</p>
<p>
"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every
chaser."
</p>
<p>
Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That—that's robbery!" the lanky man
managed to get out in a thin quaver.
</p>
<p>
The barkeeper shrugged. "When there ain't many customers, you gotta
make more on each one. Besides—"
</p>
<p>
"Besides nothing!" Joe roared, finding his voice again. "You dirty
crook—robbing poor spacemen! You—"
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
<i>
"You dirty crook!" Joe roared. "Robbing honest spacemen!"
</i>
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Harvey nudged him warningly. "Easy, my boy, easy." He turned to the
bartender apologetically. "Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands are
sometimes overactive. You were going to say—?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression.
</p>
<p>
"Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em," he said,
shaking his head. "Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitter
as some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in with
buckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—I
was chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I charge
because I gotta."
</p>
<p>
"Friend," said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eight
five-bucko bills, "here is your money. What's fair is fair, and you
have put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be an
unconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man's
thirst."
</p>
<p>
The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar.
</p>
<p>
"If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss filling
your tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, official
recorder, fire chief...."
</p>
<p>
"And chief of police, no doubt," said Harvey jocosely.
</p>
<p>
"Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here just
call me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water will
you need?"
</p>
<p>
Joe estimated quickly. "About seventy-five liters, if we go on half
rations," he answered. He waited apprehensively.
</p>
<p>
"Let's say ten buckos a liter," the mayor said. "On account of the
quantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts me
more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,
that's all."
</p>
<p>
The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks with
them. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intently
watched the crude level-gauge, crying "Stop!" when it registered the
proper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger and
wetted his lips expectantly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: "But what are we to
do about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would be
preposterous. We simply can't afford it."
</p>
<p>
Johnson's response almost floored them. "Who said anything about
charging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.
It's just the purified stuff that comes so high."
</p>
<p>
After giving them directions that would take them to the free-water
pool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headed
back to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside.
</p>
<p>
"Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague?" said Harvey as he and Joe
picked up buckets that hung on the tank. "Johnson, as I saw instantly,
is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly."
</p>
<p>
"Just the same," Joe griped, "paying for water isn't something you can
get used to in ten minutes."
</p>
<p>
In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang from
the igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,
according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled their
buckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine on
a bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko sign
in front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keeping
a faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went to
investigate.
</p>
<p>
Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender mound
that was unmistakably a buried pipe.
</p>
<p>
"What's this doing here?" Harvey asked, puzzled. "I thought Johnson had
to transport water in pails."
</p>
<p>
"Wonder where it leads to," Joe said uneasily.
</p>
<p>
"It leads
<i>
to
</i>
the saloon," said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing the
pipe back toward the spaceport. "What I am concerned with is where it
leads
<i>
from
</i>
."
</p>
<p>
Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion of
scrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burst
into the open—before a clear, sparkling pool.
</p>
<p>
Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water.
</p>
<p>
"I am growing suspicious," he said in a rigidly controlled voice.
</p>
<p>
But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water and
tasting it.
</p>
<p>
"Sweet!" he snarled.
</p>
<p>
They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.
His mouth went wry. "Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! The
only thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor's
conscience."
</p>
<p>
"The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on," said
Harvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. "Joseph, the good-natured artist in
me has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until we
have had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from this
point hence."
</p>
<p>
Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door they
stopped and their fists unclenched.
</p>
<p>
"Thought you gents were leaving," the mayor called out, seeing them
frozen in the doorway. "Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.
Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City."
</p>
<p>
"You don't need any more," said Harvey, dismayed.
</p>
<p>
Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hair
and held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously been
born and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would have
kept him down near the general dimensions of a man.
</p>
<p>
He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his own
hand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again when
his fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressed
one.
</p>
<p>
"Pleased to meet you," piped a voice that had never known a dense
atmosphere.
</p>
<p>
The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick and
unpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for....
</p>
<p>
"Joseph!" he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. "Don't you
feel well?"
</p>
<p>
Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes were
gently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his features
drooping like a bloodhound's.
</p>
<p>
"Bring him in here!" Johnson cried. "I mean, get him away! He's coming
down with asteroid fever!"
</p>
<p>
"Of course," replied Harvey calmly. "Any fool knows the first symptoms
of the disease that once scourged the universe."
</p>
<p>
"What do you mean,
<i>
once
</i>
?" demanded Johnson. "I come down with it
every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get him
out of here!"
</p>
<p>
"In good time. He can't be moved immediately."
</p>
<p>
"Then he'll be here for months!"
</p>
<p>
Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor and
his gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathe
in tiny, uncontaminating gasps.
</p>
<p>
"You'll find everything you want in the back room," Johnson said
frantically, "sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suction
cups—"
</p>
<p>
"Relics of the past," Harvey stated. "One medication is all modern man
requires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever."
</p>
<p>
"What's that?" asked the mayor without conviction.
</p>
<p>
Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand
rocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within a
few minutes, carrying a bottle.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowly
crossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,
put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.
When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partner
drink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back and
waited for the inevitable result.
</p>
<p>
Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for several
moments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomed
to perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his features
straightened out.
</p>
<p>
"Are—are you all right?" asked the mayor anxiously.
</p>
<p>
"Much better," said Joe in a weak voice.
</p>
<p>
"Maybe you need another dose," Harvey suggested.
</p>
<p>
Joe recoiled. "I'm fine now!" he cried, and sprang off the bar to prove
it.
</p>
<p>
Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,
and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse.
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll be hanged!" Johnson ejaculated.
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
La-anago Yergis
</i>
never fails, my friend," Harvey explained. "By
actual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-three
minutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caught
this one before it grew formidable."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. "If you
don't charge too much," he said warily, "I might think of buying some."
</p>
<p>
"We do not sell this unbelievable remedy," Harvey replied with dignity.
"It sells itself."
</p>
<p>
"'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a whole
case," said Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared with
the vast loss of time and strength the fever involves."
</p>
<p>
"How much?" asked the mayor unhappily.
</p>
<p>
"For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundred
buckos."
</p>
<p>
Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression of
doing so. "F-four hundred," he offered.
</p>
<p>
"Not a red cent less than four seventy-five," Harvey said flatly.
</p>
<p>
"Make it four fifty," quavered Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"I dislike haggling," said Harvey.
</p>
<p>
The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos and
fifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: "And we will include,
<i>
gratis
</i>
, an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurian
handicraftsmanship."
</p>
<p>
Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. "No tricks now. I want a taste of
that stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me."
</p>
<p>
Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. The
mayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuing
minute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle which
the man gradually won.
</p>
<p>
"There ain't no words for that taste," he gulped when it was safe to
talk again.
</p>
<p>
"Medicine," Harvey propounded, "should taste like medicine." To Joe he
said: "Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task to
which we have dedicated ourselves."
</p>
<p>
With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed the
clearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe dropped
his murderous silence and cried:
</p>
<p>
"What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of that
snake oil?"
</p>
<p>
"That was not poison," Harvey contradicted quietly. "It was
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
extract, plus."
</p>
<p>
"Plus what—arsenic?"
</p>
<p>
"Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufacture
our specific for all known ailments, with the intention of selling
yonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,
mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been
swindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit have
been, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course."
</p>
<p>
"But why use it on me?" Joe demanded furiously.
</p>
<p>
Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. "Did Johnson ask to
taste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to produce
the same
<i>
medicine
</i>
that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were a
guinea pig for a splendid cause."
</p>
<p>
"Okay, okay," Joe said. "But you shoulda charged him more."
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of which
that swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables he
possesses. We could not be content with less."
</p>
<p>
"Well, we're starting all right," admitted Joe. "How about that thing
with six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?"
</p>
<p>
Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively.
</p>
<p>
"I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.
Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.
At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with our
streamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolic
suckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on the
audio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendous
figure to the zoo!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carried
the case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared a
place of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put it
down carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gave
him, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been at
least as good as the first; he gagged.
</p>
<p>
"That's the stuff, all right," he said, swallowing hard. He counted
out the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariously
balanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his pain
at paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,
and asked: "You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now."
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking about
food at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.
</p>
<p>
"It's only water we were short of," Harvey said apprehensively. "We've
got rations back at the ship."
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
H-mph!
</i>
" the mayor grunted. "Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.
Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcome
to our hospitality."
</p>
<p>
"Your hospitality," said Harvey, "depends on the prices you charge."
</p>
<p>
"Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying," answered
the mayor promptly. "What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here you
can't get anywhere else for any price."
</p>
<p>
Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He saw
none.
</p>
<p>
"Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe," he said guardedly.
</p>
<p>
Johnson immediately fell into the role of "mine host."
</p>
<p>
"Come right in, gents," he invited. "Right into the dining room."
</p>
<p>
He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more or
less private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was little
chance of company.
</p>
<p>
Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen with
two menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,
silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,
which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were
phenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, he
grinned, bowed and asked: "Everything satisfactory, gents?"
</p>
<p>
"Quite," said Harvey. "We shall order."
</p>
<p>
For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, the
culinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the service
was as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius played
deftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian
<i>
viotars
</i>
, using his other two
hands for waiting on the table.
</p>
<p>
"We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen," Harvey
whispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in the
kitchen, attending to the next course. "He would make any society
hostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sum
to women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire."
</p>
<p>
"Think of a fast one fast," Joe agreed. "You're right."
</p>
<p>
"But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,"
complained Harvey. "I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest
merchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimate
our check at a mere bucko twenty redsents."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.
</p>
<p>
"It's been a great honor, gents," he said. "Ain't often I have
visitors, and I like the best, like you two gents."
</p>
<p>
As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe and
Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in
a yelp of horror.
</p>
<p>
"What the devil is this?" he shouted.—"How do you arrive at this
fantastic, idiotic figure—
<i>
three hundred and twenty-eight buckos
</i>
!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,
not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty
fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.
</p>
<p>
Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with
rage. The minute note read: "Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80
redsents."
</p>
<p>
"You can go to hell!" Joe growled. "We won't pay it!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson sighed ponderously. "I was afraid you'd act like that," he said
with regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it on
his vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. "Afraid I'll have to
ask the sheriff to take over."
</p>
<p>
Johnson, the "sheriff," collected the money, and Johnson, the
"restaurateur," pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to
remain calm.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said to the mayor, and his tones took on a
schoolmasterish severity, "your long absence from Earth has perhaps
made you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered the
folk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is folly
to kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is pound
foolish.'"
</p>
<p>
"I don't get the connection," objected Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you put
out of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantial
deal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer for
the peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds the
way you have—"
</p>
<p>
"Who said I wanted to sell him?" the mayor interrupted. He rubbed his
fingers together and asked disinterestedly: "What were you going to
offer, anyhow?"
</p>
<p>
"It doesn't matter any longer," Harvey said with elaborate
carelessness. "Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway."
</p>
<p>
"That's right," Johnson came back emphatically. "But what would your
offer have been which I would have turned down?"
</p>
<p>
"Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?"
</p>
<p>
"Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable to
sell."
</p>
<p>
"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money would
tempt you!"
</p>
<p>
"Nope. But how much did you say?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!"
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll tell you something," said the mayor confidentially. "When
you've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,
it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,
you can buy this and that and this and that and—"
</p>
<p>
"This and that," concluded Joe. "We'll give you five hundred buckos."
</p>
<p>
"Now, gents!" Johnson remonstrated. "Why, six hundred would hardly—"
</p>
<p>
"You haven't left us much money," Harvey put in.
</p>
<p>
The mayor frowned. "All right, we'll split the difference. Make it
five-fifty."
</p>
<p>
Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then he
stood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensively
acquired.
</p>
<p>
"I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature," he said to
Johnson. "I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only your
filial mammoth to keep you company."
</p>
<p>
"I sure will," Johnson confessed glumly. "I got pretty attached to
Genius, and I'm going to miss him something awful."
</p>
<p>
Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing off
the table almost all at once.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said, "we take your only solace, it is true, but in his
place we can offer something no less amazing and instructive."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. "What is it?" he
asked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at its
worst and expects nothing better.
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room of
the ship," Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: "You must see
the wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partner
will soon have it here for your astonishment."
</p>
<p>
Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. "Aw, Harv," he
protested, "do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we were
getting the key!"
</p>
<p>
"We must not be selfish, my boy," Harvey said nobly. "We have had our
chance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who might
have more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here."
</p>
<p>
Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiosity
would probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting with
questions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. For
his part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoeba
until Joe came in, lugging a radio.
</p>
<p>
"Is that what you were talking about?" the mayor snorted. "What makes
you think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers and
political speech-makers."
</p>
<p>
"Do not jump to hasty conclusions," Harvey cautioned. "Another word,
and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,
with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventor
of this absolutely awe-inspiring device."
</p>
<p>
"I ain't in the market for a radio," Johnson said stubbornly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey nodded in relief. "We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.
He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue our
study, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to an
enormous fortune."
</p>
<p>
"Well, that's no plating off our bow," Joe grunted. "I'm glad he did
turn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three whole
years."
</p>
<p>
He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.
</p>
<p>
"Now, hold on!" the mayor cried. "I ain't
<i>
saying
</i>
I'll buy, but what
is it I'm turning down?"
</p>
<p>
Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His face
sorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"To make a long story, Mr. Johnson," he said, "Joseph and I were among
the chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just before
his tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane." He
banged his fist on the bar. "I have said it before, and I repeat again,
that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredit
his greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!"
</p>
<p>
"This what?" Johnson blurted out.
</p>
<p>
"In simple terms," clarified Harvey, "the ingenious doctor discovered
that the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged by
energy of all quanta. There has never been any question that the
inhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized than
ourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge would
find himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!"
</p>
<p>
The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.
</p>
<p>
"And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?"
</p>
<p>
"It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied Doctor
Dean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact."
</p>
<p>
The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and stared
thoughtfully at the battered cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts," he
conceded. "But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks up
there wouldn't talk our language."
</p>
<p>
Again Harvey smashed his fist down. "Do you dare to repeat the scurvy
lie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?"
</p>
<p>
Johnson recoiled. "No—no,
<i>
of course not
</i>
. I mean, being up here, I
naturally couldn't get all the details."
</p>
<p>
"Naturally," Harvey agreed, mollified. "I'm sorry I lost my temper.
But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcasts
emanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that be
so difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there was
communication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admired
our language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their own
hyper-scientific trimmings?"
</p>
<p>
"Why, I don't know," Johnson said in confusion.
</p>
<p>
"For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detect
the simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosed
broadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctor
failed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his could
stand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure to
solve the mystery caused him to take his own life."
</p>
<p>
Johnson winced. "Is that what you want to unload on me?"
</p>
<p>
"For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will be
rewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man who
could devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously a
person with unusual patience."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," the mayor said grudgingly, "I ain't exactly flighty."
</p>
<p>
"Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson asked skeptically: "How about a sample first?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) It's a panacea that can cure any ailment. \n(B) It's medicine. It's a cure for \"asteroid fever.\" \n(C) It's purified water. \n(D) It's a placebo. It's not real medicine. ",
"difficulty": "1",
"topic": "Asteroids -- Fiction; Short stories; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction; PS; Science fiction"
} |
62324 | Johnson claims to have a multitude of jobs. Which title best describes him and what he does?
Choices:
(A) Conman.
(B) Bartender.
(C) Mayor.
(D) Sheriff. | [
"A",
"Conman. "
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<h1>
GRIFTERS' ASTEROID
</h1>
<h2>
By H. L. GOLD
</h2>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever
<br/>
to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought!
<br/>
Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them
<br/>
five buckos for a glass of water—and got it!
</p>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Planet Stories May 1943.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,
though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, with
no dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of land
that had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontifically
into the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—his
tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something
incoherent. They met in the doorway, violently.
</p>
<p>
"We're delirious!" Joe cried. "It's a mirage!"
</p>
<p>
"What is?" asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton.
</p>
<p>
Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,
speechless for once.
</p>
<p>
In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panacea
purveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never had
they seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon.
</p>
<p>
Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in two
hands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in the
remaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpish
Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this
impossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruit
juice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously.
</p>
<p>
"Nonsense," Harvey croaked uncertainly. "We have seen enough queer
things to know there are always more."
</p>
<p>
He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:
"Water—quick!"
</p>
<p>
Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought out
two glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, asked
for more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartender
had taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water so
fast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender's
impersonal eyes studying them shrewdly.
</p>
<p>
"Strangers, eh?" he asked at last.
</p>
<p>
"Solar salesmen, my colonial friend," Harvey answered in his usual
lush manner. "We purvey that renowned Martian remedy,
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
, the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves in
the ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous in
proclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire history
of therapeutics."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah?" said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaser
glasses without washing them. "Where you heading?"
</p>
<p>
"Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gone
without water for five ghastly days."
</p>
<p>
"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.
</p>
<p>
"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't land
here unless they're in trouble."
</p>
<p>
"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."
</p>
<p>
"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents're
finished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."
</p>
<p>
Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."
</p>
<p>
"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every
chaser."
</p>
<p>
Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That—that's robbery!" the lanky man
managed to get out in a thin quaver.
</p>
<p>
The barkeeper shrugged. "When there ain't many customers, you gotta
make more on each one. Besides—"
</p>
<p>
"Besides nothing!" Joe roared, finding his voice again. "You dirty
crook—robbing poor spacemen! You—"
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
<i>
"You dirty crook!" Joe roared. "Robbing honest spacemen!"
</i>
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Harvey nudged him warningly. "Easy, my boy, easy." He turned to the
bartender apologetically. "Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands are
sometimes overactive. You were going to say—?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression.
</p>
<p>
"Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em," he said,
shaking his head. "Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitter
as some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in with
buckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—I
was chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I charge
because I gotta."
</p>
<p>
"Friend," said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eight
five-bucko bills, "here is your money. What's fair is fair, and you
have put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be an
unconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man's
thirst."
</p>
<p>
The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar.
</p>
<p>
"If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss filling
your tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, official
recorder, fire chief...."
</p>
<p>
"And chief of police, no doubt," said Harvey jocosely.
</p>
<p>
"Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here just
call me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water will
you need?"
</p>
<p>
Joe estimated quickly. "About seventy-five liters, if we go on half
rations," he answered. He waited apprehensively.
</p>
<p>
"Let's say ten buckos a liter," the mayor said. "On account of the
quantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts me
more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,
that's all."
</p>
<p>
The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks with
them. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intently
watched the crude level-gauge, crying "Stop!" when it registered the
proper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger and
wetted his lips expectantly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: "But what are we to
do about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would be
preposterous. We simply can't afford it."
</p>
<p>
Johnson's response almost floored them. "Who said anything about
charging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.
It's just the purified stuff that comes so high."
</p>
<p>
After giving them directions that would take them to the free-water
pool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headed
back to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside.
</p>
<p>
"Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague?" said Harvey as he and Joe
picked up buckets that hung on the tank. "Johnson, as I saw instantly,
is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly."
</p>
<p>
"Just the same," Joe griped, "paying for water isn't something you can
get used to in ten minutes."
</p>
<p>
In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang from
the igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,
according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled their
buckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine on
a bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko sign
in front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keeping
a faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went to
investigate.
</p>
<p>
Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender mound
that was unmistakably a buried pipe.
</p>
<p>
"What's this doing here?" Harvey asked, puzzled. "I thought Johnson had
to transport water in pails."
</p>
<p>
"Wonder where it leads to," Joe said uneasily.
</p>
<p>
"It leads
<i>
to
</i>
the saloon," said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing the
pipe back toward the spaceport. "What I am concerned with is where it
leads
<i>
from
</i>
."
</p>
<p>
Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion of
scrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burst
into the open—before a clear, sparkling pool.
</p>
<p>
Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water.
</p>
<p>
"I am growing suspicious," he said in a rigidly controlled voice.
</p>
<p>
But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water and
tasting it.
</p>
<p>
"Sweet!" he snarled.
</p>
<p>
They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.
His mouth went wry. "Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! The
only thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor's
conscience."
</p>
<p>
"The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on," said
Harvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. "Joseph, the good-natured artist in
me has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until we
have had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from this
point hence."
</p>
<p>
Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door they
stopped and their fists unclenched.
</p>
<p>
"Thought you gents were leaving," the mayor called out, seeing them
frozen in the doorway. "Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.
Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City."
</p>
<p>
"You don't need any more," said Harvey, dismayed.
</p>
<p>
Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hair
and held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously been
born and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would have
kept him down near the general dimensions of a man.
</p>
<p>
He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his own
hand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again when
his fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressed
one.
</p>
<p>
"Pleased to meet you," piped a voice that had never known a dense
atmosphere.
</p>
<p>
The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick and
unpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for....
</p>
<p>
"Joseph!" he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. "Don't you
feel well?"
</p>
<p>
Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes were
gently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his features
drooping like a bloodhound's.
</p>
<p>
"Bring him in here!" Johnson cried. "I mean, get him away! He's coming
down with asteroid fever!"
</p>
<p>
"Of course," replied Harvey calmly. "Any fool knows the first symptoms
of the disease that once scourged the universe."
</p>
<p>
"What do you mean,
<i>
once
</i>
?" demanded Johnson. "I come down with it
every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get him
out of here!"
</p>
<p>
"In good time. He can't be moved immediately."
</p>
<p>
"Then he'll be here for months!"
</p>
<p>
Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor and
his gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathe
in tiny, uncontaminating gasps.
</p>
<p>
"You'll find everything you want in the back room," Johnson said
frantically, "sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suction
cups—"
</p>
<p>
"Relics of the past," Harvey stated. "One medication is all modern man
requires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever."
</p>
<p>
"What's that?" asked the mayor without conviction.
</p>
<p>
Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand
rocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within a
few minutes, carrying a bottle.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowly
crossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,
put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.
When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partner
drink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back and
waited for the inevitable result.
</p>
<p>
Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for several
moments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomed
to perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his features
straightened out.
</p>
<p>
"Are—are you all right?" asked the mayor anxiously.
</p>
<p>
"Much better," said Joe in a weak voice.
</p>
<p>
"Maybe you need another dose," Harvey suggested.
</p>
<p>
Joe recoiled. "I'm fine now!" he cried, and sprang off the bar to prove
it.
</p>
<p>
Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,
and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse.
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll be hanged!" Johnson ejaculated.
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
La-anago Yergis
</i>
never fails, my friend," Harvey explained. "By
actual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-three
minutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caught
this one before it grew formidable."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. "If you
don't charge too much," he said warily, "I might think of buying some."
</p>
<p>
"We do not sell this unbelievable remedy," Harvey replied with dignity.
"It sells itself."
</p>
<p>
"'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a whole
case," said Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared with
the vast loss of time and strength the fever involves."
</p>
<p>
"How much?" asked the mayor unhappily.
</p>
<p>
"For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundred
buckos."
</p>
<p>
Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression of
doing so. "F-four hundred," he offered.
</p>
<p>
"Not a red cent less than four seventy-five," Harvey said flatly.
</p>
<p>
"Make it four fifty," quavered Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"I dislike haggling," said Harvey.
</p>
<p>
The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos and
fifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: "And we will include,
<i>
gratis
</i>
, an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurian
handicraftsmanship."
</p>
<p>
Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. "No tricks now. I want a taste of
that stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me."
</p>
<p>
Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. The
mayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuing
minute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle which
the man gradually won.
</p>
<p>
"There ain't no words for that taste," he gulped when it was safe to
talk again.
</p>
<p>
"Medicine," Harvey propounded, "should taste like medicine." To Joe he
said: "Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task to
which we have dedicated ourselves."
</p>
<p>
With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed the
clearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe dropped
his murderous silence and cried:
</p>
<p>
"What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of that
snake oil?"
</p>
<p>
"That was not poison," Harvey contradicted quietly. "It was
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
extract, plus."
</p>
<p>
"Plus what—arsenic?"
</p>
<p>
"Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufacture
our specific for all known ailments, with the intention of selling
yonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,
mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been
swindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit have
been, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course."
</p>
<p>
"But why use it on me?" Joe demanded furiously.
</p>
<p>
Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. "Did Johnson ask to
taste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to produce
the same
<i>
medicine
</i>
that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were a
guinea pig for a splendid cause."
</p>
<p>
"Okay, okay," Joe said. "But you shoulda charged him more."
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of which
that swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables he
possesses. We could not be content with less."
</p>
<p>
"Well, we're starting all right," admitted Joe. "How about that thing
with six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?"
</p>
<p>
Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively.
</p>
<p>
"I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.
Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.
At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with our
streamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolic
suckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on the
audio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendous
figure to the zoo!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carried
the case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared a
place of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put it
down carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gave
him, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been at
least as good as the first; he gagged.
</p>
<p>
"That's the stuff, all right," he said, swallowing hard. He counted
out the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariously
balanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his pain
at paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,
and asked: "You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now."
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking about
food at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.
</p>
<p>
"It's only water we were short of," Harvey said apprehensively. "We've
got rations back at the ship."
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
H-mph!
</i>
" the mayor grunted. "Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.
Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcome
to our hospitality."
</p>
<p>
"Your hospitality," said Harvey, "depends on the prices you charge."
</p>
<p>
"Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying," answered
the mayor promptly. "What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here you
can't get anywhere else for any price."
</p>
<p>
Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He saw
none.
</p>
<p>
"Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe," he said guardedly.
</p>
<p>
Johnson immediately fell into the role of "mine host."
</p>
<p>
"Come right in, gents," he invited. "Right into the dining room."
</p>
<p>
He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more or
less private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was little
chance of company.
</p>
<p>
Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen with
two menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,
silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,
which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were
phenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, he
grinned, bowed and asked: "Everything satisfactory, gents?"
</p>
<p>
"Quite," said Harvey. "We shall order."
</p>
<p>
For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, the
culinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the service
was as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius played
deftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian
<i>
viotars
</i>
, using his other two
hands for waiting on the table.
</p>
<p>
"We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen," Harvey
whispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in the
kitchen, attending to the next course. "He would make any society
hostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sum
to women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire."
</p>
<p>
"Think of a fast one fast," Joe agreed. "You're right."
</p>
<p>
"But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,"
complained Harvey. "I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest
merchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimate
our check at a mere bucko twenty redsents."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.
</p>
<p>
"It's been a great honor, gents," he said. "Ain't often I have
visitors, and I like the best, like you two gents."
</p>
<p>
As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe and
Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in
a yelp of horror.
</p>
<p>
"What the devil is this?" he shouted.—"How do you arrive at this
fantastic, idiotic figure—
<i>
three hundred and twenty-eight buckos
</i>
!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,
not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty
fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.
</p>
<p>
Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with
rage. The minute note read: "Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80
redsents."
</p>
<p>
"You can go to hell!" Joe growled. "We won't pay it!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson sighed ponderously. "I was afraid you'd act like that," he said
with regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it on
his vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. "Afraid I'll have to
ask the sheriff to take over."
</p>
<p>
Johnson, the "sheriff," collected the money, and Johnson, the
"restaurateur," pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to
remain calm.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said to the mayor, and his tones took on a
schoolmasterish severity, "your long absence from Earth has perhaps
made you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered the
folk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is folly
to kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is pound
foolish.'"
</p>
<p>
"I don't get the connection," objected Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you put
out of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantial
deal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer for
the peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds the
way you have—"
</p>
<p>
"Who said I wanted to sell him?" the mayor interrupted. He rubbed his
fingers together and asked disinterestedly: "What were you going to
offer, anyhow?"
</p>
<p>
"It doesn't matter any longer," Harvey said with elaborate
carelessness. "Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway."
</p>
<p>
"That's right," Johnson came back emphatically. "But what would your
offer have been which I would have turned down?"
</p>
<p>
"Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?"
</p>
<p>
"Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable to
sell."
</p>
<p>
"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money would
tempt you!"
</p>
<p>
"Nope. But how much did you say?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!"
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll tell you something," said the mayor confidentially. "When
you've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,
it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,
you can buy this and that and this and that and—"
</p>
<p>
"This and that," concluded Joe. "We'll give you five hundred buckos."
</p>
<p>
"Now, gents!" Johnson remonstrated. "Why, six hundred would hardly—"
</p>
<p>
"You haven't left us much money," Harvey put in.
</p>
<p>
The mayor frowned. "All right, we'll split the difference. Make it
five-fifty."
</p>
<p>
Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then he
stood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensively
acquired.
</p>
<p>
"I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature," he said to
Johnson. "I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only your
filial mammoth to keep you company."
</p>
<p>
"I sure will," Johnson confessed glumly. "I got pretty attached to
Genius, and I'm going to miss him something awful."
</p>
<p>
Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing off
the table almost all at once.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said, "we take your only solace, it is true, but in his
place we can offer something no less amazing and instructive."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. "What is it?" he
asked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at its
worst and expects nothing better.
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room of
the ship," Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: "You must see
the wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partner
will soon have it here for your astonishment."
</p>
<p>
Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. "Aw, Harv," he
protested, "do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we were
getting the key!"
</p>
<p>
"We must not be selfish, my boy," Harvey said nobly. "We have had our
chance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who might
have more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here."
</p>
<p>
Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiosity
would probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting with
questions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. For
his part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoeba
until Joe came in, lugging a radio.
</p>
<p>
"Is that what you were talking about?" the mayor snorted. "What makes
you think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers and
political speech-makers."
</p>
<p>
"Do not jump to hasty conclusions," Harvey cautioned. "Another word,
and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,
with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventor
of this absolutely awe-inspiring device."
</p>
<p>
"I ain't in the market for a radio," Johnson said stubbornly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey nodded in relief. "We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.
He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue our
study, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to an
enormous fortune."
</p>
<p>
"Well, that's no plating off our bow," Joe grunted. "I'm glad he did
turn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three whole
years."
</p>
<p>
He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.
</p>
<p>
"Now, hold on!" the mayor cried. "I ain't
<i>
saying
</i>
I'll buy, but what
is it I'm turning down?"
</p>
<p>
Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His face
sorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"To make a long story, Mr. Johnson," he said, "Joseph and I were among
the chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just before
his tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane." He
banged his fist on the bar. "I have said it before, and I repeat again,
that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredit
his greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!"
</p>
<p>
"This what?" Johnson blurted out.
</p>
<p>
"In simple terms," clarified Harvey, "the ingenious doctor discovered
that the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged by
energy of all quanta. There has never been any question that the
inhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized than
ourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge would
find himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!"
</p>
<p>
The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.
</p>
<p>
"And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?"
</p>
<p>
"It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied Doctor
Dean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact."
</p>
<p>
The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and stared
thoughtfully at the battered cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts," he
conceded. "But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks up
there wouldn't talk our language."
</p>
<p>
Again Harvey smashed his fist down. "Do you dare to repeat the scurvy
lie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?"
</p>
<p>
Johnson recoiled. "No—no,
<i>
of course not
</i>
. I mean, being up here, I
naturally couldn't get all the details."
</p>
<p>
"Naturally," Harvey agreed, mollified. "I'm sorry I lost my temper.
But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcasts
emanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that be
so difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there was
communication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admired
our language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their own
hyper-scientific trimmings?"
</p>
<p>
"Why, I don't know," Johnson said in confusion.
</p>
<p>
"For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detect
the simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosed
broadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctor
failed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his could
stand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure to
solve the mystery caused him to take his own life."
</p>
<p>
Johnson winced. "Is that what you want to unload on me?"
</p>
<p>
"For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will be
rewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man who
could devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously a
person with unusual patience."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," the mayor said grudgingly, "I ain't exactly flighty."
</p>
<p>
"Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson asked skeptically: "How about a sample first?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) Conman. \n(B) Bartender. \n(C) Mayor. \n(D) Sheriff. ",
"difficulty": "1",
"topic": "Asteroids -- Fiction; Short stories; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction; PS; Science fiction"
} |
62324 | Why does Johnson stay on the asteroid, even though few people come by?
Choices:
(A) Here he's able to meet traders like Harvey and Joe and barter with them.
(B) He's able to run business even with few customers.
(C) Here he's able to take advantage of travelers who are lost or in need of supplies.
(D) He doesn't want to give up the spring of water. | [
"C",
"Here he's able to take advantage of travelers who are lost or in need of supplies. "
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<h1>
GRIFTERS' ASTEROID
</h1>
<h2>
By H. L. GOLD
</h2>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever
<br/>
to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought!
<br/>
Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them
<br/>
five buckos for a glass of water—and got it!
</p>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Planet Stories May 1943.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,
though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, with
no dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of land
that had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontifically
into the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—his
tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something
incoherent. They met in the doorway, violently.
</p>
<p>
"We're delirious!" Joe cried. "It's a mirage!"
</p>
<p>
"What is?" asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton.
</p>
<p>
Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,
speechless for once.
</p>
<p>
In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panacea
purveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never had
they seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon.
</p>
<p>
Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in two
hands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in the
remaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpish
Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this
impossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruit
juice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously.
</p>
<p>
"Nonsense," Harvey croaked uncertainly. "We have seen enough queer
things to know there are always more."
</p>
<p>
He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:
"Water—quick!"
</p>
<p>
Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought out
two glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, asked
for more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartender
had taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water so
fast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender's
impersonal eyes studying them shrewdly.
</p>
<p>
"Strangers, eh?" he asked at last.
</p>
<p>
"Solar salesmen, my colonial friend," Harvey answered in his usual
lush manner. "We purvey that renowned Martian remedy,
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
, the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves in
the ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous in
proclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire history
of therapeutics."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah?" said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaser
glasses without washing them. "Where you heading?"
</p>
<p>
"Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gone
without water for five ghastly days."
</p>
<p>
"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.
</p>
<p>
"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't land
here unless they're in trouble."
</p>
<p>
"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."
</p>
<p>
"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents're
finished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."
</p>
<p>
Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."
</p>
<p>
"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every
chaser."
</p>
<p>
Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That—that's robbery!" the lanky man
managed to get out in a thin quaver.
</p>
<p>
The barkeeper shrugged. "When there ain't many customers, you gotta
make more on each one. Besides—"
</p>
<p>
"Besides nothing!" Joe roared, finding his voice again. "You dirty
crook—robbing poor spacemen! You—"
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
<i>
"You dirty crook!" Joe roared. "Robbing honest spacemen!"
</i>
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Harvey nudged him warningly. "Easy, my boy, easy." He turned to the
bartender apologetically. "Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands are
sometimes overactive. You were going to say—?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression.
</p>
<p>
"Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em," he said,
shaking his head. "Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitter
as some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in with
buckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—I
was chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I charge
because I gotta."
</p>
<p>
"Friend," said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eight
five-bucko bills, "here is your money. What's fair is fair, and you
have put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be an
unconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man's
thirst."
</p>
<p>
The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar.
</p>
<p>
"If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss filling
your tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, official
recorder, fire chief...."
</p>
<p>
"And chief of police, no doubt," said Harvey jocosely.
</p>
<p>
"Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here just
call me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water will
you need?"
</p>
<p>
Joe estimated quickly. "About seventy-five liters, if we go on half
rations," he answered. He waited apprehensively.
</p>
<p>
"Let's say ten buckos a liter," the mayor said. "On account of the
quantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts me
more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,
that's all."
</p>
<p>
The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks with
them. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intently
watched the crude level-gauge, crying "Stop!" when it registered the
proper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger and
wetted his lips expectantly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: "But what are we to
do about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would be
preposterous. We simply can't afford it."
</p>
<p>
Johnson's response almost floored them. "Who said anything about
charging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.
It's just the purified stuff that comes so high."
</p>
<p>
After giving them directions that would take them to the free-water
pool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headed
back to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside.
</p>
<p>
"Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague?" said Harvey as he and Joe
picked up buckets that hung on the tank. "Johnson, as I saw instantly,
is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly."
</p>
<p>
"Just the same," Joe griped, "paying for water isn't something you can
get used to in ten minutes."
</p>
<p>
In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang from
the igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,
according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled their
buckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine on
a bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko sign
in front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keeping
a faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went to
investigate.
</p>
<p>
Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender mound
that was unmistakably a buried pipe.
</p>
<p>
"What's this doing here?" Harvey asked, puzzled. "I thought Johnson had
to transport water in pails."
</p>
<p>
"Wonder where it leads to," Joe said uneasily.
</p>
<p>
"It leads
<i>
to
</i>
the saloon," said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing the
pipe back toward the spaceport. "What I am concerned with is where it
leads
<i>
from
</i>
."
</p>
<p>
Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion of
scrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burst
into the open—before a clear, sparkling pool.
</p>
<p>
Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water.
</p>
<p>
"I am growing suspicious," he said in a rigidly controlled voice.
</p>
<p>
But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water and
tasting it.
</p>
<p>
"Sweet!" he snarled.
</p>
<p>
They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.
His mouth went wry. "Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! The
only thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor's
conscience."
</p>
<p>
"The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on," said
Harvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. "Joseph, the good-natured artist in
me has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until we
have had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from this
point hence."
</p>
<p>
Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door they
stopped and their fists unclenched.
</p>
<p>
"Thought you gents were leaving," the mayor called out, seeing them
frozen in the doorway. "Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.
Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City."
</p>
<p>
"You don't need any more," said Harvey, dismayed.
</p>
<p>
Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hair
and held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously been
born and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would have
kept him down near the general dimensions of a man.
</p>
<p>
He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his own
hand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again when
his fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressed
one.
</p>
<p>
"Pleased to meet you," piped a voice that had never known a dense
atmosphere.
</p>
<p>
The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick and
unpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for....
</p>
<p>
"Joseph!" he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. "Don't you
feel well?"
</p>
<p>
Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes were
gently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his features
drooping like a bloodhound's.
</p>
<p>
"Bring him in here!" Johnson cried. "I mean, get him away! He's coming
down with asteroid fever!"
</p>
<p>
"Of course," replied Harvey calmly. "Any fool knows the first symptoms
of the disease that once scourged the universe."
</p>
<p>
"What do you mean,
<i>
once
</i>
?" demanded Johnson. "I come down with it
every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get him
out of here!"
</p>
<p>
"In good time. He can't be moved immediately."
</p>
<p>
"Then he'll be here for months!"
</p>
<p>
Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor and
his gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathe
in tiny, uncontaminating gasps.
</p>
<p>
"You'll find everything you want in the back room," Johnson said
frantically, "sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suction
cups—"
</p>
<p>
"Relics of the past," Harvey stated. "One medication is all modern man
requires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever."
</p>
<p>
"What's that?" asked the mayor without conviction.
</p>
<p>
Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand
rocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within a
few minutes, carrying a bottle.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowly
crossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,
put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.
When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partner
drink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back and
waited for the inevitable result.
</p>
<p>
Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for several
moments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomed
to perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his features
straightened out.
</p>
<p>
"Are—are you all right?" asked the mayor anxiously.
</p>
<p>
"Much better," said Joe in a weak voice.
</p>
<p>
"Maybe you need another dose," Harvey suggested.
</p>
<p>
Joe recoiled. "I'm fine now!" he cried, and sprang off the bar to prove
it.
</p>
<p>
Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,
and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse.
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll be hanged!" Johnson ejaculated.
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
La-anago Yergis
</i>
never fails, my friend," Harvey explained. "By
actual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-three
minutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caught
this one before it grew formidable."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. "If you
don't charge too much," he said warily, "I might think of buying some."
</p>
<p>
"We do not sell this unbelievable remedy," Harvey replied with dignity.
"It sells itself."
</p>
<p>
"'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a whole
case," said Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared with
the vast loss of time and strength the fever involves."
</p>
<p>
"How much?" asked the mayor unhappily.
</p>
<p>
"For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundred
buckos."
</p>
<p>
Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression of
doing so. "F-four hundred," he offered.
</p>
<p>
"Not a red cent less than four seventy-five," Harvey said flatly.
</p>
<p>
"Make it four fifty," quavered Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"I dislike haggling," said Harvey.
</p>
<p>
The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos and
fifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: "And we will include,
<i>
gratis
</i>
, an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurian
handicraftsmanship."
</p>
<p>
Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. "No tricks now. I want a taste of
that stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me."
</p>
<p>
Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. The
mayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuing
minute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle which
the man gradually won.
</p>
<p>
"There ain't no words for that taste," he gulped when it was safe to
talk again.
</p>
<p>
"Medicine," Harvey propounded, "should taste like medicine." To Joe he
said: "Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task to
which we have dedicated ourselves."
</p>
<p>
With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed the
clearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe dropped
his murderous silence and cried:
</p>
<p>
"What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of that
snake oil?"
</p>
<p>
"That was not poison," Harvey contradicted quietly. "It was
<i>
La-anago
Yergis
</i>
extract, plus."
</p>
<p>
"Plus what—arsenic?"
</p>
<p>
"Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufacture
our specific for all known ailments, with the intention of selling
yonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,
mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been
swindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit have
been, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course."
</p>
<p>
"But why use it on me?" Joe demanded furiously.
</p>
<p>
Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. "Did Johnson ask to
taste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to produce
the same
<i>
medicine
</i>
that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were a
guinea pig for a splendid cause."
</p>
<p>
"Okay, okay," Joe said. "But you shoulda charged him more."
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of which
that swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables he
possesses. We could not be content with less."
</p>
<p>
"Well, we're starting all right," admitted Joe. "How about that thing
with six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?"
</p>
<p>
Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively.
</p>
<p>
"I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.
Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.
At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with our
streamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolic
suckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on the
audio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendous
figure to the zoo!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carried
the case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared a
place of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put it
down carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gave
him, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been at
least as good as the first; he gagged.
</p>
<p>
"That's the stuff, all right," he said, swallowing hard. He counted
out the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariously
balanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his pain
at paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,
and asked: "You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now."
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking about
food at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.
</p>
<p>
"It's only water we were short of," Harvey said apprehensively. "We've
got rations back at the ship."
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
H-mph!
</i>
" the mayor grunted. "Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.
Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcome
to our hospitality."
</p>
<p>
"Your hospitality," said Harvey, "depends on the prices you charge."
</p>
<p>
"Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying," answered
the mayor promptly. "What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here you
can't get anywhere else for any price."
</p>
<p>
Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He saw
none.
</p>
<p>
"Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe," he said guardedly.
</p>
<p>
Johnson immediately fell into the role of "mine host."
</p>
<p>
"Come right in, gents," he invited. "Right into the dining room."
</p>
<p>
He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more or
less private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was little
chance of company.
</p>
<p>
Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen with
two menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,
silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,
which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.
</p>
<p>
Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were
phenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, he
grinned, bowed and asked: "Everything satisfactory, gents?"
</p>
<p>
"Quite," said Harvey. "We shall order."
</p>
<p>
For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, the
culinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the service
was as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius played
deftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian
<i>
viotars
</i>
, using his other two
hands for waiting on the table.
</p>
<p>
"We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen," Harvey
whispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in the
kitchen, attending to the next course. "He would make any society
hostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sum
to women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire."
</p>
<p>
"Think of a fast one fast," Joe agreed. "You're right."
</p>
<p>
"But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,"
complained Harvey. "I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest
merchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimate
our check at a mere bucko twenty redsents."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.
</p>
<p>
"It's been a great honor, gents," he said. "Ain't often I have
visitors, and I like the best, like you two gents."
</p>
<p>
As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe and
Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in
a yelp of horror.
</p>
<p>
"What the devil is this?" he shouted.—"How do you arrive at this
fantastic, idiotic figure—
<i>
three hundred and twenty-eight buckos
</i>
!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,
not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty
fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.
</p>
<p>
Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with
rage. The minute note read: "Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80
redsents."
</p>
<p>
"You can go to hell!" Joe growled. "We won't pay it!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson sighed ponderously. "I was afraid you'd act like that," he said
with regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it on
his vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. "Afraid I'll have to
ask the sheriff to take over."
</p>
<p>
Johnson, the "sheriff," collected the money, and Johnson, the
"restaurateur," pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to
remain calm.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said to the mayor, and his tones took on a
schoolmasterish severity, "your long absence from Earth has perhaps
made you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered the
folk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is folly
to kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is pound
foolish.'"
</p>
<p>
"I don't get the connection," objected Johnson.
</p>
<p>
"Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you put
out of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantial
deal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer for
the peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds the
way you have—"
</p>
<p>
"Who said I wanted to sell him?" the mayor interrupted. He rubbed his
fingers together and asked disinterestedly: "What were you going to
offer, anyhow?"
</p>
<p>
"It doesn't matter any longer," Harvey said with elaborate
carelessness. "Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway."
</p>
<p>
"That's right," Johnson came back emphatically. "But what would your
offer have been which I would have turned down?"
</p>
<p>
"Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?"
</p>
<p>
"Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable to
sell."
</p>
<p>
"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money would
tempt you!"
</p>
<p>
"Nope. But how much did you say?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!"
</p>
<p>
"Well, I'll tell you something," said the mayor confidentially. "When
you've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,
it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,
you can buy this and that and this and that and—"
</p>
<p>
"This and that," concluded Joe. "We'll give you five hundred buckos."
</p>
<p>
"Now, gents!" Johnson remonstrated. "Why, six hundred would hardly—"
</p>
<p>
"You haven't left us much money," Harvey put in.
</p>
<p>
The mayor frowned. "All right, we'll split the difference. Make it
five-fifty."
</p>
<p>
Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then he
stood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensively
acquired.
</p>
<p>
"I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature," he said to
Johnson. "I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only your
filial mammoth to keep you company."
</p>
<p>
"I sure will," Johnson confessed glumly. "I got pretty attached to
Genius, and I'm going to miss him something awful."
</p>
<p>
Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing off
the table almost all at once.
</p>
<p>
"My friend," he said, "we take your only solace, it is true, but in his
place we can offer something no less amazing and instructive."
</p>
<p>
The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. "What is it?" he
asked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at its
worst and expects nothing better.
</p>
<p>
"Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room of
the ship," Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: "You must see
the wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partner
will soon have it here for your astonishment."
</p>
<p>
Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. "Aw, Harv," he
protested, "do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we were
getting the key!"
</p>
<p>
"We must not be selfish, my boy," Harvey said nobly. "We have had our
chance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who might
have more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here."
</p>
<p>
Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiosity
would probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting with
questions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. For
his part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoeba
until Joe came in, lugging a radio.
</p>
<p>
"Is that what you were talking about?" the mayor snorted. "What makes
you think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers and
political speech-makers."
</p>
<p>
"Do not jump to hasty conclusions," Harvey cautioned. "Another word,
and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,
with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventor
of this absolutely awe-inspiring device."
</p>
<p>
"I ain't in the market for a radio," Johnson said stubbornly.
</p>
<p>
Harvey nodded in relief. "We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.
He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue our
study, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to an
enormous fortune."
</p>
<p>
"Well, that's no plating off our bow," Joe grunted. "I'm glad he did
turn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three whole
years."
</p>
<p>
He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.
</p>
<p>
"Now, hold on!" the mayor cried. "I ain't
<i>
saying
</i>
I'll buy, but what
is it I'm turning down?"
</p>
<p>
Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His face
sorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"To make a long story, Mr. Johnson," he said, "Joseph and I were among
the chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just before
his tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane." He
banged his fist on the bar. "I have said it before, and I repeat again,
that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredit
his greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!"
</p>
<p>
"This what?" Johnson blurted out.
</p>
<p>
"In simple terms," clarified Harvey, "the ingenious doctor discovered
that the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged by
energy of all quanta. There has never been any question that the
inhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized than
ourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge would
find himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!"
</p>
<p>
The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.
</p>
<p>
"And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?"
</p>
<p>
"It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied Doctor
Dean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact."
</p>
<p>
The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and stared
thoughtfully at the battered cabinet.
</p>
<p>
"Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts," he
conceded. "But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks up
there wouldn't talk our language."
</p>
<p>
Again Harvey smashed his fist down. "Do you dare to repeat the scurvy
lie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?"
</p>
<p>
Johnson recoiled. "No—no,
<i>
of course not
</i>
. I mean, being up here, I
naturally couldn't get all the details."
</p>
<p>
"Naturally," Harvey agreed, mollified. "I'm sorry I lost my temper.
But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcasts
emanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that be
so difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there was
communication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admired
our language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their own
hyper-scientific trimmings?"
</p>
<p>
"Why, I don't know," Johnson said in confusion.
</p>
<p>
"For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detect
the simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosed
broadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctor
failed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his could
stand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure to
solve the mystery caused him to take his own life."
</p>
<p>
Johnson winced. "Is that what you want to unload on me?"
</p>
<p>
"For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will be
rewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man who
could devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously a
person with unusual patience."
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," the mayor said grudgingly, "I ain't exactly flighty."
</p>
<p>
"Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!"
</p>
<p>
Johnson asked skeptically: "How about a sample first?"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) Here he's able to meet traders like Harvey and Joe and barter with them. \n(B) He's able to run business even with few customers. \n(C) Here he's able to take advantage of travelers who are lost or in need of supplies. \n(D) He doesn't want to give up the spring of water. ",
"difficulty": "0",
"topic": "Asteroids -- Fiction; Short stories; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction; PS; Science fiction"
} |
62569 | Referring to the passage’s title, who was the “Monster Maker”?
Choices:
(A) Click
(B) Human imagination
(C) Gunther
(D) Irish | [
"B",
"Human imagination"
] | <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html lang="en" xml:lang="en" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<hr class="chap"/>
<h1>
The Monster Maker
</h1>
<h2>
By RAY BRADBURY
</h2>
<p>
"Get Gunther," the official orders read. It
<br/>
was to laugh! For Click and Irish were
<br/>
marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only
<br/>
weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera.
</p>
<p>
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
<br/>
Planet Stories Spring 1944.
<br/>
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
<br/>
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or get
scared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listening
to it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting a
damned sweet picture of everything that was happening.
</p>
<p>
The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,
wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in the
dark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and this
meteor coming like blazing fury.
</p>
<p>
Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal's
skin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked the
rear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round.
</p>
<p>
There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he was
picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't
long in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on to
his camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that had
been of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out of
the controls and keeping his words to himself until just now.
</p>
<p>
It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroids
rushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking a
tom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs.
</p>
<p>
Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was the
nearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and you
ended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk of
metal death. What a fade-out!
</p>
<p>
"Irish!" he heard himself say. "Is this IT?"
</p>
<p>
"Is this
<i>
what
</i>
?" yelled Marnagan inside his helmet.
</p>
<p>
"Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!?"
</p>
<p>
Marnagan fumed. "I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'm
ready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films!"
</p>
<p>
They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand of
gravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones.
</p>
<p>
The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end over
and stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattled
around—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,
air and energy flung out.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinking
quick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reach
film, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like
<i>
this
</i>
one! His
brain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of his
camera.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.
Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera locked
to his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, cold
that pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of the
wreckage into that silence.
</p>
<p>
He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in his
fingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,
thinking "Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll—"
</p>
<p>
A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated seven
feet of bellowing manhood from the wreck.
</p>
<p>
"Hold it!" cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camera
whirred. "Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathed
from asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this!"
</p>
<p>
"From the toe of me boot!" snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shoulders
flexed inside his vac-suit. "I might've died in there, and you nursin'
that film-contraption!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. "I never thought of that.
Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You always
have. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to." Hathaway
stared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy he
couldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,
pale. "Where are we?"
</p>
<p>
"A million miles from nobody."
</p>
<p>
They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain that
stretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.
Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it look
sick.
</p>
<p>
"If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shaking
hands the other side of this rock in two hours." Marnagan shook his mop
of dusty red hair. "And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'd
capture that Gunther lad!"
</p>
<p>
His voice stopped and the silence spoke.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. "I checked
my oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left."
</p>
<p>
The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoric
rocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supply
mashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or
<i>
was
</i>
suffocation a better death...?
<i>
Sixty minutes.
</i>
</p>
<p>
They stood and looked at one another.
</p>
<p>
"Damn that meteor!" said Marnagan, hotly.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:
"Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, looked
it right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.
Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I've
got it here, on film."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. "It's not proof we need
now, Click. Oxygen. And then
<i>
food
</i>
. And then some way back to Earth."
</p>
<p>
Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: "This is Gunther's work. He's
here somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.
Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get back
to Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a pirate
whose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally wins
through to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, by
yours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward a
bony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn't
much to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan said, "We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweat
with except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We got
fifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'll
be Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk all
you like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, any
words, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk about
it. As for me—" he twisted his glossy red face. "Keeping alive is me
hobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order."
</p>
<p>
Click nodded. "Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.
It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor and
the crash this way."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, far
down, and the green eyes blazed.
</p>
<p>
They stopped, together.
</p>
<p>
"Oops!" Click said.
</p>
<p>
"Hey!" Marnagan blinked. "Did you feel
<i>
that
</i>
?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless and
limbless, suddenly. "Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge!"
</p>
<p>
They ran back. "Let's try it again."
</p>
<p>
They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.
"Gravity should not act this way, Click."
</p>
<p>
"Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! No
wonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!
Gunther'd do anything to—did I say
<i>
anything
</i>
?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his hand
came up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievable
horrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts with
numerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, some
tubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing along
in the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat broke
cold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmed
after him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, in
Click's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurt
the creatures at all.
</p>
<p>
"Irish!" Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an incline
toward the mouth a small cave. "This way, fella!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. "They're
too big; they can't get us in here!" Click's voice gasped it out,
as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.
Instinctively, Hathaway added, "Asteroid monsters! My camera! What a
scene!"
</p>
<p>
"Damn your damn camera!" yelled Marnagan. "They might come in!"
</p>
<p>
"Use your gun."
</p>
<p>
"They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,
eh, Click?"
</p>
<p>
"Yeah. Sure.
<i>
You
</i>
enjoyed it, every moment of it."
</p>
<p>
"I did that." Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. "Now, what
will we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door?"
</p>
<p>
"Let me think—"
</p>
<p>
"Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway felt
funny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monsters
and Gunther and—
</p>
<p>
"Which one will you be having?" asked Irish, casually. "A red one or a
blue one?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway laughed nervously. "A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,
now you've got
<i>
me
</i>
doing it. Joking in the face of death."
</p>
<p>
"Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck."
</p>
<p>
That didn't please the photographer. "I'm an Anglo-Swede," he pointed
out.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan shifted uneasily. "Here, now. You're doing nothing but
sitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so take
me a profile shot of the beasties and myself."
</p>
<p>
Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. "What in hell's the use? All
this swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it."
</p>
<p>
"Then," retorted Marnagan, "we'll develop it for our own benefit; while
waitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to our
rescue!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway snorted. "U.S. Cavalry."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. "Snap me this pose," he
said. "I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,
my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peace
negotiations betwixt me and these pixies."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaver
for nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking running
around in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, but
his mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture of
Marnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals.
</p>
<p>
Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smiling
for the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, without
much effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing death
wall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not saying
anything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and they
had sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts.
</p>
<p>
When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used it
up arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him:
</p>
<p>
"Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we felt
back on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,
what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Space
war isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectory
is lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, which
dispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?
Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.
It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikes
unseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan rumbled. "Where is the dirty son, then!"
</p>
<p>
"He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them." Hathaway nodded at
the beasts. "People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or from
wounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animals
tend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtle
his attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if the
Patrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,
then."
</p>
<p>
"I don't see no Base around."
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
Click shrugged. "Still doubt it? Okay. Look." He tapped his camera and
a spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he stripped
it out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while it
developed, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developing
film. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,
leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured the
impressions. Quick stuff.
</p>
<p>
Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,
Click handed the whole thing over. "Look."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. "Ah,
Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented."
</p>
<p>
"Huh?"
</p>
<p>
"It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroid
monsters complete."
</p>
<p>
"What!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:
Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationally
with
<i>
nothing
</i>
; Marnagan shooting his gun at
<i>
nothing
</i>
; Marnagan
pretending to be happy in front of
<i>
nothing
</i>
.
</p>
<p>
Then, closeup—of—NOTHING!
</p>
<p>
The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hair
like a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.
Maybe—
</p>
<p>
Hathaway said it, loud: "Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of this
mess! Here—"
</p>
<p>
He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,
the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said the
monsters weren't there, they weren't there.
</p>
<p>
"Yeah," said Marnagan. "But step outside this cave—"
</p>
<p>
"If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid," said Click.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan scowled. "You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet or
infra-red or something that won't come out on film?"
</p>
<p>
"Nuts! Any color
<i>
we
</i>
see, the camera sees. We've been fooled."
</p>
<p>
"Hey, where
<i>
you
</i>
going?" Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller man
tried pushing past him.
</p>
<p>
"Get out of the way," said Hathaway.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. "If anyone is going anywhere,
it'll be me does the going."
</p>
<p>
"I can't let you do that, Irish."
</p>
<p>
"Why not?"
</p>
<p>
"You'd be going on my say-so."
</p>
<p>
"Ain't your say-so good enough for me?"
</p>
<p>
"Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess—"
</p>
<p>
"If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, stand
aside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle their
bones." He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't exist
except under an inch of porous metal plate. "Your express purpose on
this voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol later
for teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-hand
education. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give me
profile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into The
Lion's Den."
</p>
<p>
"Irish, I—"
</p>
<p>
"Shut up and load up."
</p>
<p>
Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it.
</p>
<p>
"Ready, Click?"
</p>
<p>
"I—I guess so," said Hathaway. "And remember, think it hard, Irish.
Think it hard. There aren't any animals—"
</p>
<p>
"Keep me in focus, lad."
</p>
<p>
"All the way, Irish."
</p>
<p>
"What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera!"
</p>
<p>
Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,
two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters were
waiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking.
</p>
<p>
Right out into the middle of them....
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and the
monsters!
</p>
<p>
Only now it was only Marnagan.
</p>
<p>
No more monsters.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. "Hey, Click, look
at me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail and
ran away!"
</p>
<p>
"Ran, hell!" cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed and
animated. "They just plain vanished. They were only imaginative
figments!"
</p>
<p>
"And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, you
coward!"
</p>
<p>
"Smile when you say that, Irish."
</p>
<p>
"Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears in
your sweet grey eyes?"
</p>
<p>
"Damn," swore the photographer, embarrassedly. "Why don't they put
window-wipers in these helmets?"
</p>
<p>
"I'll take it up with the Board, lad."
</p>
<p>
"Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in one
hunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are part
of his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased back
into their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothing
suspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animals
kill them."
</p>
<p>
"Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill."
</p>
<p>
"Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they could
have frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. If
that isn't being dangerous—"
</p>
<p>
The Irishman whistled.
</p>
<p>
"But, we've got to
<i>
move
</i>
, Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.
In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,
Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters." Click
attached his camera to his mid-belt. "Gunther probably thinks we're
dead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they never
had a chance to disbelieve them."
</p>
<p>
"If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click—"
</p>
<p>
"Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident—" Click
stopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head and
felt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steady
himself, and swayed. "I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.
This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. "Hold tight, Click. The
guy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach."
</p>
<p>
"Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animals
came from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to come
back!"
</p>
<p>
"Come back? How?"
</p>
<p>
"They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if we
believe in them again, they'll return."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan didn't like it. "Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—if
we believe in 'em?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. "Not if we believe
in them to a
<i>
certain point
</i>
. Psychologically they can both be seen and
felt. We only want to
<i>
see
</i>
them coming at us again."
</p>
<p>
"
<i>
Do
</i>
we, now?"
</p>
<p>
"With twenty minutes left, maybe less—"
</p>
<p>
"All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. "Just think—I will see
the monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.
Think it over and over."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. "And—what if I forget to remember
all that? What if I get excited...?"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking at
Irish.
</p>
<p>
Marnagan cursed. "All right, lad. Let's have at it!"
</p>
<p>
The monsters returned.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarming
in malevolent anticipation about the two men.
</p>
<p>
"This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, a
sending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contorted
faces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them.
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p>
Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped and
raised his gun and made quick moves with it. "Click! This one here!
It's real!" He fell back and something struck him down. His immense
frame slammed against rock, noiselessly.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered the
helmet glass with his hands, shouting:
</p>
<p>
"Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force into
your mind! It's not real, I tell you!"
</p>
<p>
"Click—" Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.
"Click—" He was fighting hard. "I—I—sure now. Sure—" He smiled.
"It—it's only a shanty fake!"
</p>
<p>
"Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan's thick lips opened. "It's only a fake," he said. And then,
irritated, "Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet!"
</p>
<p>
Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, and
little bubbles danced in his eyes. "Irish,
<i>
you
</i>
forget the monsters.
Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you might
forget."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan showed his teeth. "Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? And
besides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty."
</p>
<p>
The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.
Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily.
</p>
<p>
"We'll be taking our chances on guard," hissed Irish. "I'll go ahead,
draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then,
<i>
you
</i>
show up with
<i>
your
</i>
gun...."
</p>
<p>
"I haven't got one."
</p>
<p>
"We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. They
probably got scanners out. Let them see me—"
</p>
<p>
And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked about
five hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heaved
up, and there was a door opening in the rock.
</p>
<p>
His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. "A
door, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside!"
</p>
<p>
Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard the
thud of his feet hitting the metal flooring.
</p>
<p>
Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast.
</p>
<p>
"All right, put 'em up!" a new harsh voice cried over a different
radio. One of Gunther's guards.
</p>
<p>
Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed.
</p>
<p>
The strange harsh voice said, "That's better. Don't try and pick that
gun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.
How'd you get past the animals?"
</p>
<p>
Click started running. He switched off his
<i>
sending
</i>
audio, kept his
<i>
receiving
</i>
on. Marnagan, weaponless.
<i>
One
</i>
guard. Click gasped. Things
were getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept running
and listening to Marnagan's lying voice:
</p>
<p>
"I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundles
and stacked them up to dry, ya louse!" Marnagan said. "But, damn you,
they killed my partner before he had a chance!"
</p>
<p>
The guard laughed.
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his head
swimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. He
let himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't
have a weapon. Oh, damn, damn!
</p>
<p>
A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in that
yellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,
air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, a
proton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guard
had his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: "I think I'll let
you stand right there and die," he said quietly. "That what Gunther
wanted, anway. A nice sordid death."
</p>
<p>
Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him.
</p>
<p>
"Don't move!" he snapped. "I've got a weapon stronger than yours. One
twitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behind
you! Freeze!"
</p>
<p>
The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, dropped
his gun to the floor.
</p>
<p>
"Get his gun, Irish."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. "Thanks for
posing," he said. "That shot will go down in film history for candid
acting."
</p>
<p>
"What!"
</p>
<p>
"Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the door
leading into the Base?"
</p>
<p>
The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder.
</p>
<p>
Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.
"Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Double
time! Double!"
</p>
<p>
Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen on
their backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,
hid him in a huge trash receptacle. "Where he belongs," observed Irish
tersely.
</p>
<p>
They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothing
more than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.
Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and was
short-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships to
rocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them for
cargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and the
swarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren't
wanted. They were scared off.
</p>
<p>
The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank of
intricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored film
with images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated them
into thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius.
</p>
<p>
"So here we are, still not much better off than we were," growled
Irish. "We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turn
up any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project the
monsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves?"
</p>
<p>
"What good would that do?" Hathaway gnawed his lip. "They wouldn't fool
the engineers who created them, you nut."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. "Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would come
riding over the hill—"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
<p>
"Irish!" Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. "Irish. The U.S.
Cavalry it is!" His eyes darted over the machines. "Here. Help me.
We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century."
</p>
<p>
Marnagan winced. "You breathing oxygen or whiskey?"
</p>
<p>
"There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete picture
of Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's face
when you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good an
actor are you?"
</p>
<p>
"That's a silly question."
</p>
<p>
"You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front of
you, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heart
and fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall down
and twitch on the ground. Is that clear?"
</p>
<p>
"Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula...."
</p>
<p>
An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into a
sort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,
lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in a
wide, green-lawned Plaza.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walked
across the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building that
was pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters.
</p>
<p>
He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back.
</p>
<p>
He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination and
pushed him into a room where Gunther sat.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway looked at him. "So you're Gunther?" he said, calmly. The
pirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,
questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds of
metal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before he
could speak, Hathaway said:
</p>
<p>
"Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now and
we're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand men
against your eighty-five."
</p>
<p>
Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin hands
twitched in his lap. "You are bluffing," he said, finally, with a firm
directness. "A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was the
last. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were being
pursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed."
</p>
<p>
"Both. The other guy went after the Patrol."
</p>
<p>
"Impossible!"
</p>
<p>
"I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther."
</p>
<p>
A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, lounging
on carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet and
started yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one side
of his office. He stared, hard.
</p>
<p>
The Patrol was coming!
</p>
<p>
Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.
Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysis
guns with them in their tight hands.
</p>
<p>
Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.
"Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered!"
</p>
<p>
Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathaway
had to credit them on that. They took it, standing.
</p>
<p>
Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.
His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped him
from filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther was
throwing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of his
fragile, bony legs and their atrophied state.
</p>
<p>
Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw three
of the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground and
twitch. God, what photography!
</p>
<p>
Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. He
fired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.
Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaos
taking place immediately outside his window.
</p>
<p>
The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. And
out of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, "Here!"
</p>
<hr class="tb"/>
</html>
| {
"choices": "(A) Click\n(B) Human imagination\n(C) Gunther\n(D) Irish",
"difficulty": "0",
"topic": "Adventure stories; Short stories; Pirates -- Fiction; Asteroids -- Fiction; Science fiction; PS"
} |
61499 | "Why did Pete send the rebels to break Brian out of jail?\nChoices:\n(A) Pete believed in the rebel (...TRUNCATED) | [
"D",
"Brian told Pete that he wanted to get out of jail."
] | "<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN\"\n \"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/(...TRUNCATED) | {"choices":"(A) Pete believed in the rebel cause.\n(B) Pete felt bad since it was his fault Brian wa(...TRUNCATED) |
63919 | "Was the ship on target, within maximum deviation from schedule?\nChoices:\n(A) Yes, they were withi(...TRUNCATED) | [
"B",
"No, they were over by 8 degrees"
] | "<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN\"\n \"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/(...TRUNCATED) | {"choices":"(A) Yes, they were within 5 degrees\n(B) No, they were over by 8 degrees\n(C) Yes, they (...TRUNCATED) |
63640 | "What was the stoolie's job?\nChoices:\n(A) To find out Casey's smuggling secrets\n(B) To get inform(...TRUNCATED) | [
"D",
"To convince Casey to change his mind"
] | "<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN\"\n \"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/(...TRUNCATED) | {"choices":"(A) To find out Casey's smuggling secrets\n(B) To get information from Casey to give to (...TRUNCATED) |
63640 | "What didn't surprise Casey about Jupiter?\nChoices:\n(A) the red coloring was plants\n(B) items cou(...TRUNCATED) | [
"D",
"the aliens communicated by tapping"
] | "<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN\"\n \"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/(...TRUNCATED) | {"choices":"(A) the red coloring was plants\n(B) items could float in mid-air\n(C) the aliens could (...TRUNCATED) |
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