New planets--new conditions ... unforeseeable,
difficult and dangerous to overcome. Granted.
Still, who'd have thought getting a haircut on
Procyon IV could be a matter of life and death?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The _Franklin_ was the newest and best ship of the Morgan Interstellar
Transportation Corporation. It was plain from the Captain's
pouter-pigeon stance that he too was aware of this fact. The only
jarring note in Captain Webster's mind was the unscheduled stop at
Procyon IV. He glanced again at the yellow blank in his hand, his lips
moving slightly as he re-read it.
"Captain Webster, Commanding _S. S. Franklin_, enroute to earth. Make
contact with Procyon IV. Passenger for earth waiting at Iridium City.
Necessary time will be allowed on your schedule. Chief Dispatcher."
Captain Webster crumpled the message into a ball and threw it on the
floor.
"Whistle stop!" he growled. His anger was motivated by the fact that he
had hoped to set a new record with the _Franklin_ and the last thing he
desired was time added to his schedule. "If he isn't ready and waiting
when we land," the Captain muttered, "he can walk to earth!"
The _Franklin_ came out of sub-space drive. The navigator had no
difficulty finding Procyon's fourth planet, but it took much studious
peering to find the tiny earth colony. It turned out to be a dot about
three miles in diameter, a mining settlement. In a few minutes, the
giant ship settled gently into a rickety landing cradle. A spaceman
pressed the unlocking studs and the passenger port opened with a hiss.
The gangway slid neatly out and made contact with the shaky steps.
With obvious distaste, Captain Webster gathered his dignity about him
like a cloak and started across the gangway. His feet had no more than
touched the plastic tread when he stopped abruptly. A wild apparition
came charging up the stairway, long, unkempt hair streaming in the
wind. Down the gangway it ran and propelled the Captain violently
backward into his ship.
Puffing and gasping for air, the Captain half lay in the arms of two
spacemen who had caught him just before he reached the decking. Nothing
of what the Captain said was understandable except the word "outrage"
which he repeated often and vigorously.
"Now, now, now, please Captain," the long haired apparition pleaded.
"Compose yourself. Don't get excited. I can explain everything. I'm Mr.
Thurwinker of the Office of Colonial Development."
"Oh, oh," the Captain grunted. "The OCD, huh?" His anger evaporated and
he struggled to his feet trying to look dignified again. "Well--I'm
sure--ah--that is--no doubt you have a good reason for your actions,
sir--ah--"
"Oh yes, indeed," Mr. Thurwinker replied, hastily, "but I can't stop
now. I must impress on you, Captain, the urgency of your ship leaving
as soon as possible. Yes, yes it's imperative! And you must remain out
of sight. Don't show yourselves under any circumstances! I'll get your
passenger now." Without another word, Mr. Thurwinker scurried out of
the ship. He turned at the end of the gangway. "Remember Captain, don't
let anyone see you. Keep out of sight. Yes indeed, out of sight!"
The open-mouthed Captain watched the OCD man scramble down the steps
and reappear a moment later carrying a suitcase. He was followed by
another man whose hair was also streaming down over his shoulders. The
Captain's mouth sagged open an additional half-inch as the strange
looking pair entered the ship.
Mr. Thurwinker set the bag down and shook hands with his companion.
"Good-bye, Mr. Purcell. Have a nice trip home. We all regret seeing you
go, yes indeed, regret it very much." He darted out of the ship for the
second time. At the end of the gangway, he turned to face the Captain.
"Oh yes, Captain. I must tell you! It's imperative--"
"I know!" the Captain roared. "And don't worry, Mr. Thurwinker! We're
leaving this asylum immediately!"
Mr. Thurwinker jumped off the gangway as it began to roll into the big
ship. He waved cheerily to his friend just before the port closed. The
_Franklin_ began to lift almost at once.
* * * * *
Sam Purcell brushed his hair out of his face and extended a friendly
hand to the Captain. "How do you do, Captain. I'm Sam Purcell, your new
passenger."
Captain Webster stared at the outstretched hand as though it were a
specimen from an anatomical laboratory. "Procyon IV's gain is my loss!"
he snarled.
As the Captain stomped away, Sam turned his hand over to see if
anything was wrong with it. "Unfriendly cuss," he observed to the
spaceman beside him.