A sears-monkey flew to vend his wares
On a planet strangely groomed.
Lo and behold, he lost all his cares
As the genetic experiment bloomed.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When the alarm signalled the first whiff of the atmosphere of the next
planet on his route, Herl Hofner stopped chinning by his strapping
six-foot self and left the little gym. Slipping into the swivel chair
at the desk he clipped the pile of loose papers into an empty niche
at the side of the desk, spun the chair around to the instrument
panel of the _Krylla_. Dialing with his left hand, he swept the bank
for incoming signals while his right hand adjusted the microphone
frequencies.
"Class M-for-Mary ship requesting permission to land. Do you have
automatic beam landing device? Class M-for-Mary ship requesting
permission to land. Do you have automatic beam landing?" His dial
pointer swept back and forth.
"Come in, class M-for-Mary."
Herl's left hand moved to the autobeam switch. "What band for
M-for-Mary landing? What band for M-for-Mary landing?"
"Come in on seventy-three point eight, M-for-Mary. Come in on
seventy-three point eight, M-for-Mary."
Herl's left hand now centered the needle neatly on the appropriate
setting as his right pressed the stud for extending the wings with
their powerful atmosphere motors; and he sank back into the chair
cushions with a relieved sigh. This was still a civilized planet. He'd
be able to get back maybe a month sooner than he'd expected after the
most recent setback. Forty years, he frowned, was too long between
visits from Galactic Central, even if Central had no responsibility
for autonomous groupings. A lot could happen in forty years on
these isolated planets. The unprecedented mutation leaving half the
population deaf and dumb had made the last call a long and tedious
one. But by the signs so far, this planet was still ticking along
satisfactorily with radio and radar and standard language, a space-port
and all the comforts of civilization.
The speaker hummed into activity. "Please state vessel name,
registration, number of crew, destination, and nature of business,
M-for-Mary entering on band seventy-three point eight."
Herl grinned comfortably to himself. Familiar red tape had a homelike
ring. "This is the _Krylla_, registered J-John five two L-Lomax one
five on Earth Sol at headquarters of Galactic Coordination, on routine
round trip of thirty planets carrying only Captain Herl Hofner, your
sears-monkey, to governmental centers for trading coordination."
He heard the snort from the speaker before the bellow. "What in seven
light years is a sears-monkey?" He could visualize the veritable bull
of a man at the port control tower.
"Traditional term on Earth for a trading catalogue, now used to
signify the man who carries it. I've got five hundred thousand feet of
microfilm of the latest manufactured articles and raw materials and
their descriptions and prices from about three thousand planets in the
galaxy. Anything you need?"
"I don't know. Nobody tells me anything." A pause. "How long do you
wish to remain on Delight?"
"That depends on what's needed and how long it takes me to find out.
How long has the planet been called Delight? I have it listed as
Geescow, or maybe that was my predecessor's idea of a joke."
"That was no joke. We only settled here eighty years ago and there
was a little bug in the water that made the whole place stink like a
garbage scow. We've got that pretty well cleaned up and renamed the
place." Another pause. "Do you need hotel accommodations?"
Hotel. Herl felt his chin. He'd better redepil on the way down.
Sears-monkeys were expected to go the local culture one better on
everything to keep up Galactic Coordination's reputation. And he should
wear the red dress uniform tunic and black trou. The more civilized
they were, the harder they fell for a little routine glamour.
"How far is the port from the capital?"
"Not more'n ninety, hundred miles from the middle of town. Plenty of
taxi service for the little bit of business we get here. Only twelve
spaces and eighty-three jets registered for the whole planet."
Well, that explained the volubility of the control man. Evidently just
busting for somebody to talk to. Not first-class security, being so
gabby, but pleasant to come in out of the black to.
"I may need an office where I can play the samples. Can you get me
something?"
"No. You gotta have a clearance permit to rent, a commercial visa,
a set of ration cards for food ... do you need one for clothes?...
a transportation permit to hire a vehicle ... an application blank
for health examination, an application for personal insurance,
vehicle insurance, theft insurance, credit bonding, driver's license,
secretarial assistance (will you need a secretary?), _and_, the
most important of the kaboodle, application for permission to make
additional applications for permission."
"Leaping Luna! I don't expect to be here longer than a couple of weeks
at the most. I don't need clothes unless the ones I have are offensive
to your planetary taboos; and I certainly don't need a secretary.
Can't I just hire a cab and let the driver worry about the insurance
and driver's license and all the rest of that stuff?" Herl mentally
withdrew his grin at the comfort of red tape. "I can eat food from the
ship if I have to."
"Can't unload any food without special permission two weeks in advance
of unloading date to give time for federal inspection." The heavy voice
was firm if regretful. "You'd better just pick up this book of forms
and fill them out while you wait for clearance to enter the city."
"Clearance," Herl almost yelped. "How long will that take?"
"Depends. You might be able to get it in four, five hours if the video
bands are fairly free. You're almost down now. Don't forget the 1.3
earth gravity. Buckle your belt: the field's jet-pitted and you're
coming in on wheels. Be seeing you."
* * * * *
Herl was still seeing him six hours later, sitting across a castered
utility table from almost exactly the bull of a man he'd visualized ...
about Herl's own height but broader all the way from shoulders to beam.
Where he'd half expected a close-cropped head, however, the tower man,
Saem Berry, wore his hair in ragged brown locks falling almost to his
jacket collar.
Herl had looked up at him curiously in the midst of asking a question
relevant to a three-page form describing his employment status and
waiving unemployment compensation during his stay on Delight.
"Let my barbering permit lapse," admitted Berry, sheepishly. "Can't
re-apply for six more months, so I have to hack it off when it gets in
my way."
"Earth months or Delight months?" Herl asked as he wrote.
"Delight months. That's about a year and a half, earth time." Saem
Berry opened the desk drawer and took out a pair of office shears.
Holding his head over the waste-basket he snipped off a few of the
longer strands; then he sat up and replaced the shears. "Good thing I
learned to shave myself."
Filling out forms and returning to the _Krylla_ for a snack had taken
only five of the six hours: waiting for vizor connections had taken the
last hour along with a game of tri-di chess to kill the time. Berry had
been surprisingly uncommunicative about the state of Delight culture
and technology.
"Better see it for yourself," he'd said. "I don't know half of what
goes on in town, living way off here."
He had been politely curious about Herl and Herl's job.
"Go around from planet to planet and system to system selling stuff,
eh?" He tilted his head at the captain. "What made a smart young fellow
like you want to wander around the galaxy instead of settling down to a
steady job and raising a family? Lot of money in it, or are you staying
away from something you don't like?" he asked penetratingly.
Herl responded in kind. "Don't know as I ever thought of it just that
way," he admitted. "I guess I like to see things getting tied together
in some sort of organization. I like to see people getting what they
want and need ... and I'm good at it. There's no great income in it.
Maybe I just like going from place to place and seeing how things are
there."
"Looking for something you need yourself, I'll bet. Got a girl?" the
controlman grinned slyly.
"No girl," Herl grinned back. "Do the girls on Delight need a man like
me? I might be able to arrange for a shipload."
Saem shook his head. "I've got a daughter," he said, "who yearns for
far places ... marriageable gal ... I'm always on the lookout." He
laughed. "That's the kind of thing she'd say, not me, the little brat."
"Do I have to get a special permit to take her to dinner?" Herl asked,
just as the vizor connection was completed.
The major official in a conservative blue tunic, who looked like
half the civil officers in the galaxy, peered apologetically out of
the screen. "You can come right to my office in the city, Captain
Hofner," he urged. "I'll get some of our leading men together to meet
you at once. I understand you're a busy man. Uh ... have you all your
applications filled out?"
The towerman assented quickly for Hofner. "Yes indeed, Mr.
Commissioner. He's alone and planning to stay only a few weeks, so he
didn't need most of the big ones like permanent housing or shopping
assignment or resident tax registration and like that. Will you be
sending a temporary driver for him till he's got his permit?"
"Oh, yes. I'll send a man out as soon as I can clear one."
Saem's tone was deferent. "Thank you, Mr. Commissioner." The connection
was broken and the screen went dark. "Pretty obliging guy, Commissioner
Crawford. He doesn't forget a thing. Never has. That's an impressive
record." The controlman nodded his head; his hair swung down over his
eyes; and he fumbled in the drawer for the scissors again. "Now I'd
forget my head if it wasn't dogged down."
"It can't be that bad," Herl objected.
"Right again," the other admitted. "That's a joke around here at any
rate. You can't afford to forget anything around here."
"I won't forget," smiled Herl.
"You'd better not. It would be awkward as hell if you did and got stuck
here."
"They couldn't hold me here just for forgetting something. I'm an
employee of Galactic Coordination, you know, and not a local citizen."
The brown locks swung from side to side. "I don't know but I wouldn't
risk it. It might be a good many years, from what you tell me, before
anybody came out from the Sol system looking for you if they're as
understaffed as you say."
"I'll be careful, then." And Herl Hofner patted his pile of
applications and turned back to the chess game.
* * * * *
The driver of the cabter was even less communicative about the state of
things on Delight. Captain Hofner tried to get him to talk about what
the planet might be able to use in the manufactured line but the young
driver only pursed his lips and shook his head slowly and said, "I
don't know a thing about it and I can't afford to forget that I don't
get paid for looking around and then griping about it. Commissioner
Crawford will tell you what you want to know. He gets paid for it." And
he would say no more.
Crawford sounded like quite the little despot. Herl shivered in the
open cabter as it plowed through a thin cloud and turned up the heating
element in his scarlet uniform tunic. The driver seemed very thinly
clad, but he gave no sign of being cold except for a whiteness around
the lips and fingers.
"Don't you draw enough clothing ration here? Maybe Delight will be in
the market for synthetic fabrics if you're short here."
The young man turned a look of fury on Hofner. "None of your damn
business if I haven't got enough clothes and I wouldn't say anything
about it to Crawford either if you know what's good for you!"
Hofner shrugged, and the silence held till after the cab had alighted
on the outskirts of the city and proceeded through a number of blocks
of moderate-sized residences and stores. Realizing the probable public
pride of the driver, Herl made no mention of the occasional fetid
whiffs that blew through the cabter reminding him that Delight had once
been called Geescow, but instead turned his attention to the city. The
houses were brick or stone boxes, solidly built, drab-colored, set
behind lawns of silvery gray mossy looking stuff. Great trees lined the
street at precise intervals: the pavement, though lightly serrated for
friction, was as smooth as the newest roads on Earth. Hofner noticed
that the cabter stopped automatically at certain intersections and was
obviously equipped with a radar braking device. Technicians here might
have something to list in the catalogue.
Suddenly the driver stiffened in his seat, slammed on the cab's
own brakes and swore simultaneously. "Those blankety blank damned
irresponsible Eyefers!" He leaned out of the window and yelled, "Where
in hell do you think you're going? Do you want to get killed?"
Hofner, who had been looking at the buildings on his side of the
street, looked out the front of the cab and saw a vacant-faced,
middle-aged woman almost touching the bumper. She turned her head at
the driver's voice, looked at him as if she hardly saw him, and walked
slowly to the opposite kerb. The driver pulled in his head and muttered
under his breath, "They ought to declare an open season on Eyefers
around here. They'd just as soon smash up a good cab as get killed."
"What's an Eyefer?" Herl asked, hoping to get some crumb of information
from the surly young man.
"Short for 'I fergot,'" answered his companion brusquely.
"I fergot what?"
The reply was bitterly sarcastic. "Fergot to get a license, Fergot to
get the next ration card, Fergot to apply for compensation.... Fergot
to do practically anything but eat ... and be a drag on everybody else.
I got three of them myself to look out for and if I don't look out I'll
be going Eyefer myself and then what?"
"All right, then what?"
The young man clenched his teeth, thinned his lips. "There won't be any
'then what.' I'd hang myself."
Concealing his startlement, Herl asked as coolly as he could, "Tell me
about these Eyefers. We don't have them where I come from and I can't
say I exactly understand the score."
"No Eyefers, huh. Ask Crawford." And the driver clenched his teeth
again and drove on. Herl was unable to get anything more out of him
until the cabter turned and drew up a long ramp into the side of a
pretentious pseudo-Greek edifice that filled a whole block.
"Civil Building. Crawford's office is here. Straight ahead," he stopped
the cabter beside a gateway in the railed concrete walkway paralleling
the road, which apparently went clear through the building, "and take
the fourth elevator to your right. Crawford has the whole sixth floor."
Herl grabbed his case full of credentials and applications, opened the
door, and stepped onto the walkway. He turned to thank the driver, but
the cab was already gathering speed along the way.