The Collected Stories

by Earl

  Timkin stood stunned, unbelieving.

  The professor smiled.

  “Yes, that’s what I said—one hundred thousand. If we could afford it, we’d pay you ten times that. Actually, you see, the stone is priceless. The check will be sent to you. You can go now, Timkin.”

  Timkin drove the rocket truck back, in a dream, and passed a red light. The traffic cop wrote a ticket.

  “That’ll cost you twenty-five dollars, bud,” he growled.

  Timkin burst out laughing and kept laughing all the way back to the garage. He was fined 25 dollars. It would have been an economic tragedy before. Now it was a joke. He could pay a hundred fines like that and still laugh.

  The next day, when the check arrived at his room, Timkin knew it was not a dream. The amount was 150,000 dollars. They had even upped the price voluntarily.

  Timkin went out, with the check in his pocket, and headed for the Spaceman’s Nook. He had one more piece of unfinished business to do. He knew he would find Huck Larsoe there and saw him at a corner table. Strangely he seemed depressed, not at all like a man who had just brought in a fortune in gold. “Hello, Huck!”

  Larsoe looked up sourly as Timkin sat down cheerfully.

  “Listen, punk, you got nothing on me,” he growled.

  “I know,” said Timkin. “But why so glum? What did you get for my—pardon me, your—gold bonanza when you cashed it in?” Larsoe smashed his fist down on the table, spilling his drink.

  “Don’t talk to me about that blasted bonanza!” he roared. “You know what it was?

  It was just plain rock with a film of rich gold ore over it. A fake! A flop! I just got enough out of it to pay expenses and that’s all.”

  “Too bad,” Timkin grinned, feeling his cup running over.

  “Oh, don’t go gloating,” said Larsoe. “I still put one over on you. I took the thing away from you, didn’t I?”

  “Sure,” agreed Timkin. “But you gave me something back which was worth—”

  At this moment, Larsoe sat up, as something came over the tavern radio, working through the hum. An announcer was saying. . . .

  “—biggest news of the day! The Saturn Museum has just announced the find of a carved stone, from the rings, which will allow them to translate all the hitherto unknown writings of the first moon! And in honor of the man who brought it back from the rings, they have named it—the Timkin Stone!” Timkin was shocked himself. His name would reverberate down through the ages now, attached to a stone as famed as the Rosetta Stone of earth!

  But the effect on Huck Larsoe was like that of a knife in his heart. He turned slow, stunned eyes to his companion.

  “Th-the Timkin Stone?” he mumbled. “What—”

  Timkin drew the check out of his pocket and showed it to Larsoe.

  “Yes, I brought it in. Look, they payed me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it. And Huck—I hope you have a strong heart—Huck, that stone was among the stuff you gave me after stealing my bonanza!”

  “Then I made the find!” yelled Larsoe. “It’s me they should name the stone after. And you’ve got to turn over that money to me, Timkin! It’s mine! I found the stone and . . .

  Timkin looked him straight in the eye and said quietly, “Any witnesses, Huck?”

  EXILE ON MERCURY

  My name is Xezxkj. I am a native of the planet Mercury. Let me tell you a strange little story, about the doings of those odd people, the Earthlings.

  My story begins some time ago, when a small spaceship landed near my village. It came down with a crash, as though the pilot had been fleeing desperately and had lost control, I thought he was surely dead, but then I saw a figure rise dizzily out of the wreck and stand on its feet, unhurt. He looked up at the sky anxiously, then seemed relieved. If there had been any pursuit, he had shaken it off successfully.

  As I approached, I could see right away that he was an Earthling. He only had two legs, instead of four. He had hair on his head, not a horned crest like us. His skin was smooth, not scaled like ours. And he only had two eyes, instead of six around his head. Earthlings can only see in front of them, not in back, poor creatures.

  As I came up with a friendly greeting, he drew back in horror. “Good heavens, what a monster!” he gasped.

  I looked in back of me with my hind eyes, puzzled. “There’s no monster here.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said then, recovering. “You’re a Mercurian. It’s the first time I’ve seen one, you see. I’ve never been to this planet before.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I’m an exile from Earth,” Charles Galton said sadly. “I was convicted of murder. But I escaped in a spaceship. I was chased through space by the Space Police, right up to Mercury. That’s why I landed so hurriedly. But I gave them the slip!”

  “But you can’t go back to your world,” I said. “How sad!”

  “The worst of it is,” the Earthling continued, “I’m innocent! I didn’t commit murder. It was a frame-up!”

  I smiled. They’re all innocent. Our own murderers and criminals always protest their innocence, too. But I shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter to us what you did on Earth,” I said. “You can live in our village if you want. Are you hungry?”

  I led him to my house and offered him a tasty plate of stones, but he drew back shocked.

  “What, you eat stones?” he cried.

  “Of course,” I said. “What else? We chew the stones to bits with our silicon teeth, and the molecules then furnish nourishment to our bodies. The harder stones are especially good for building up strong scales for our bodies.”

  “But I have no scales,” he said. “I have to eat soft things, like animal flesh or plants.”

  So I had to take him out hunting. We found a valley where some small, soft creatures lived, and these he ate, after roasting them over a fire. It was amazing. I couldn’t get over it, and I ate some stones to keep him company.

  “By the way, what’s your name?” he asked finally.

  “Xezxkj,” I said.

  He choked. “My gosh, I can’t pronounce that. What an outlandish name! I’ll call you Joe for short.”

  Outlandish, indeed! His name was the strangest one I ever heard. Galton! It comes out like a whistle and snort in our language. By the way, the language both he and I used with each other was the patois of the planets, a mixture of all the languages of different worlds.

  Still, I liked Galton, and he liked me. He lived with me for some weeks. But I could see how lonely he was for his own world. He would look up at the bright point of light that was Earth and sigh miserably.

  “Never to go back,” I heard him whisper once. “Never to see those green fields and rolling hills again! Never to feel the cool breezes and gentle rain! Never to walk among my own people, hear my own tongue, listen to children’s laughter. . . .”

  I think he cried then.

  One day, it happened. Another spaceship, a small one, came zooming down from the heavens. It had a big white star on its side, and Galton turned pale.

  “The Space Patrol!” he said, trembling. “He’ll kill me if he sees me! I’ll be shot on sight. I’ve got to hide. Please, Joe, help me!”

  I did not want my friend killed. Hastily I led him to a cave, and then I returned to meet the newcomer. He was a tall slender young Earthling, in the blue-and-gold uniform of the Space Patrol.

  “I’m Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Police,” he said. “I’m looking for Charles Galton. Have you seen him?”

  I pondered for a moment before answering. I had to throw him off the trail. I shrugged my shoulders and looked at him with a blank expression as if I could not understand him.

  The Lieutenant seemed puzzled. He was about to turn away, when a yell came from the cave, and Galton came rushing out, in horror, pursued by a cave beast! The Lieutenant whipped out his ray-gun and shot the beast. Then I saw him turn toward Galton, so I put myself between them, grabbed my friend’s hand, and we ran.


  “Stop!” yelled Jon Jarl, behind us. “Charles Galton! Stop in the name of the law!”

  But I only ran the faster, pulling Galton with me. Now we Mercurians, with our four leg, are faster than Earthlings. But this Jon Jarl pounded right after us, and I could not shake him off.

  Then a plan came to me. I turned and headed out for the Sun Zone. As you all know, Mercury does not turn on its axis. Therefore, one side is always turned toward the blazing sun, and this hemisphere is bathed in tremendous heat. The other side is turned eternally away from the sun and is dark and frozen. We Mercurians can only live in between the Sun Side and the Cold Side, in what is called the Twilight Zone, a narrow band of livable territory running around the planet like a belt.

  But the Sun Side is only a few miles away, in one direction. And the Cold Side is a few miles in the other direction. So I ran toward the Sun Side, pulling Galton with me.

  “What are you doing?” he gasped, as the air grew hot and the stone smoked under our feet.

  “It’s your only hope,” I returned. “I can run farther into the Sun Zone than any Earthling. I’ll carry you. Jon Jarl will fall behind and lose us.”

  When Galton fainted from heat, I tossed him on my back and kept speeding into the Sun Zone. I looked back, waiting to see Jon Jarl fall back and give up. But to my amazement, that Space Policeman kept right after me. He almost staggered along in the frightful heat, and sweat poured from him, but he doggedly continued.

  “You can’t shake me!” I heard his hoarse yell. “It so happens Space Cops are trained to withstand extreme conditions on any planet.”

  So I knew this plan was useless. I changed tactics. I made a circle and raced back across the Twilight Zone. Poor Galton came to his senses, only to faint again, as I kept going and penetrated into the Cold Zone. Freezing cold now surrounded us. I skipped from one block of ice to another. It was dark here, with only stars above, so I figured surely I would now escape Jon Jarl.

  That amazing Earthling took a flashlight from his belt and kept after me, though I could hear his teeth chattering in the intense cold. Luck was with me, however. Jon Jarl slipped on the ice, cracked his head, and went down unconscious.

  Smiling, I then took him up too and carried both Earthlings back to the Twilight Zone. Before Jon Jarl recovered, I had tied him securely with ropes.

  “Now look.” I told him. “You are my prisoner. I do not wish to harm you. Just promise that you will go away in your ship and forget you ever saw Galton here. Galton is my friend, and I do not want him to be killed.”

  “Killed?” Jon Jarl said surprised. “I’m not here to kill him! I’m here to bring him back to Earth! He’s cleared of murder. The true killer confessed. So headquarters sent me to find Galton and bring him back—a free man!”

  Well, I certainly felt like a fool. I released Jon Jarl with many apologies, but he only grinned and said, “Forget it.”

  As for Galton, I wish you could have seen the look in his eyes as be stepped into the ship, ready to return to Earth, his home. It was as if he were looking into some kind of heaven. He couldn’t speak as he shook my hand.

  I watched the ship leave, and I felt good inside.

  HITCHHIKER OF SPACE

  The small rocketship of Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol circled over the moon valley. Below lay Spaceport, one of the busiest crossroads of interplanetary traffic. Big space liners and freighters from Jupiter and Saturn stopped here for a check-up and refueling before making the last leg of their journey to Earth. Or outward bound ships, from Earth, stopped at the moon before making the long plunge to other planets.

  The all-clear signal came from the control tower, and Jon Jarl landed on runway 17. He stepped out, without a spacesuit, for this valley of the moon was filled with breathable air. It was the so-called “heavy” air, pumped out artificially, and of a density that kept it from seeping into open space. The rest of the moon, except for these air-filled valleys, was airless.

  Jon rubbed his hands in the crisp coolness and headed for the Spaceport diner. A hot cup of coffee would go good now. But he paused as he saw a figure standing where the ships lined up for takeoff. This figure held a metal rod and at the end of it glowed a thumb formed out of neon-tubing. He was a hitchhiker, hoping one of the ships would pick him up for a free ride to Earth. The neon-lighted thumb was an ancient symbol of hitchhikers, from way back in the 1900s, some two hundred years before.

  Jon Jarl turned toward the hitchhiker. As a Space Policeman, it was his duty to discourage the practice. “Get moving, bud,” he said “you know it’s against the law to hitch rides on spaceships.”

  “Aw gee, copper. I’m not doing any harm,” said the hitchhiker. “I want to get back to Earth.” Jon Jarl then saw he was just a kid, no more than 15, dressed poorly, and shivering in the cold air.

  Jon Jarl made a grab for the boy, who darted agilely between two waiting ships. Jon looked around elaborately and then said in a loud clear voice—“Slipped out of my sight. Guess I’ll have to let him go.” Then, smiling, Jon went to the diner. If the kid hitched a ride before he came back from the diner, well, who cared?

  An hour later, returning from the diner, Jon Jarl peered carefully. No sign of the young hitchhiker. He had gotten a ride. Feeling good, Jon took his own ship up and thrummed away from the moon. He was due to report at headquarters on Earth.

  It was an hour after takeoff that Jon noticed his fuel consumption above normal. Almost as if he carried an extra load. Puzzled, Jon mulled it over and then suddenly jerked down the cover over the bunk. There, sleeping soundly, was the hitchhiker!

  Jon shook his shoulder roughly. “Wake up, kid! What’s the idea of stowing away on my ship?”

  The hitchhiker sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he grinned. “Oh, hello, copper,” he said. “Nice soft bunk you got.” He went on under Jon’s stern glare. “Well, I couldn’t get a ride at all. They all ignored me. I was getting cold and discouraged, so I . . . well . . . I saw your ship and . . .”

  “Do you know,” barked Jon “that’s it’s a criminal offense for any civilian to stow away in a Space Patrol ship?”

  “Aw, gee, copper, can’t you be human—?”

  “I should take you back to the moon,” interrupted Jon. “But that would waste too much time. Now that you’re here, I’ll have to take you to Earth, of course.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said the kid. “I knew you were a right guy.”

  But Jon was scribbling on a pad. He ripped off a ticket and handed it to the hitchhiker. “Sorry, kid, but I have to give you a ticket. When you arrive on Earth, you’ll have to go to court. The fine is 100 Sol-dollars for this offense! The Space Patrol is very strict about these things.”

  The kid’s face fell as he took the ticket and slowly stuffed it in his pocket. “I haven’t got 100 bucks,” he muttered. “So the judge’ll slap me in the clink.”

  Jon said nothing and turned back to his controls. He hated to do it, but the law was the law. He could sense the kid behind him fighting back boyish tears.

  “Listen, kid,” Jon said in kinder tones. “Let’s be friends anyway. I can’t help doing my duty. What’s your name?”

  “Tommy. Tommy Burr.”

  “How come you’re knocking around like this, a young kid like you?”

  “I like it.” Tommy returned simply. “I’m an orphan. When I was twelve, I decided to see the universe. So I hitched rides to the moon, and Mars, and all over. I worked in the Jupiter mines for a while. Then the Venus fisheries. And the canal dredges on Mars.”

  “Say, you’ve really been around,” mused Jon Jarl, “almost as much as I have as a Space Cop.”

  “That’s what I want to be some day, a Space Cop!” said Tommy. “Only”—his voice dropped—“only I never had the money to take a training course for the entrance requirements.”

  Jon was about to answer, when—it happened. The spaceship gave a sickening lurch and swung to the side. Jon saw what it was, out of the side port window—a big jagged lump o
f steely rock floating in space.

  It was a meteor. And yet it was more than a meteor. It was one of the Magnetoids. Composed of iron, cobalt, and nickel, it had a tremendously powerful magnetic pull! Any metal spaceship unlucky enough to cruise near was drawn to the Magnetoid like a bit of iron filing.

  Jon darted his hands to his controls, but it was too late. With a thud, the rocketship hit the Magnetoid—and remained fastened to it as if glued, held tight by the terrific magnetic field. The shock, as they hit, flung Jon violently against a bulkhead. And when he tried to rise, agonizing pain shot through his leg. He sank back, gasping.

  Tommy crawled to his side. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?”

  “My leg—broken!” groaned Jon. “Tommy, open the first aid kit and bring out those splints.”

  His leg bandaged and more comfortable, Jon wiped his brow. “Lucky the ship didn’t crack open,” he said.

  “Can’t we break loose from this Magnetoid?” Tommy asked.

  Jon shook his head grimly.

  “No, Tommy. Rockets aren’t strong enough to break the grip of this magnetic field. The Magnetoid has an orbit around Earth. We’ll keep circling Earth with it, forever, unless somebody sees our distress signals. Press those buttons, Tommy—one every five minutes.”

  While Tommy did that, Jon tried the radio—but it was dead. Smashed. Their only hope was the signal flares, rockets which shot far out and exploded with an intense white light.

  But several hours later, the last of the signal rockets was used up—and no rescue ship had arrived!

  “I’m afraid we’re sunk. Tommy,” said Jon quietly. “When you hitched a ride with me, you hitched a ride with death! Our air supply will last for a few days—then this ship and Magnetoid will float through space endlessly, like a coffin.”

  “If we could only smash up this Magnetoid somehow—” mumbled Tommy.

  Jon sat up, wincing at the pain in his leg, but excited. “Tommy, that’s it! You’ve hit it! Put on my spacesuit. Drain out a gallon of rocket fuel. Then go out and set off the charge. It’ll blow the Magnetoid apart and we’ll be free!”