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BOTTLE BABY— This Gorgeous Man Trap Came Under Glass

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Beginning—

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR Great New Two-Part Serial

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FANTASTIC, Vol. 6, No. 3, April 1957, is published monthly by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, William B. Ziff, Chairman of the Board (1946-1953), at 64 E. Lake St., Chicago 1, Illinois. Entered as second-class matter at Post Office at Chicago, III. Subscription rates: U. S. and possessions and Canada $4.00 for 12 issues; Pan American Union Countries $4.50; all other foreign countries $5.00.

BY THE EDITOR

IN WHICH THE CUSTOMERS DO THE WORK Dear Mr. Fairman:

I have just opened my February Fantastic, and the thought of you being worried about so many things has spoiled the evening for me (February editorials: “ Things we’ve always wondered about”). I have dashed down a few answers which I hope will settle your mind.

Why do policemen wear their guns way back on their hips where any thug can sneak up and grab them?

This is a product of the times, and is actually the safest place possible. So many police now ride in patrol cars or on motorcycles that it is fashionable to sit on the weapon. No one can even see it. However, the solution recently more or less backfired when a young patrolman in arising shot him¬ self in the precinct car.

Why do people sitting alone at bars always wear such grim expressions ?

Think. No one can buy you a drink if you are alone. There is not even the pleasure of buying someone else a shot. There is no adventure, no unpredictability to life; everything is pegged to the cost of the drink and your rate of consumption. If you are wealthy, a sodden future looms ; if you are broke, a horrible sobriety threatens.

How can women possibly ivalk in shoes with four-inch heels?

The key to the answer is in the verb “walk.” My Webster’s gives these thought-provoking definitions: “To go restlessly about contrary to the normal course of nature. ... To move in a manner likened to walking, as a chimney swaying through (Continued on page 1 1 9)

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© 1957 by Ziff-I

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

in a struggle of primordial fury.

FIRST OF TWO PARTS

THE VENGEANCE

OF KYVOR

By RANDALL GARRETT

In the great rain forests of Venus lived a golden god of a man in whose heart smouldered a demand for cosmic venge¬ ance. Kyvor the Magnificent — a towering bulwark against tyranny. But the despots he humiliated knew he could be slain.

CHAPTER I

THE eternal clouds of Venus floated over the vast, murky jungle like a great blanket of gray wool, unbroken save for glimmers of pearly light filtering through from the hot sun above the endless layer of fog. Beneath, in the dense jungle itself, could be heard the whisperings of the warm breeze and the myriad voices of the life that fed and hunt¬ ed in the hidden places of the great rain forest.

Polthan the Hunter crept silently along the branch of a huge Empire tree, his bare feet noiseless on the rough bark. A single misstep could plunge him helplessly into the dimness beneath, to fall a hundred feet to the ground

below. Were he to do so, not even the thick moss that cov¬ ered the jungle floor would save his life.

But the thought of falling never entered the mind of Polthan the Hunter. All his life had been spent in these jungles, seeking his liveli¬ hood in the leafy foliage of the vast upper reaches of the great, trees. To him, the dan¬ gers that lurked on every side were as commonplace as the dangers of crossing a busy city street are to an Earthman.

Polthan’s keen nostrils had detected the scent of a glith, a heavy, sluggish plant-eater that foraged through the heights of the jungle for the succulent leaves of the small plants that grew in the rough

FANTASTIC

bark of the towering Empire trees.

Polthan’s mottled blue- green skin was perfect for camouflage. Like any native Venusian, he could, by mov¬ ing silently and carefully, blend so well with the foliage of the great trees that he could become completely in¬ visible at a distance of only a few feet.

In the distance, he heard the harsh roar of a sslis rep¬ tile searching for his prey. Polthan's wide, frog-like mouth smiled gently. The sslis was on the scent of the glith, too — but Polthan would reach the plant-eater first.

Then Polthan’s keen ears caught another sound. It was a faint, whistling scream that became louder with every passing second. Polthan rec¬ ognized the sound. It was the whine of a spaceship! It was one of the sky vessels of the despised Earthmen!

The whine became a roar as the sky ship dropped lower.

The normal jungle sounds ceased as the animals of the forest heard the terrifying sound. Polthan knew it would be of no use to try to find the glith now ; it was moving rapidly away, alarmed by the scream in the air. Polthan shrugged and slung his blow-

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

gun over his shoulder. He might as well see what the Earth ship was up to.

Flexing the muscles of his legs, he leaped toward the branch above him and grasp¬ ed the thick bark with the sharp, strong claws of his fingers. Thus he climbed lithely upward, from branch to branch, until he reached the top of the huge tree, hun¬ dreds of feet above the forest floor.

There, perched precarious¬ ly on a swaying limb, he watched the spaceship de¬ scending rapidly through the gray Venusian sky.

Polthan knew very little of spaceships, but it was ob¬ vious, even to him, that this one was in trouble. It drop¬ ped in jerks and swayed wildly from side to side as it tried to lower itself to the solidity of the ground below.

Finally, it touched the tree- tops. There was a rending crash, a roar of the ship’s atomic motors — then silence.

Polthan the Hunter watch¬ ed for a moment, but nothing further occurred. Satisfied, he swung down from his perch and headed back to¬ ward his village. Kyvor must hear of this.

Lanina Harrison opened her eyes. For several mo-

9

merits, she could not recall where she was. Around her, all was dark, with the Sty¬ gian blackness of a tomb. She tried to move, and a sudden, searing pain shot up her left arm, burning along her nerves like fire, wrenching a scream from her throat. The pain brought her to full con¬ sciousness.

The spaceship had crash¬ ed! And she had survived! Then the horrifying thought struck her that perhaps she was the lone survivor.

But she did not panic. Since she was sixteen, La¬ nina had been carefully trained by the Earth Space Service to handle herself in every emergency. From the blistering heat of Sunside Mercury to the freezing cold of Saturn’s moons, Lanina Harrison had proved herself a dozen times over. Her courage had never faltered.

Nor would it falter now. Not even the dangers of the hidden surface of forbidden Venus could deter her from her purpose. Even the hideously bad luck of under¬ estimating the armaments of the Venusian Emperor, and the resulting crash in the for¬ est would not keep her from doing what she had been sent to Venus to do, if it lay within her power to do so.

She sat up in the darkness, being careful to put no weight on her left arm. Whether it was broken or not, she could not tell, but the throbbing pain warned her to favor it as much as she could.

“Wayne!” she shouted. “Wayne! Are you all right?”

No answer came from the pall of darkness surrounding her.

She fumbled in her jacket pocket for the tiny penlight she always carried, hoping that her fall had not damaged it. She pressed the switch and breathed a sigh of relief as the bright beam bathed the interior of the room with its radiance. She moved the beam about, trying to get her bearings.

It was quite evident that the ship had fallen on its side, for she found herself sitting on one wall.

As the spot from the bril¬ liant beam shifted across the wall which had now become a floor, it touched that for which the girl was looking — a sprawled figure in one cor¬ ner of the tipped room.

“Wayne !” Lanina gasped involuntarily.

Such was her concern for the man who lay uncon¬ scious there in the darkness

10

FANTASTIC

of the wrecked spaceship that she ignored the pain in her arm ; indeed, she almost wholly forgot it as she stood up and walked across the metal wall toward him.

He lay there unmoving, a dark bruise on his forehead showing what had happened to render him thus. Lanina put her hand on his breast, hoping against hope, fearful lest she should feel no heart¬ beat.

Then the tension within her relaxed. The heart beat strongly and steadily. He was only stunned ; perhaps, if she could move him —

And then she saw that she could not. A heavy piece of metal, a part of the deck which had been torn loose from its fastenings during the crash, pinned one foot se¬ curely to the wall beneath him.

A lowr moan came from the man’s lips, and he turned his head slowly from side to side.

If only there were some water! the girl thought help¬ lessly. But she knew there was none. The wrecking of the ship had ruined the power plant, as was evi¬ denced by the failure of the lights. Without power, the ship’s replenishes could not furnish its occupants with water.

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

Lanina could do nothing but caress the man’s cheek until time, alone, allowed him to revive from the blow on his head.

After a long while, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “What — where are we?” he asked weakly.

Quickly, the girl told him what she knew of their pre¬ dicament. He seemed to be in no pain ; the blow of the heavy slab of metal had ren¬ dered his leg numb.

When she had finished her explanation, the man said grimly, “We might have known they’d get us, but it was our only chance. If we could only have contacted Dr. Neilson, we might have had a chance. Now, Earth will have to try again.”

“Dr. Neilson is supposed to be somewhere in these jungles, Wayne. We may yet be able to contact him.”

Wayne shook his head. “Not much chance. He’s probably hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles away.”

Lanina nodded. She real¬ ized the hopelessness of their plight, but she did not intend to show her feelings, nor did she intend to yield to despair.

“There isn’t much we can do about our mission now, I’ll admit,” she said, “but if

11

we ever intend to do any¬ thing, we’ll have to get you out from under that deck.”

“You couldn’t possibly lift it by yourself,” Wayne said. “And the way it has my leg pinned, I couldn’t move it, either. However, I think there is a way. You’ll have to get the hydraulic lifter out of the engine room and get the deck up that way. It needs to be lifted only a few inches.”

“I think that’s the best way,” the girl agreed. She turned around and pointed the flashlight’s beam toward the wall where a door opened into the engine room.

“I can never get through that door!” she said in dis¬ may. The metal of the wall had been warped in the acci¬ dent, and the door itself was twisted in such a way that it was jammed tightly in the opening.

“I can see that,” Wayne said. “It would take more force to open that door than it would to lift this deck. You’ll have to go outside the ship and enter the engine room from the emergency hatch.” A grimace of pain crossed his handsome face. “You’d better hurry,” he con¬ tinued, “my leg’s beginning to hurt; the numbness is wearing off.”

“I’ll be back as soon as pos¬ sible,” she assured him.

It was fortunate that the ship had not landed on the side where the airlock was situated, or Lanina could never have made her way out of the smashed metal hulk. As it was, the port opened easily, and as it swung in, Lanina saw for the first time the misty beauty of the Venusian jungle.

Everywhere she looked there were great flowers, hanging from the thick, cable-like vines that looped through the branches of the trees. Against the dark, blue- green of the foliage, they stood out as bright spots of color.

Reds, blues, greens, yellows and purples sparkled bril¬ liantly, while pastel shades of chartreuse, pink, lemon, and pale orange added their glow¬ ing softness to the panorama of color.

Never in her life, Lanina thought, had she seen any¬ thing to compare with the beauty around her.

Then her eyes looked down, and a shiver of terror coursed over her body. Below the airlock door, there was no solid ground — only a leafy, blue-green abyss that drop¬ ped into dimness and mist far

12

FANTASTIC

below. She knew, then, what had happened. The spaceship had not fallen to the jungle floor; it had come to rest on two mighty branches of a gi¬ gantic Empire tree!

One of thejjreat branches, easily twelve feet thick and covered with the heavy, blos¬ soming vines, supported the tail end of the battered space¬ ship; another, equally large, held the nose. There was no way she could get out of the ship !

To attempt to climb around on the smooth hull of the vessel, even with mag¬ netic shoes, would have been foolhardy; the magnets were never meant to hold a human body against the pull of gravity ; they were meant for gravityless action in the depths of space. And if she were to fall —

She shuddered again as she looked down into the empty depths below her.

How could she get to the engine room now? There was no way; she would have to think of some other method of freeing Wayne from the imprisoning weight of the massive metal deck.

A noise to her right brought her attention from the emptiness beneath the ship. She looked up, and

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

what she saw made her voice a gasping cry.

Standing on a branch not ten feet from the open door of the spaceship were two things that looked like de¬ mons from some horrid nightmare. Short of stature they were, not more than four feet tall, with mottled blue-green skin and short, muscular limbs that bespoke great strength in spite of the diminutive size of the beings. Their mouths were wide and filled with small, pointed teeth. Above the mouth were two small nostrils, mere openings in a noseless face. The eyes were large and luminous and somehow man¬ aged to convey an impression of intelligence and craft.

In spite of their upright posture and large, well¬ shaped foreheads, Lanina could not help thinking that they looked like huge frogs.

She had seen photographs of Venusian natives before, but they were more frighten¬ ing in reality than their photographs could ever be. Still, she forced down her terror and, remembering that some pf the natives could understand English, she called out to them.

“I am a friend. My brother is hurt. I need help. Please!”

Neither of the Venusians

13

said a word, nor did they give any sign that they un¬ derstood the tongue of the Earth girl.

Then another thought oc¬ curred to her. Dr. Neilson, the man she and Wayne were supposed to contact, had worked in these jungles for thirty years. Perhaps if she asked for him, they might give some sign, for it was known that Dr. Neilson was friendly with many of the natives.

“Do you know Dr. Neil¬ son?” she asked. “We are friends of Dr. Neilson’s. Doc-tor Neil- son.” She re¬ peated the name in hopes that the natives might recognize it, even if they understood no other English.

And indeed they did show signs of understanding, for they glanced at each other and one of them spoke in the rippling, fluid tongue of Venus.

But before the other could answer, another voice came.

“What about Dr. Neil¬ son?” asked a deep, authori¬ tative voice.

Lanina turned her head to see who had spoken and stared wide-eyed in surprise. Standing on another nearby branch was a tall, magnifi¬ cently handsome man — an Earthman ! He was almost

naked ; only a loincloth of soft, yellow-green fur cov¬ ered his golden skin. He was taller than any man she had ever seen before, taller even than Wayne, and his shoul¬ ders were broad and power¬ fully muscled. The eyes that looked at her from beneath his frowning brows were a deep, cool blue. But the most outstanding thing about this handsome, golden giant was the flaming red hair that was brushed back from his high forehead in smooth waves.

“I asked you a question,” he said calmly. “What about Dr. Neilson?”

CHAPTER II

KYVOR the Killer lay on his back, gazing in¬ dolently at the shifting sil¬ very gray of the Venusian skies. The rough bark of the mighty tree limb upon which he reposed felt pleasant to his golden skin, and the warm, humid breeze which caressed his face enhanced the feeling of lassitude which had stolen over his muscular body.

And yet, relaxed though he may be, the keen senses of Kyvor the Killer were ever alert for danger. The rep¬ tilian predators which crept through the Venusian rain forest were silent and insid-

14

FANTASTIC

ious in their movements, and only a trained ear could de¬ tect their presence ; only nostrils of utmost delicacy could tell their scent from the myriad of other aromas that permeated the moist air. And only by hard, never-ceasing training from childhood could an Earthman hope to stay alive in the jungles of Venus without elaborate protective equipment.

Thus it was that when Ky- vor heard the faint rasp of calloused feet on the bark of a nearby branch, his every muscle was ready for instant action. But he did not leap to his feet, for his sensitive nostrils told him that the one who approached was a mem¬ ber of the Clan of Tivala. In¬ deed, it was only a few seconds later that the smil¬ ing figure of Polthan the Hunter stepped into view from behind a screen of leafy foliage.

"Good hunting, mighty Flame-head,” said Polthan, using the customary Venu¬ sian greeting, and addressing the Earthman by his Venu¬ sian name. The name “Kyvor” means, literally, “He - who - has - flame - on - his - head,” for the Clan of Tivala, as the natives call themselves, have no hair ; and not even the

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

furred animals have hair that is red or brown.

“Good hunting, Polthan,” returned Kyvor. “You seem to be excited — more excited, I dare say, than the mere killing of a glith would war¬ rant.”

Polthan’s thick lips split in a broad smile, disclosing the rows of small, sharp teeth. “Indeed, it is so, mighty Ky¬ vor,” Polthan said. “Did you not hear the scream in the jungle?”

“I heard it,” Kyvor admit¬ ted, “but it sounded like a dying sslis.”

“Not nearby,” Polthan cor¬ rected, shaking his head. “I know you have never heard the sound in your life, but we of Tivala who are older heard it often in years gone by. It was a spaceship landing.”

Kyvor leaped to his feet. “Where? Take me there quickly, Polthan! If they are agents of the Empire, they will bear close watching.”

“I think we need have no fear, Kyvor,” said Polthan; “the vessel was out of con¬ trol and crashed. No doubt the occupants were killed.”

“If you did not investigate, you can not know,” Kyvor said. “Come, show me the ship.”

Polthan nodded quickly and scurried off through

15

the trees, running along branches, and leaping the gaps between the great trees by swinging along the cable¬ like vines that festooned the limbs in the upper forest. Be¬ hind him, with equal ease, sped Kyvor the Killer.

As he moved through the jungle, Kyvor’s keen mind dwelt on the possibilities of a spaceship here in the jungle.

It had been very long since the young giant had set eyes on his own kind. Since the death of his parents, years before, he had not seen a hu¬ man being. His only friends, his people, were the Clan of Tivala. He had been only a child when his mother had at last succumbed to fever, weakened by the despair in her heart after the murder of her husband, Kyvor’s father.

Even then, child though he had been, he was as large, physically, as the greatest warrior of the Clan. And the Clanspeople had adopted him, teaching him those things which a young warrior needs to know in the rain forest of Venus. He knew what plants to avoid, and which plants could be useful to him. He had learned how to kill the herbivorous glith and protect

16

himself from the fierce, ravenous attacks of the sslis.

And as he had grown to young manhood, he had be¬ come stronger and more agile than any of the Clan, and their primitive minds had come to look upon him as a god-king, rather than as a simple chieftain. The books and papers of his father he had read and re-read until everything in that vast library was engraved per¬ manently in his facile mind.

And now, for the first time in years, he might again see a human face. Perhaps, as Polthan had said, they were dead; perhaps, as he himself surmised, they were agents of the Empire. But they were nonetheless human, and Ky¬ vor felt, deep within his savage breast, the desire to see a human being once again.

Polthan felt a little ashamed that he had been chastised by Kyvor. Was it not sensible to assume that anything falling from so great a height would kill those within it? Polthan thought so, and yet Kyvor knew more of such things, even though he had never seen a spaceship. Kyvor had many “books” which spoke to him silently when he looked

FANTASTIC

at them, and they told him many wise things. The arts of writing and reading were beyond the intellect of Pol- than’s people.

Since Kyvor had cast doubt upon the death of the vessel’s occupants, then it was ex¬ tremely likely that it must be so. Therefore, Polthan reas¬ oned, it must be so.

The people of the Clan of Tivala, though ignorant of the complexities of Earth’s civilization, were wise in the equally complex ways of the jungle. The rapid movement of Kyvor and the faithful Polthan through the upper reaches of the great forest did not go unnoticed by its denizens, nor had the falling of the spaceship been ob¬ served by Polthan alone. Thus it was that when Kyvor and his guide reached the spot where the broken ship hung in the tree, many of the Tivala were gathered around it, keeping well hidden in the greenery that surrounded the ship.

Mylthat the Trapper hur¬ ried over to where Kyvor stood watching the ship.

“We have seen nothing, Fiery One,” he whispered, “but there have been noises within the vessel, clangings of metal upon metal.”

Polthan nodded. “They are

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

alive, of course,” he said. “We shall kill them when they emerge.”

Mylthat clenched his hand around his short-spear. “As soon as they open the round door, they die.”

Kyvor the Killer had been surveying the disabled ship, ignoring the low conversation of the two Tivala, but when Mylthat shook his short- spear, the tall Earthman looked down at him. “No, Mylthat, that will not be nec¬ essary. They cannot get out of the ship ; there are no vines close enough to allow them to climb out, since they were torn out by the ship’s fall. And, even should they manage to get out, it would be better to wait until they are all out, where they will be more vulnerable to our weapons.”

“It is as Kyvor says,” agreed Polthan.

“Listen!” Kyvor’s voice carried a tone of command. “One of them is opening the airlock! Silence!”

At his order, the Clan of Tivala became motionless and silent. Following their lead¬ er’s command they waited.

Kyvor thought himself ready for anything, but he was totally unprepared for the door to swing inward and

17

disclose the face of a beauti¬ ful, golden-haired girl.

He could tell that she was frightened, but the nobility and beauty of her soft oval face impressed him deeply. It was difficult to believe that such a lovely creature could be an agent of the Empire. But what else could she be?

The girl looked around her in wonder for a few moments, then looked down at the vast open space beneath her and gasped. She seemed fascinat¬ ed by the sheer depth of the leafy, blue-green abyss.

“Quickly!” Kyvor whis¬ pered to the two standing beside him; “go out to the branch near her while she is not looking. Do nothing and say nothing. Just stand where she can see you.”

Then he gave orders to the others while Polthan and Mylthat scurried to do his bidding. “Aim your blowguns at the girl ; if she attempts to harm Polthan or Mylthat, kill her.”

It was an order he did not like to give; the beauty and apparent innocence of the girl did not bespeak evil in¬ tent. But she was nonetheless an enemy, or at least a stran¬ ger, while the two Tivala were his friends.

When the girl looked up at last and saw the two Tivala

15

standing before her, Kyvor was again forced to grudg¬ ing admiration of her brav¬ ery. She did not run back into the ship, nor did she draw a weapon. Instead, she spoke, and her voice was clear and soft, without the slightest trace of fear.

“I am a friend. My brother is hurt. I need help. Please!”

Kyvor narrowed his eyes. It might be a trap, but if so, it was a crude one. Besides, the girl’s voice had a ring of sincerity. Still, if they were agents of the Empire, there was no need to save their lives; they would only be¬ come dangerous later. And yet, there were many ques¬ tions to be answered. Why had they come here? What were they looking for? Why had the ship crashed?

The girl’s voice came again. “Do you know Dr. Neilson? We are friends of Dr. Neilson’s. Doc-tor Neil¬ son.”

At her mention of that name, Kyvor decided that he would have to take personal hand in dealing with the girl. He strode out on a nearby branch and folded his arms over his chest. “What about Dr. Neilson?” he asked.

The startled girl turned her head to look at him, and

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her gray eyes grew wide with fear and surprise. She said nothing, so Kyvor repeated his question.

“We — we’ve come to see him,” the girl replied. “Who are you?”

“I am known as Kyvor,” he said simply. “Why do you want to see Dr. Neilson? Who are you?”

The girl had claimed to be a friend of Dr. Neilson’s, and Kyvor well knew that she had never met the doctor.

Lanina Harrison paused. She had no idea who this golden giant might be ; he could very well be an agent of the Venusian Empire, in which case it would be fool¬ ish and dangerous to reveal the identity of herself and her brother. And yet, the spaceship itself was real and damaging evidence against her. The handsome demigod must know that she did not come from Empire City.

“Our ship was damaged,” she said at last. “We were forced to land here, and we knew that Dr. Neilson’s headquarters were in this area. We thought perhaps he could help us.”

“You speak of ‘we,’ ” Ky¬ vor said. “Who else is aboard?”

He knew that there was something odd about the

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

girl’s story, but he had cor¬ rectly deduced that she in¬ tended to tell him nothing, so he asked her nothing more about herself.

“Only my brother and I are aboard,” she said. “He’s inside ; his leg has been crushed under a piece of deck, and he can’t move. Please, if you have any kind¬ ness about you, help us!”

Kyvor paused for only a moment. Well he knew that there might be danger within the ship, but his instinct told him that the girl was telling the truth. He grasped a vine, and with one graceful leap swung over the open space to the lip of the airlock.

“Take me to your brother,” he said.

Lanina led him back to where Wayne Harrison lay in the darkness of the ship. He did not move, nor did he speak when Lanina called out his name; he had fainted again from the pain in his leg.

From the illumination of the girl’s flashlight, Kyvor could see that the young man bore a striking resemblance to his sister, although his face was more angular and masculine.

Lanina watched as Kyvor walked over to the metal deck plate and grasped it with one

19

hand. She saw his mighty thews ripple under the golden skin, and the deck lifted as easily as if it were made of cardboard. With his free hand, Kyvor gently moved the injured man’s foot from beneath the mass of metal. Then he lowered the deck again, and without another word, he picked up the un¬ conscious man in his arms and strode toward the air¬ lock. Lanina followed him, not knowing what else to do or what to expect.

CHAPTER III

SEVERAL hundred miles to the north of the spot where the spaceship had landed, four heavy armored tanks lumbered southward. The column moved in single file, their headlights gleam¬ ing in the misty dimness of the jungle floor.

In the lead tank, Major Lyman Reeder, of the Imperial Venusian Army, scowled darkly and cursed venemously under his breath.

"Why so angry, Major?” asked Captain Bock, the sec¬ ond in command.

“I don’t like the idea of bringing a nurse along,” the major said. “Women don’t belong on a military expedi- 20

tion. They are always -and forever in the way. We need¬ ed a doctor, yes. But not a nurse.”

That was not the real reas¬ on for the major’s anger, although it irritated him. Ac¬ tually, he had no real desire to be heading a military ex¬ pedition into the jungle. He would much rather have stayed in Empire City, mak¬ ing the rounds of the cafes, attending the various social functions of Imperial so¬ ciety. He thoroughly disliked the idea of plunging into the unknown depths of the Venusian jungles. There was, of course, nothing he could do about it; had he begged off, he would have been dis¬ graced and called a coward in the social circles of Em¬ pire City. In fact, it was doubtful that he could have begged off; the order to find the fallen spaceship, and capture prisoners if possible, had come straight from the Emperor himself, and Derek II was not a monarch who rescinded his personal or¬ ders.

Major Reeder had to go, but he most certainly did not have to like it. Therefore, his disposition was irritable and his treatment of the men un¬ der him harsh.

Captain John Bock didn’t

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object; as a matter of fact, he was rather glad that he had been assigned to the ex¬ pedition. He knew that the Emperor was anxious to cap¬ ture whoever had been in the mysterious ship, and he was determined that he would get his share of the credit for the success of the expedition. Well he knew the weak¬ nesses of his commander, and he intended to take every ad¬ vantage of them.

“Why do you think the ship came here, sir?” the captain asked conversationally.

“Who knows?” snapped the major. “I can tell you this, though : Any ship from Earth is a potential danger to the Empire. Ever since Derek I declared Venus to be separate from the govern¬ ment of Earth, we have known that the President of Earth would do everything in his power to see that the Em¬ pire is destroyed. The demo¬ cratic earthlings claim that a government by aristocracy is despotic. Bah ! Can you imagine a world where the common rabble is permitted a voice in the government? There can be no such thing.”

“It does seem foolish in the extreme,” Captain Bock agreed. “Our ancestors, who colonized Venus, were wise to cut themselves loose from the

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

bonds that tied them to a decadent society.”

The major, who knew nothing of history and cared even less, merely snorted. “Nevertheless,” he said, “Earth has always been a threat to us, and always will be until its society collapses into anarchy.”

Captain Bock nodded in agreement, but he privately disagreed with Major Reed¬ er. The Empire controlled the spots on Venus where a spaceship could land : the broad, flat salt plains of the North. All the rest was jungle, swamps, and moun¬ tains. Earth could not pos¬ sibly land a fleet of ships to invade, since the heavy blaster guns could shoot them out of the sky before they could touch the ground. Neither could they bomb the Empire from space, for the heavy blasters could hit a bomb as easily as a spaceship. Earth could win only by de¬ stroying the whole planet, and there would be no point in doing that.

He wondered, nevertheless, why this lone ship had come from Earth. What could they hope to accomplish? The ship had attempted to land in the great marshes just out of range of the blasters; hut

21

they had underestimated the range of the huge guns, and a near hit had disabled them. They had fled to the south, only to crash into the vast rain forest. Whoever had been aboard her would most certainly have died in the crash, but, even so, there would be clues aboard her which might disclose her purpose in coming here.

While the captain pon¬ dered thusly, the column of tanks moved on over the thick moss that covered the jungle floor. Like four tiny ants crawling around the vast pillars of a cathedral, they wound their torturous way through the towering Empire trees. The great for¬ est monarchs, some of them a full quarter of a mile in diameter, seemed to ignore the small crawling things be¬ neath them as a man would ignore an insect at his feet.

On and on they moved through the dimness of the jungle until at last the pearly light in the sky began to fade and the utter blackness of the Venusian night settled over them. Not until then did the major call a halt.

The four tanks were form¬ ed into a hollow square, and the space between them was blocked with heavy steel

fencing. Outside this, an electrical barrier was set up which would kill any small animal and stun or frighten larger ones. Powerful search¬ lights were set up to illumin¬ ate the area, and sentries were posted around the camp. Then the soldiers made ready to eat their evening meal and retire until morn¬ ing.

In one corner of the com¬ pound, a special tent had been set up, and Major Reed¬ er eyed it with open dislike.

“That,” he said to Captain Bock, “is exactly what I mean when I say that a wom¬ an is a nuisance on a military expedition. She has to have special attention, special quarters, special everything.

“Captain, I’m going to make her your responsibility. I would just as soon she didn’t bother me.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the cap¬ tain. “I’ll see that she doesn’t annoy you.” Inwardly, he smiled at his superior’s or¬ der. He hadn’t dared to hope that he would have such luck ; his scheming mind had al¬ ready worked out a way to undermine his commanding officer and take credit for the expedition himself. Because he knew that the young nurse was already angry with the major’s tyrannical methods,

22

FANTASTIC

he hoped to use her in his scheme, and the major’s or¬ der fell in with his plans. And, too, he had other plans for the girl herself.

Excusing himself from the major’s company, he strolled across the compound toward the nurse’s tent. When he reached it, he tapped on the aluminum frame of the door to the tent.

“Who is it?” came a clear contralto voice from within.

“Captain Bock,” said the officer. “May I come in?”

“Certainly, Captain,” said the nurse. She was seated at a table with Captain Ashley, the elderly medical officer.

Bock had expected to find the girl alone, and he was somewhat discomfited to see them both.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Summers; Captain Ashley; I hope you’re both comfortable. How did the first day go?”

“Not badly, ’’replied Cap¬ tain Ashley, “although I must say riding in a tank with nine other men is not my idea of comfort.”

“I hope my men didn’t bother you,” said Bock. “If they do, I shall see that they are disciplined.”

Dora Summers looked up at the young captain. He might have been handsome,

except for the cruelty in his dark eyes, which showed through in spite of the en¬ gaging smile on his face.

“Your men didn’t bother me, Captain,” she said ; “they seem very well trained.”

“As well trained as it is possible to train peasants,” Captain Bock agreed.

Nurse Summers said noth¬ ing. Not by so much as a flicker of her lustrous brown eyes did she betray the thought that passed through her mind.

Captain Ashley stretched his arms wide. “I’m really getting too old for this sort of thing,” he said. “Frankly, I doubt that a doctor will be needed. If the crash didn’t kill the people in the space¬ ship, I dare say they’ll be dead by the time we get there. An unprotected human being can’t last long in the jungles of Venus.” He yawned and stood up. “Frankly, I’m going to get some sleep — I need it. Good¬ night.”

Captain Bock and the nurse bade him goodnight as he pushed open the door of the aluminum-cloth tent and went out to his own quar¬ ters.

As soon as he had gone, Captain Bock turned again to the nurse. “The major was

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

23

rather harsh with you this morning, wasn’t he?”

Lieutenant Summers just shrugged her smooth shoul¬ ders. “He’s the commanding officer here. I have to take orders like anyone else.”

“True,” the captain agreed, “but I think he’s much too overbearing with everyone. Even a common soldier has some rights.” He looked searchingly into the dark, soft eyes of the woman. “If you want my opinion, I think we need a psychiatrist along instead of a medical doctor.”

Dora Summers met his gaze steadily, and she, too, was attempting to read the brain behind those eyes. “Do you mean that you think Ma¬ jor Reeder is insane?”

The captain laughed and shook his head. “No, Dora, I didn’t say that. You did. However, I won’t disagree with you. Perhaps — ” His smile faded, and he left the sentence unfinished.

He rose from his seat, said goodnight, and left. Dora Summers watched him leave and wondered what sort of man the captain really was. Could she trust him? She felt that she had to trust some¬ one, but what would Captain Bock’s reaction be if he dis¬ covered that she was not the well-born lady she claimed to

be, but only a commoner? She did not know, and until she could be more sure of the young officer, she decided it would be more prudent to hold her tongue.

Restless, she stood up and walked outside the tent to take a breath of fresh air. The humidity of the jungle breeze seemed to be less in the evening.

Around her she could see nothing except the camp it¬ self. Beyond the glare of the brilliant spotlights, there seemed to be nothing but im¬ penetrable darkness.

Thus, she could not see the pair of large, glowing eyes that sought her out in the glare of the lights, eyes that watched from the jungle and remained fastened upon the door to her aluminum tent after she had gone inside and shut off the light.

CHAPTER IV

LANINA HARRISON mas¬ saged the wrist of her left hand. There was little pain in it, but a slight tender¬ ness remained. Fortunately, it had only been a slight sprain.

Wayne, on the other hand, had not had his sister’s good luck. His foot had been broken, and only the skill of

24

FANTASTIC

their unknown benefactor had saved the limb. As it was, Kyvor had set the fracture so well that Wayne was able to hobble about on a pair of crutches without paining himself too much.

At the moment, he was seated on a rude, but servic- able couch that stood against one wall of the room where they stayed.

“It just doesn’t seem pos¬ sible,” Wayne said as he looked about him; “to think that we’re actually inside a tree!”

“Kyvor says that the Em¬ pire trees are filled with such hollows as this,” Lanina said. “The natives widen them and polish the inside walls to give them the finish.”

Indeed, the room, primitive though it might be, had an air of grandeur about it, for the walls looked as though they were made of paneled mahogany, smoothly varnish¬ ed and polished to a high lustre. It was a large room, and yet, in comparison, it was only a tiny scar in the vast bulk of the mighty tree.

There was a rustling at the entranceway, and a huge hand pulled aside the bark- cloth that concealed the en¬ trance from outside eyes.

The flame-haired giant smiled as he stepped inside

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

the tree-cavern room. “How do you feel, Wayne? Foot still hurt?”

“I think it’s all right,” the Earthman said. “Still throbs a little, but what can you ex¬ pect of a broken leg?”

Kyvor seemed to be enjoy¬ ing some private joke which neither of the others under¬ stood. They had told him that they were merely citizens of Empire City who were try¬ ing to test a new type of spaceship. Something had gone wrong, they said, and the ship had crashed. Other¬ wise, they had told him nothing.

And, in return, Kyvor had asked them nothing. He had no need to; his eyes and his ears told him more than the two Earthlings suspected. He knew by their slight accents that they had not come from Empire City; more, he could see that their clothing, al¬ though cut in the Empire style, were not made on Venus. His keen eyes could detect subtle differences in the cut and make of the cloth that would go unnoticed to ordinary human eyes. Long years in the Venusian jungles had sharpened his senses far beyond those of the average man.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I suppose you’re ready, now, to

25

be taken to Empire City. You’ll want to get back home.”

Lanina and her brother glanced at each other, and the message that passed between them did not pass unnoticed by the golden-skinned giant, who smiled slightly to him¬ self.

Suddenly, he could contain himself no longer. Kyvor’s vast sense of humor bubbled over and he began laughing at the plight of the two before him.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, when his laughter had sub¬ sided. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. But why didn’t you tell me you were Earth agents? Was it because you thought I was an agent of the so-called Venusian Em¬ pire? What Empire man would stay out here in the jungle when he could have the comforts of the city?”

Wayne Harrison smoothed back his blond hair with a muscular hand. “Then you’ve known all along?”

Kyvor nodded. “Ever since I first heard you speak. And, too, the evidence aboard the ship shows that it isn’t of Venusian origin. Besides, you asked about Dr. Neilson; that was a dead giveaway, in it¬ self. Everyone on Venus

knows that Dr. Neilson is dead.”

Young Harrison looked at the fire-haired young giant in astonishment. “Dead? But he assured Earth that he was in no danger; he said that he could stay away from the Empire’s police forever, if necessary.”

Kyvor nodded. “He was right. But there was more to it than that. Let me tell you what I know, then you can tell me what has taken place on Earth.

“Twenty years ago, Neil¬ son contacted Earth. He had a plan for allowing Earth forces to land to overthrow the Empire and free the so- called ‘commoners’ from the slavery of the Empire’s aris¬ tocrats and set up a demo¬ cratic government on Venus. For five years, he carried on radio communication with Earth. Then communication was stopped, but Neilson as¬ sured Earth that there was nothing wrong. Since then he has not been heard from.”

Lanina said : “That’s

right. We were sent to con¬ tact Neilson; there was hope that he was still alive. His last message told us. that he needed new supplies for his radio, that some of the transistors were nearly burned out. No further mes-

26

FANTASTIC

sages were received, but it was assumed that the doctor had simply been unable to get new supplies. Finally, after fifteen years, the Earth de¬ cided that if one ship could get through to him, we could help him bring his plan about. Unfortunately — ”

“Unfortunately,” finished Kyvor, “you didn’t know two things. You didn’t know that the small landing field he told you of was now occupied by the Empire, and you didn’t know that he had been killed. This changes your plans.

“In order to get parts for his radio, he stole secretly into Empire City, the only place where they could be had. He was captured and tortured to death. But he died without revealing his head¬ quarters.” When he said this last, the flashing blue eyes of Kyvor became as cold as the blue ice of Earth’s Arctic.

“Do you know where his headquarters were?” Lanina asked.

Kyvor nodded. “I do,” he said. “I am the only living human being who does know. The things he worked with should never fall into the hands of the Emperor of Venus. Derek II would be¬ come a tyrant, the like of which has never been seen, if the secrets in Dr. Neilson’s

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

laboratory were to become his.”

Wayne Harrison’s gray eyes blazed with sudden in¬ terest. “How do you know so much, Kyvor? Who are you, anyway?”

“My real name is Glen Neilson,” Kyvor said quietly. “I am Dr. Neilson’s son.” He stopped a moment, remem¬ bering. Then he said : “I have lived in these jungles all my life. I was reared by the Clan of Tivala. I am the only Earthman who is not hated by the tree people of Venus.”

The red-haired young giant had no further opportunity to explain his background. A small, blue-green figure dart¬ ed into the room and spoke in the rippling tongue of the Clan of Tivala. The Earth¬ lings could understand no word of it, but they could easily see the excitement of the speaker.

When he had finished and scampered out again, Kyvor spoke to the Earthman. “Wayne, the Empire has spotted the place where your ship crashed. Even now, there is a column of tanks coming through the forest to¬ ward us. Polthan the Hunter says that they are only a day away.”

Wayne’s heavy blond brows

27

furrowed in thought. “They’ll find the ship, of course; their detectors will tell them where it is. And they’ll know we’re alive. When they report baek — ”

“Don’t worry about that,” Kyvor said. “I’ll see to it that they don’t report back.” He stood up and strode out the door of the tree cave.

Lanina Harrison sprang to her feet and rushed out after him. “Kyvor ! Wait ! What are you going to do?” When she had left the room, she had run out on the mighty branch that projected out from beneath the hole in the bark; but she took no notice of that, for the branch was fully ten feet thick and there¬ fore easy to walk on without losing balance.

Kyvor turned to look at her. “What am I going to do? I’m going to get rid of an enemy patrol. I’ve done it be¬ fore ; there’s nothing to fear.”

The Earth girl reached out and touched him gently with one hand. “Don’t — don’t get hurt.” And then, suddenly, she threw her arms about him and lay her head against his mighty chest. “Please be careful! Please!”

“He’s been gone for hours,” said Lanina Harrison, pacing

28

back and forth across the room.

“Relax, honey,” Wayne told her. “That man knows his way around these jungles. He’s stayed alive this long; he’ll stay alive a lot longer.” He looked up at his sister knowingly. “You’ve fallen in love with the guy, haven’t you?”

Lanina turned, her eyes blazing. “Well, what if I have? Can you imagine any¬ one better to fall in love with?”

Wayne shook his head. “No, I can’t,” he confessed. “The man’s magnificent. But — does he love you?”

Lanina clenched her fists and closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know.”

Wayne stood up on his crutches and hobbled across the room. “I hate to disillu¬ sion you, honey, but I think you ought to take everything into account before you make any decision.” He pushed open the door to the next room, the one where Kyvor slept. “Come here, Lanina. Kyvor talked with me for a while in here. I know I’m in¬ truding on his privacy to show you this, but I think you should know.” He flung the door open wide and point¬ ed within. The flickering

FANTASTIC

glow of the oil lamps which illuminated the hidden re¬ cesses within the tree glowed fitfully over the far wall of the room. And there, Lanina could see a life-size photo¬ graph of a young, dark-hair¬ ed, brown-eyed, beautiful girl.

And, inscribed beneath it were the words: “To Kyvor, with all my love.”

Kyvor the Killer raced through the branches of the upper terrace, moving stead¬ ily and unerringly toward the place where the tank column had been spotted. He took with him no provisions, for they would only serve to slow his rapid pace through the jungle. His only necessi¬ ties were the knife and rope that hung at his side; he could live off the land as well as any other inhabitant of the Venusian rain forest, and, in¬ deed, preferred to do so.

When Dr. Simon Neilson, one of the most brilliant scientists who had ever lived, had fled into the jungles of Venus to keep his secrets out of the hands of the despotic Empire, he had taken with him his wife and small son. Since early childhood, young Glen had been raised and taught by the Clan of Tivala, with whom his scientist

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

father had become friendly. While Dr. Neilson worked in his hidden laboratory, Kyvor, the Fire Hair, had played with the young Tivala chil¬ dren and learned their ways.

Then Simon Neilson had gone back to Empire City for badly needed equipment, and had never returned. Shortly thereafter, his beloved moth¬ er had succumbed to fever and loneliness, leaving Kyvor in the hands of the faithful people of the Clan of Tivala. And they had not failed in their duty; day by day and year by year they had taught the lad the secrets of the jungle, secrets he needed in order to survive. The boy had learned well; indeed, because of his superior brain, he soon surpassed his instructors, un¬ til now the Clan looked upon the young giant as one almost akin to the gods.

Knowing his father’s hatred for the Empire, and knowing how they had killed him and indirectly caused the death of his mother, an intense hatred of the Empire had been instilled in Kyvor’s own mind. Often they had sent patrols and expeditions into the jungle, and each time Kyvor heard of one, he had proceeded as he was proceed¬ ing now— to wipe it out.

Perhaps, Kyvor reflected,

29

it was not quite right to think of Lanina and her brother as the only humans he had seen since his parents’ death. Still, it was only with effort that he could bring himself to think of the soldiers of the Emperor as being human. Their savagery and cruelty were such that they scarcely deserved the honor of being called men.

Never once on these expe¬ ditions had he spoken to one of the soldiers. He had killed them by using his vast knowl¬ edge of the jungle, and left their bodies to the mercies of the carnivores and carrion- eaters of the jungle. When all was over, the machines were left to rust, while the winged dak-lizards swooped ever low¬ er toward the corpses, and the small, jackal-like thelks crept out of the underbrush to feed.

CHAPTER V

THAT evening, Kyvor slowed his steady move¬ ment through the jungle and began to search for food for his evening repast. The faith¬ ful Polthan swung by his side through the heavy vines of the forest, sniffing the air with his flat nostrils.

Suddenly Kyvor changed direction, veering off sharply

30

to the right. Polthan fol¬ lowed, for he, too, had scent¬ ed the glith.

The big beast, hanging up¬ side-down from a limb, moved slowly along, munch¬ ing leaves and flowers from the liana vines. Kyvor and Polthan crept up silently and watched. Great care must be taken to catch glith. If he is killed outright, he will simp¬ ly fall, hundreds of feet, to the jungle floor below. Before a hunter could reach him, the flesh would be despoiled by the thousands of tiny, thumb¬ sized carrion beetles that rush from their burrows in the moss whenever anything edible falls from above. The little eaters of dead could burrow into a body within a few seconds, rendering it un¬ fit for consumption because of the noxious secretions of their bodies.

Thus it was that the glith had to be taken by more subtle means.

Carefully unreeling his rope, Kyvor prepared a noose, and with unerring ac¬ curacy threw it over the blunt, thick-necked head of the browsing monster. Imme¬ diately, the animal reached out with one great claw and began to tear at the offend¬ ing strand of rope.

Then Kyvor leaped. Grasp-

FANTASTIC

ing the animal with one mighty arm about his throat, Kyvor plunged his knife again and again into its side, searching for the huge heart that beat beneath the protec¬ tive hide.

Screaming, with pain, the great beast released his hold on the branch and dropped. But the rope that Kyvor had fastened to a higher branch held, and the fall was stop¬ ped as abruptly as it had begun as the glith jerked helplessly at the end of the rope.

Still the great animal did not die. Tough were his great neck muscles, and strong the will to live within his heart. His great tree-holding talons slashed back, trying to dis¬ lodge the human from his back. But Kyvor was not to be cheated of his prey. His powerful arms and legs held their grip about the glith’s body, and his knife sought once more the heart of the beast.

The glith’s motions began to become more sluggish, and at last it moved no more. Then, hand over hand, his bloody knife clenched be¬ tween his teeth, Kyvor the Killer climbed up the rope which held the huge body suspended from the limb above.

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

As soon as he had reached the limb, he began pulling up the glith and before long, he and Polthan were tearing with their teeth at the raw chunks of flesh that had been hacked off the dead herbivore.

After they had sated them¬ selves, the giant Earthman and the small Venusian found a small cavern in the trunk of a nearby tree and lodged themselves for the night there to rest and wait.

Lieutenant Dora Summers pointed at the drug cabinet and said : “I tell you, Dr. Ashley, someone has been taking llomar powder from the drug supply!”

Captain Ashley looked at the calibrated vials and nod¬ ded. “You’re right, Nurse. There’s a good deal of it missing. When did you first notice that it was gone?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” the nurse replied. “Just be¬ fore I called you.”

The physician frowned. “I couldn’t believe it at first,” he said. “I can’t see why any¬ one would want to take it. It’s not a narcotic, nor a stimulant. Why would any¬ one want to steal the llomar drug?”

Lieutenant Summers was almost sure she knew, but it was not her business to make

31

wild guesses. She merely ask¬ ed: “It’s a poison, isn’t it?”

Dr. Ashley nodded. “Yes, but not in the usual sense. It attacks the nerves, and spe¬ cifically attacks the cerebrum — the thinking part of the brain.”

The two of them were standing in the hospital hut, on the fourth night out from Empire City. The journey had been slow and monoto¬ nous; the dreadful tales they had heard about the dangers of the Venusian rain forest had not seemed to have come true. Instead of deadly dan¬ ger, there was only the utter sameness of the unchanging jungle.

“I suppose I had better notify Major Reeder,” Cap¬ tain Ashley .said thought¬ fully. “Steps will have to be taken to insure against fur¬ ther losses.”

Dora watched as the cap¬ tain walked across the compound. She knew in her heart that only one man could have stolen the llomar powder.

Captain Ashley rapped on the door of the major’s tent. At the sound of the voice that bade him come in, he pushed open the door —

— and was confronted by a madman!

Major Lyman Reeder was

foaming at the mouth; his eyes were wild and red — bloodshot with hate.

“Aha! There you are!” he cackled madly. “I’m going to kill you, you know! Haha! I’m going to kill you!”

Dr. Ashley knew then what had happened to the llomar drug — someone had given it to Major Reeder!

He could hardly manage to get out of the insane man’s way. It was too late ! The ma¬ jor was charging straight for him, and the captain couldn’t possibly avoid him in time!

Lanina Harrison looked over at the couch where her brother was sleeping soundly. She was glad that the pain in his foot had subsided at last to the point where he could sleep, but she was worried about Kyvor. What had hap¬ pened to the red-haired giant? He had been gone now nearly two days. Had the Em¬ pire soldiers killed him? Or had he met some worse fate?

She could not know. The tiny green Venusians could not tell her, for they spoke no English ; and she, in turn, was unable to speak the tongue of the Clan of Tivala. But, she decided, she must know what had happened to the golden-skinned man who had won her love.

32

FANTASTIC

Quietly, she walked over to the crude desk which stood on squat legs in one corner of the room. Dipping the an¬ cient steel pen in ink, she wrote a few lines. Then she put the piece of paper on Wayne’s chest, where he would be sure to see it when he awoke.

Then, buckling her weap¬ on belt around her slim waist, she stepped outside and be¬ gan to walk quietly along the wide branch of the great tree.

All around her glowed the phosphorescent flowers of the great vines, shimmering in their various colors in the blackness of the Venusian night. They stored the light that fell upon them by day and glowed at night, filling the darkness with a soft light that was just barely enough to see by, provided one had exceptionally keen vision.

Lanina had a keen sense of direction. Although she was by no means trained to live in the jungle, she neverthe¬ less was capable of acting in an emergency ; and her senses were, in spite of their com¬ parative weakness, still a great deal better than the average man’s. So, stepping carefully along the branches, she moved toward the space¬ ship that had crashed far off in the jungle.

THE VENGEANCE OF KYVOR

She walked carefully; she could not hope to equal the daring swings across space that Kyvor performed with such apparent ease and dar¬ ing; but, nonetheless, she did not feel afraid as she walked along, jumping from one branch to another, making long detours where an easy jump was not feasible.

She could not, however, hope to equal the silence of Kyvor. Her every step made the bark beneath her feet crackle. She tried to steal along quietly, but her heavy, solid space boots made the bark crunch every time she shifted her weight. But to her, this was of little conse¬ quence. She could hear it only slightly, and naively assumed that no other denizen of the jungle could hear better than she could. She did not know that before she had moved twenty yards there were others in the trees who watched her with glowing eyes and followed her silent¬ ly. Amid the shining liana blossoms the eye could not be seen, but they watched and moved, nonetheless.

It took her a long time to navigate her way through the upper terrace. In half an hour, she had covered a dis¬ tance that would have taken

33

a Venusian child less than five minutes.

She knew that the tank column had spotted the place where her ship had crashed, and she knew that Kyvor, if he were still alive, would be somewhere near the wreck¬ age.

Sense of direction though she had, Lanina knew noth¬ ing of the dangers that sur¬ rounded her. Although the motions and sounds in the jungle disturbed her, she did not know what they were, and the distant hissing roar of a sslis meant nothing to her. She could not know that the reptilian carnivore had scented her and was already moving cautiously toward her after giving his single hunting warning.

Distant as he was, the reptile nonetheless moved through his familiar sur¬ roundings much more rapid¬ ly than the prey ahead. He paused now and then, sniffing the air, trying to decide just what sort of animal it was that lay ahead. It really did not matter to the sslis, for in his tiny brain there was no room for fear; he did not know what it was, but he knew that it was food, and he knew that he was a match for any animal that roamed

the forest. On and on he pressed, moving with a cat¬ like grace that no terrestrial reptile ever achieved. For the Venusian sslis, like all other Venusian reptiles, is more highly developed than any Earth lizard.

At last the hungry carni¬ vore spotted his victim. He stopped for a moment, eyeing her, wondering what her flesh would taste like; but he knew that she was not dangerous. She had no claws, no teeth, no protection of any kind. True, she walked upright, as did the blue-green things with the blowguns, but she was obviously not of their species; she was larger, and would provide a better meal.

He moved on, stalking the girl, waiting until she should get to a place where there would be no danger of her falling to the ground below. The sslis did not want to lose this choice morsel to the car¬ rion beetles.

Lanina walked carefully along the intertwining limbs and branches, moving from tree to tree by crawling care¬ fully across the vines that tied one tree to another. And then she realized that she had made a mistake ; she had walked out on a great branch which, she presumed, led to the next tree. But it did not;

34

FANTASTIC

only forty feet out from the mighty trunk of the Empire tree, it came to a dead end. At some time in the past, it had been broken off, perhaps by a lightning bolt, perhaps by internal weakness. Now, it was only a jagged stump.

Realizing that she would have to take another route, she turned to retrace her steps. But the sslis, too, had seen her error, and when she turned, Lanina saw before her the glowing red eyes of the most feared killer on Venus.

In the glowing light of the fluorescent flowers, Lanina could only dimly see the car¬ nivore, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was a killer. It looked something like a terrestrial tiger, but its snout was longer, and it was earless. A ridge of spines ran along its back and down the long, reptilian tail. Slowly, it stalked toward her.

And then, with a terrify¬ ing, hissing shriek, it leaped !

(To be continued )

35

I’M NOT a very sociable drinker in a public bar. I’m not snooty, it’s just that I don’t care to mix my drinks with dreary stories or bar¬ flies. So, naturally, I was very annoyed when a little old man with a thin, wrinkled face strutted in, slid onto a stool beside me and, pointing at Benny, said briskly:

“Want me to change him into a pelican?”

I just pretended that I didn’t hear him.

Benny came rushing down and shouted in his face : “Awright, awright! I’m fell¬ in’ yuh again — cut oud annoyin’ my reg’lar custom¬ ers !”

He gave Benny a hurt look out of his strange blue eyes. “I’m not bothering anyone.” His thin, pale lips trembled, as if he were about to weep. “I only told him that I could change you into a pelican — which I most certainly can.”

“You wuz in here las’ night givin’ everybody a bad time! Wot’s it dis time?”

“Cognac.”

“Yuh got da do-re-mi?”

The fantastic little man’s eyes blinked rapidly. He took off his green Tyrolese hat and handed it to Benny. His head was bald as a door-knob. “I’d be glad to leave this as col¬ lateral until tomorrow.”

Benny shoved the hat

36

A NIGHT

IN BENNY’S BAR

By WILMON MENARD

Ever sit at a bar and have some character edge up to you and try to cadge a drink? It happens in the best regulated taverns. It happened at Benny’s but with results we’re sure are unique in the history of panhandling. See what you think.

37

back. “G’wan, scram!” he roared.

My self-elected drinking- buddy turned to me with heart - rending melancholy concentrated in his puckish face. “If you’ll buy me a small cognac, I’ll really change this ape into a pelican.”

Benny reached over and grabbed him hard by the lapels of his linen jacket. “I sed, lay off him ! Mister Ogelthorpe is jes’ in here for a quiet drink, so he don’ wan¬ na lissun to deadbeats like you!” He started shaking him until his teeth chattered like castanets. “An’ don’ give me none of yer guff, neider!”

“Keep your paws off me!” screeched the little man, jerking free. “Otherwise I’ll change you into a juke-box. You’ll feel mighty uncom¬ fortable with cold coins drop¬ ping into your fat guts and your head full of rock-and- roll bedlam.”

Benny started around the end of the bar.

I put up a restraining hand. “Whoa, now! Let’s not have any rough-house. Give him a drink, Benny, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Benny stopped and let out his breath very slowly. Then, very nastily, he said : “Jes’ as you wish, Sir. But, remember, dat I warned yuh.”

The booby-hatch escapist held out a cordial hand. “My name is Hector Wumpson.” Then, swallowing hard, seem¬ ingly with some embarrass¬ ment, he added: “I’m a ma¬ gician.”

I smiled tolerantly. “That’s very interesting, Mr. Wump¬ son.”

“You know what I mean when I say ‘Magician’?”

“Oh, I’ve read about Hou- dini — and I saw the movie.”

“No, no!” protested Hec¬ tor. “He was a fake. I’m a bona fide magician. I can really do things!” He nar¬ rowed his eyes on Benny. “Just wait until I finish my cognac, then I’ll show you something you won’t forget as long as you live.”

“Oh, you don’t have to feel obligated,” I said. “But don’t rile Benny, because when he blows his top he can be very mean.”

Hector compressed his lips on a stubborn resolve. “The slob insulted me. Anyway, I feel in the mood to perform some nifty wizardry.”

Benny lurched back and banged the cognac down in front of Hector. “An’ don’t sit aroun’ here on yuh behin’ sniffin’ it like dey do at da Waldorf! Jes’ toss it off an’ getta hell outa here!” He

38

FANTASTIC

gave me a reproachful look. “I’m surprised at you, Mis¬ ter Ogelthorpe, encouragin’ bar-flies like dis — you, who never strike up an acquain¬ tance wid anybody. Can’t yuh tell by da white bags under his peepers dat he’s a lousy lush?”

I looked at Hector’s eyes. They were sad and gentle, like a water-spaniel’s. “Give me another beer,” I told Benny stiffly.

But Benny didn’t move. He was watching Hector who was passing the beaker of cognac back and forth under his long pointed nose, crit¬ ically inhaling its bouquet ; his nostrils twitched ner¬ vously like a rabbit’s. Then he craned his neck to read the check Benny had tossed down in front of me. His piercing blue eyes fixed themselves on Benny’s red face. “For that price this should be your su¬ perior cognac,” he said indig¬ nantly.

“Mr. Ogelthorpe!” screech¬ ed Benny, “I’m tryin’ hard to control myself ! But it sure ain’t easy 1”

Hector’s thin shoulders hunched up sharply, and then settled down with an asthmatic sigh. He downed the cognac, blinked, and gave a hacking cough. He gave Benny a reproachful, watery

A NIGHT IN BENNY'S BAR

stare. “Watered down and blended with DDT.”

“Dat did it !” yelled Benny. He slammed his two fists down on the bar. “Now I’m tossin’ yuh ouda here on yer fanny!”

Hector folded his hands on the bar and stared intently at Benny; his lips moved soundlessly. Definitely off his rocker, I said to myself. Poor devil! I was lifting my beer mug to drain the last drop, when it happened. I dropped the stein and it crashed to pieces on the floor. I grabbed for the edge of the bar to keep from falling off the stool. “Good Lord!” I gasped. My skin was a mass of icy goose-pimples, and my hair was standing up stiffly on my scalp.

Benny wasn't standing there glowering anymore!

There was a faint, wet splashing sound from behind the bar, so I leaned over numbly and looked down. A small gold-fish was fluttering around pathetically on the floor. “Wh-where’s Benny?” I stuttered.

Hector was sprawled on his stomach across the bar, gaz¬ ing down with chagrin at the flopping gold-fish. He turned tear-filled eyes to me. “I just can’t get my sorcery to work

39

right,” he said in a plaintive voice. “I really did intend to change him into a pelican — and now look what hap¬ pened !”

He dropped down behind the bar, filled a pretzel bowl with water and, picking up the gold-fish by the tail, dropped it in. “No use letting Benny kick the bucket.”

I got down mechanically off the stool. I didn’t even bother with my change or my gold cigarette lighter. I just want¬ ed to get outside and start running hard.

Hector suddenly lifted his head from a steady, bright¬ eyed contemplation of the fish whirling furiously around the glass bowl, and asked quietly : “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Ogel- thorpe?”

“G-g-gotta get h-home!” I yammered. “Late for s-s-sup- per! Wife will b-b-be sore!”

“You stick around a while,” he said softly, and put his chin back on his fists and gazed raptly at the demented gold-fish. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I got back on the stool and sat there, staring. Impul¬ sively Hector patted my shoulder. “Don’t you worry none, pal, I wouldn’t play any tricks on you.”

40

“Thanks, thanks a lot,” I mumbled.

The double doors of the bar crashed in, and a blowzy red¬ head wearing a dyed-rabbit coat charged in. “Where’s Benny? she yowled. “That jerk was s’posed to phone me!”

Hector grinned and pointed to the frantically spinning gold-fish. “Here’s Benny — having a swim.”

She moved fast, cornered Hector behind the bar and brought her heavy purse down on his head with a re¬ sounding thump. It squashed in his natty Tyrolese hat and made his face contort un¬ happily. “Now, jes’ wot in hell are you doin’ behin’ my boyfriend’s bar, huh?”

That look of mysticism was creeping into Hector’s crock¬ ery-blue eyes; his lips began to form silent, outlandish words.

My fingernails were cutting into the palms of my hands, and I tried to yell to the big carrot-top. “Beat it, sister, beat it — quick!” But only little impotent gusts of air hissed through my clenched teeth.

She grabbed Hector by the throat and pulled back a strong right to bop him on the nose ...

This time I saw the entire

FANTASTIC

eerie show. It was nerve- shattering — sufficient to send a man stark raving mad. The red-head’s misshapen body seemed to balloon almost to the bursting point, and then abruptly started to deflate. Tjien there were angry siz¬ zling sounds, like fat frying on a hot griddle; the shape began to fold in upon itself like a lump of melting tallow. A geyser of yellow steam puffed up like a small atomic cloud, and right before my eyes —

A pelican took shape!

I started teetering off the stool, but Hector reached across the bar and steadied me.

“I’m still a step behind,” he said aggrievedly. “I meant to change the trollop into a zither.” He came around and opened the doors, and the pelican waddled out into the night.

Then he slid a bottle of Benny’s most expensive French cognac down the bar to me and climbed onto a stool alongside. “I think we should drink a little toast to good old Benny.”

So it was “Mud in your eye!” and “Saluti!” and “A votre sante!” and “Prosit!” and “Ding hao! and “Skoal!” to the gold-fish who had stop¬ ped on the side of the glass

A NIGHT IN BENNY’S BAR

bowl facing us. The eyes were bulging enormously, the fins whirling like propellors, and the mouth gulping spas¬ modically. It was Hector, al¬ right !

“And we should drink a few for his girl-friend,” in¬ terrupted Hector.

“Don’t you think we’re taking too much liberty with Benny’s best cognac?” I asked.

“Perhaps you’re right.” He slid off the stool, “You wait here, I’ll be right back.” He bustled out into the street.

I sat there sipping the cognac and looking at Benny in the pretzel bowl. And he looked back at me, steadily, murderously. His mouth kept pouting out as if he had a spastic seizure, and, although I’m not a lip-reader, I knew what he was hollering: “I’ll get you two rats for dis, jes’ wait’n’see !”

It must have been about twenty minutes later when I heard the sound of tramping feet outside. The doors of the bar were kicked violently in¬ ward, and Hector strutted through leading an army of human derelicts. They were the combings from river- banks, hobo-jungles, from be¬ neath bridges, out of flop- houses and charity-wards.

41

“Luh-awft!” yelled Hector. “Fahwhrrrd, hahnnnh !” In they trooped more than thirty, each erect and grin¬ ning and proudly keeping step. He ordered them around, up and down, back and forth. “Ahnn, hopp, reep . . . reep, faw, y’lofftt!” Then he gave them some physical drill. “Fall forward! Get hurrupp ! skin-heads ! Flop backwards! Get hurrup!” He duck-walked them twice around the room. It was all a very smart performance, in¬ deed.

Finally, he dismissed them, and they came over and shook my hand and said they’d be delighted to drink with us — as long as we want¬ ed them. One acted as bar¬ man, and the bottles and glasses were lined up. Poor Benny was whirling like a gold disc in the bowl trying to keep track of the free drinks.

“I used to be a leather¬ neck,” said Hector. “Cam¬ paigned with the Old Sixth Corps in North China.”

Then the six-foot-four army sergeant, with the blonde on his arm, came through, the door. He stood just inside, staring dumbly and scratching his head. He looked like Samson, about to

pull down the pillars of the temple.

“Come on in and drink up!” Hector called to him. “The drinks are on the house!”

The sergeant moved down to us. He was walking on the balls of his feet, and I knew that punching a bag and waltzing around a ring could only have given him the ominous smooth tread with which he approached us.

He tapped Hector on the shoulder. “What’s goin’ on here? I’m Benny’s brother Herbie.”

“Benny’s indisposed,” re¬ plied Hector, measuring the man-mountain with bright, shrewd eyes. “He put me in charge.”

Herbie looked around the crowded, smoke-filled room ; his jaw squared and his black brows came together in a hur¬ ricane warning. “You call dis takinr’ charge? Dere ain’t a thin dime in dis whole gang of winoes.”

“St. Patrick’s Day is al¬ ways open-house,” said Hec¬ tor.

The blonde was slipping an arm around Hector’s neck. “I think you’re cute,” she drawled.

Herbie practically lifted her off her feet and carried her down to an empty booth.

42

FANTASTIC

Hector glared after the sergeant. “Can you imagine a knuckle-headed dog-face having a hot babe like that?” He made a megaphone of his hand and sang to the tune of Bless ’em all:

“Oh, we asked for the army to come to Tulgai,

But Douglas MacArthur said ‘No’ ! . .

I gripped warningly Hec¬ tor’s arm. “Hey, listen, Hec¬ tor, pipe down ! He’ll mop the floor with us!”

“He gave as his reason,

This isn’t the season ...”

The blonde had dropped a coin into the juke-box and music blared out, but Hec¬ tor’s voice triumphed over the din:

“Besides, there is no U.S.O. !”

Herbie was suddenly be¬ hind us, and he was scowl¬ ing. “How ’bout knockin’ the racket off, Gizmo? My girl¬ friend, Miss La Salle, wants to lissun to Elvis Presley.” He cracked his knuckles. “An’ I happen to have bin wid Douglas at Biak, for your information.”

Hector was now singing loudly and movingly :

A NIGHT IN BENNY’S BAR

“From the Halls of Montezuma . . .”

Herbie’s two hams were reaching under Hector’s arm- pits. “I think you an’ me wanna take a little walk out¬ side, huh?”

I started to unbutton my jacket for freer action. Es¬ prit de corps! I had been at I wo Jima.

“To the shores of Tripoli . . .”

Then, as Herbie jerked him violently off the stool, I saw the look concentrating in Hector’s eyes.

Bedlam broke loose in the club.

I stared open-mouthed. Herbie had disappeared, but a kangaroo with boxing gloves on its front paws was bouncing all around the room throwing punches at the bums who were scrambling wildly for the exits. “Look at him go!” exclaimed Hector. “And he’s just what I want¬ ed him to be !”

In the distance I heard a siren whine. “I think some¬ one has called the cops,” I announced worriedly. “We’d better get out of here."

“Not until I’ve tried a mass demonstration of wizardry!” Hector shouted. He fixed his eyes on the panicked riff-raff.

43

The remarkable metamor¬ phosis took place just as a patrol-car slid to a stop out¬ side. As we were hustling out the back door into the alley, I looked back. What a menagerie ! There was an ant- eater, a kinkajou, a badger, a jackal, an ibex, a screaming puma, two marmosets, a gnu, a tapir — and a sleek, tawny cat. Four orangoutangs, new¬ ly arrived, and the kangaroo were now driving them into a corner.

“How about Benny?” I asked Hector.

The gold-fish was making the water boil with his fran¬ tic gyrations.

“Oh, he’ll be okay,” Hector assured me. “I left a note to feed him regularly and change the water.”

Hector walked as if in a trance down the alley, his face radiant. “Not a fluke in the lot of them,” he said happily. “I’m really a first-class wiz¬ ard !”

The sky was becoming faintly pearly in the east when we came out the end of the alley into the street. Hec¬ tor was yawning and running his hands wearily over his face. “Well, it's been quite a night in Benny’s Bar, eh, Ogie?”

“Simply amazing, Heckie!”

The cat had escaped from

the bar and was following us down the alley. Now it rubbed against Hector’s legs, purring loudly. He studied the feline with growing interest.

“Well,” I said, “I guess I’d better get home and make peace wtih the little woman.”

“Want me to come along and help you explain things to your wife?”

“Oh, no, Heckie, I’ll handle it okay.”

“Just as you say,” he mur¬ mured drowsily.

I started off. “Well, so long, Heckie, see you 'round.”

“Hey, Ogie, look!”

I turned around. Then I fell back a few steps, pressing palms over my unbelieving eyes. The prowling cat had disappeared and in its place was the enchantingly formed Miss La Salle, one slender arm draped around Hector’s neck, the other trying to hide her matchless nudity! As I discreetly looked away, I heard her say huskily: “I’m cold, cutey-pie.”

After a couple of seconds, Hector called to me: “Okay, Ogie, you can look now!”

The blonde had on his linen jacket, but her slender legs, just below the thighs, were bare, and she kept lifting one foot, then the other, and rub¬ bing it against each perfectly

44

FANTASTIC

rounded calf. “Let’s go, Sweetie,” she insisted.

“I’ve sure got my mystic powers under control now!” chortled Hector. He gave me a neat two-fingered salute. “Well, adios again, Ogie. Too bad you have to go home.”

A black cat was rubbing around my legs. “Oh, I dunno,” I thought aloud. “A few more hours won’t matter too much — now.” I pointed to the friendly, mewing cat.

“No, no, you’d better get on home,” advised Hector. “I know how ornery a wife can get.” He was staring dream¬ ily, reminiscently beyond me.

I sighed heavily and start¬ ed walking away. “Aloha, Heckie.” I nodded politely to the blonde. “And I hope I’ll see a little more of you some¬ time, too, Miss La Salle.”

“Could be,” she said thrill- ingly, “Could be.”

At the corner I stopped and watched them walking in the graying dawn down the street. She reminded me of Marilyn Monroe walking away on a movie screen. I felt incredibly lonesome and for¬ saken.

Then I said “Damn!” and turned around and started for home. An equestrian, astride a chestnut mare, passed me near the park. The horse neighed and the rider stared

open-mouthed. He kept look¬ ing after me, until I turned the corner. Hell, I thought, drunks staggering home in the early morning hours should certainly be no uncom¬ mon sight.

My mouth tasted metallic, so I stopped at a gum-vending machine for a mint-chew. But, first, I studied my face in the mirror. Holy mackerel! what a shocking reflection ! The worst hangover I had ever had. I decided it would be very unwise to go home in this condition.

I set off for the riding- stable down at the end of the park. When I trotted into the barn, the horses whinnied de¬ risively at me; some kicked out angrily. Mean cayuses! But I evaded their lashing hooves and got into an empty stall. There I pondered my predicament. Emily was high- strung and subject to fainting spells. She’d be sure to throw a fit when she got one look at me.

Well, what would you do if the doorbell rang early one morning and you opened the door to someone who brayed: “Hello, darling, I’m back!”

Especially if you were a de¬ jected-looking Missouri jack¬ ass wearing a checkered sports- jacket and a Panama

hat. THE END

45

A NIGHT IN BENNY’S BAR

ABE LINCOLN- ANDROID

By O. H. LESLIE

Come to this strange party — where George Washington will open the door — where Abraham Lincoln will take your hat and Carrie Nation will hand you a drink.

ONGRATULATIONS! I am pleased to inform you that you have just made a purchase which will reward you with priceless qualities of service and satisfaction. Your Handmaster Home-Robot has been designed and engineered to perform every domestic duty upith thoroughness and dedication to detail , and given proper attention wifi remain a loyal and efficient servant for generations to come.

MODEL NO. H230957

QUALITY: Class A-l, Se¬ ries k8

TYPE: Abraham Lincoln

The representatives of the American Historical Society arose from their chairs', shook hands gravely with Justin Mark, and played Alphonse

and Gaston at the door of the lawyer’s office.

Justin looked after them, amused yet impressed by their pointed dignity. Never¬ theless, he didn’t neglect the one caution he took with all new clients.

“Miss Lyons,” he spoke into the Soundbox. His sec¬ retary came in, electric with efficiency. “Have this check verified,” he said to her. “Then get me Murray Law¬ rence on the phone. That’s all.”

Murray was cheerful, loud, and boisterous on the phone, and threw out three invita¬ tions to lunch before Justin could tell him the reason for his call.

“Murray,” he said finally, “I want you to do me some¬ thing. How well do you know

46

\TISFACTIF-'

UARANTEES

OR YOUR MONEY,/ *

CF5FFFULIV

REFUNDED ! f

Were these robots an Insult to the memories of great men?

47

the Valeras’? . . . You do? Fine. Here’s the thing — I want you to wrangle me an invitation to one of their parties . . . No, business. New client. I’ll explain later . . . Yes, I’ll dress formal. Any¬ thing for money. Okay, swell . . . See you tomorrow.”

By this time, Justin’s sec¬ retary had returned with the check, and of course, the sig¬ natures had been found to be genuine. The lawyer sat back comfortably, perhaps even smugly, in his green leather chair, and looked at the crisp yellow strip of paper with the crisp $10,000 written across its face. It was a large re¬ tainer, even for Justin Mark. His first five-figure fee had been for the defense of a col¬ lege president (facing a paternity suit) — and now, for the prosecution of a prom¬ inent robot manufacturer, on the charges of libel.

“I don’t know if I can make it stick,” he told Murray at lunch the next day. I haven’t made any sort of an investi¬ gation yet, of course, but from what the men from the Historical Society told me, it looks like a rocky couple of months for Mrs. Mark’s brightest child.”

Murray, talking between mouthfuls of steaming bouil-

48

Ion, said : “Depend on me, anyway. Got the invitation to the Valeras’ next soiree. You’ll get an eyeful of these libelous robots there.”

“Have you seen them?”

“Sure. It’s a sight, boy.” Murray stopped eating, hap¬ py for the opportunity for a little dramatics. “You walk up the front steps. You ring the bell. The door opens — wham! The butler’s Woodrow Wilson! You walk inside and step over to the bar. Wham — Abe Lincoln hands you a cocktail! The maid comes in to announce dinner. Wham! It’s Carrie Nation!”

“Eat,” said Justin. “I got all that from the Society. What I’m really interested in is how close the resemblance is, and what, if anything, I can do about it.”

“How about suit from the descendants?” asked Murray, now returned to his meal.

“Several of the descendant families are in on the deal. They came to the Society first, and the AHS has agreed to pool the families’ resources and their own. They’ve put the whole thing in my lap.”

“But is it really libel?" asked the lawyer’s friend.

“That’s the question,” said Justin glumly. “There’s no precedent for this sort of thing. It would be different

FANTASTIC

if these Handmaster Robots were made up in the like¬ nesses of living people, but there’s no such case I’ve ever heard about. I should have stuck to criminal law. When’s that party?” he asked sud¬ denly.

“Wednesday night. I’ve al¬ ready told Valera that I was bringing you. He thinks it’s a fine idea.”

“Deeply grateful,” said Justin soberly. “How’s the soup ?”

But Wednesday afternoon, Justin’s plans for the evening changed quickly.

His secretary came in and informed the lawyer that Brigham Handmaster, presi¬ dent of the Handmaster Robot Corporation, and the object of Justin’s intent study for the past week, had called personally and asked that Justin attend a small gather¬ ing at the Handmaster home.

When he had been left alone with the news, Justin fought down a naive but in¬ sistent feeling of awe — an awe inspired by fifteen years, of legend. To the people who knew him only by that legend, Brigham Handmaster walked the earth with seven-league boots, was omnipotent, im¬ mortal, and spoke often and confidently to God. More had

been written, spoken, and televised about Handmaster than any other figure of his time, and the Handmaster apocrypha could fill a five- foot shelf. It was whispered that the President of the United States, along with many other major world per¬ sonalities, was a Handmaster robot; it was rumored that Handmaster had swung na¬ tional elections by creating thousands of robots who voted at the polls the way Handmaster directed. There were many more tales of ter¬ ror concerning him — most of them palpable fantasies — but each served to increase the stature, the fame, the no¬ toriety of the robot manufac¬ turer.

Handmaster, it was said, was curiously disinterested in these fables — even in the one which began . . . “Once upon a time, a robot was created named Brigham Handmas¬ ter . . .”

It was quite a colossus that had called Justin — personally — and invited him to tea. The awe was justifiable, but after this first reaction, Justin thought seriously about the call. He decided that there could be only one reason for the invitation : Handmaster knew about Justin and the Historical Society.

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

49

“Return Mr. Handmaster’s call,” said the lawyer into the Soundbox. “Invitation ac¬ cepted.”

The robot that took Jus¬ tin Mark’s coat was an early, standard model, sweet-faced and placid. Like all Handmas- ter products, it was actually an android, a creation of synthetic tissue, but the pub¬ lic had never accepted the odd word and Handmaster’s sales department had bowed to their preference for the term “robot.” He introduced himself quietly as John, and led him through a majestic hallway to the main room of the Handmaster home.

It was a striking room, but Justin, prepared to be daz¬ zled, was rather surprised to find it not so unlike the rooms he had seen in the homes of other wealthy men.

Justin counted seven peo¬ ple in the room, but he knew that Handmaster wouldn’t be among them, that the manu¬ facturer would wait until all his guests were assembled be¬ fore making his entrance.

As he stepped through the doorway, Felix Huston, Handmaster’s personal physi¬ cian, came up to him and shook his hand.

“We are so glad you could come, Mr. Mark,” said the

50

doctor after the unnecessary introduction. “Mr. Handmas¬ ter will be here shortly. Come in and let me introduce you to some people.”

The doctor was a friendly man, rosy-cheeked and white- haired, the pluperfect model of the Herr Doktor from his polished brogans to the soft tweeds and briar pipe. But Justin warmed to him, and felt, more at ease. He led the lawyer to the center of the room, where two huge lounges faced each other. Three men stood between the couches, one sat besides two women, and he too arose as Justin approached.

“Mr. Maxwell,” said the doctor as Justin began the round of handshaking. “Mr. Sewell, Mr. Richardson, and — Mr. Hoenig. And the la¬ dies — ”

Justin turned to the couch where the women sat.

“Mrs. Handmaster, Miss Angel Handmaster — Mr. Jus¬ tin Mark, the eminent attor¬ ney.”

Everyone smiled and nod¬ ded politely, and a robot came over with a martini on a tray, which Justin took. He took a seat on the lounge op¬ posite the women, his face giving no hint of the ap¬ praisal he was making of the seven people about him. But

FANTASTIC

the legal mind was at work, classifying :

Maxwell, Sewell, and Rich¬ ardson were obviously busi¬ ness associates of the Hand- master Corporation ; they looked prosperous, well-fed, and their low-toned conver¬ sation was salted with sales and production statistics. Hoenig was a small dormouse of a man, with beady eyes behind large lenses. Weak- eyed, with a tired stoop, Jus¬ tin judged that he was possibly one of the Handmas¬ ter scientists.

About Angel Handmaster, the lawyer at least had some outside information, for much had been written about this charming young girl, Hand- master’s daughter by adop¬ tion. She wasn’t more than eighteen or nineteen; pretty, bright-eyed, and managing to look femininely shy despite her long years beneath the spotlight of Handmaster pub¬ licity.

But the legal mind ran into difficulty when it focused on Joanna Handmaster, the manufacturer’s wife, and the neat little white index cards in Justin’s brain came tum¬ bling down like the Alice in Wonderland deck. And all the classification that Justin could make was:

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

. . the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen — be¬ yond a doubt.”

The conversation began in small talk, and showed no sign of shifting into higher gear. The doctor spoke mildly of the theatre ; the three busi¬ nessmen, after flirting with Justin’s interest in sports, continued to talk among themselves ; the little man sat quietly huddled in his seat, wrapped around his martini and his apologetic air.

The comments from Angel were brief and intelligent, but Mrs. Handmaster’s only contributions to the talk were several brilliant smiles — and Justin felt well satisfied.

The robot John came in.

“Mr. Handmaster,’’ he an¬ nounced.

Everyone stood up, but Justin didn’t wait for their signal. He was on his feet, bringing the empty glass with him. He stooped to put it down on a table, and was sur¬ prised to find that he was swaying dizzily.

He looked up again, and saw the tall familiar figure walking slowly towards them, taking measured strides that seemed to lengthen the room as he came closer. He was slim and athletically built, his leonine head was framed by a mass of white ringlets, his

51

eyes were dark and deep-set, and his mouth was curved in a smile of sad amusement, and Justin —

— fainted.

When he opened his eyes, Justin saw Handmaster sit¬ ting on the edge of the bed where he lay stretched.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine now,” said Handmaster’s rich baritone. “Dr. Huston, who knows a great deal more about such things than I do, said you might have been overcome by excitement. However, you seem a reason¬ ably calm young man, and I would be satisfied with a diagnosis of an overheated room, and the overheating whiskey. Can you talk?”

“Yes,” said Justin, in a small voice.

“I am glad you could come.”

Justin’s answer was a croaked: “Thank you.”

“And in a way, I’m grate¬ ful to your susceptibility to — whiskey. I wanted to talk to you alone. That would have been impossible down¬ stairs.”

The room came into full focus now, and the lawyer could see that it was nothing less than the Handmaster bedroom, and that the ex¬ quisitely comfortable bed was

Handmaster’s own. Justin suddenly became conscious that his shoes were on the bed, and he swung his feet to the floor and sat up.

“You were surprised, of course, when I called you for this engagement. You were probably even a little flat¬ tered.” Justin looked up sharply. “Please don’t take offense,” said Handmaster smoothly. “You are quite an important person# really. You didn’t need my invitation as a guarantee of that. How¬ ever — ” and the smile disap¬ peared like the sun behind a cloud, and the handsome face darkened, “however there is only one matter upon which you and I could find a com¬ mon ground of interest. And that is the suit which you are preparing against me for the American Historical So¬ ciety.”

“How did you know?” said Justin, his voice still weak.

The smile returned. Hand- master re-seated himself in a chair across from the lawyer, his long body relaxing into it with unconscious majesty. “There’s a saying,” the robot manufacturer said, the smile a softly playing line, “that if a man in an attic reviles the name of Handmaster, in two minutes Handmaster will be raising the roof.”

52

FANTASTIC

“Omniscience?” answered Justin, trying to put a sneer into his voice.

“So the people would like to believe.”

“ Like to believe?”

“Of course. To believe that Handmaster was truly omnis¬ cient, truly omnipotent, and truly — ” he looked upwards with mock reverence — “talk¬ ed with God. But before we become amateur philosophers, Mr. Mark, let me end with this : the greatest word in the language of the people is Father. And in the beginning, that, too, was the word.”

Handmaster stood up in an attitude of finality.

“Now, Mr. Mark, I shall ask you to discontinue the suit you are preparing against the Corporation as a personal favor. If you refuse, I will offer you a greater sum than that offered by the American Historical Society. If you still persist, I will offer you with all sincerity, a high position with my own legal staff, on whatever basis you desire.”

“Choice of one please?” said Justin, with a pale at¬ tempt at humor.

“ — And if you still refuse, I may even threaten your life.”

With that, Handmaster turned and left the bedroom,

and from that moment Justin was left in the hands of the sweet-faced robot, who re¬ turned his hat and coat and guided the lawyer to his waiting ’copter.

On the flight home, Justin detected an odd taste in his mouth, and wondered if there had been something else in his drink besides gin and ver¬ mouth.

“I want another favor from you, Murray,” said Jus¬ tin over the desk, “and it’s going to cost you twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Lawrence refused to be startled. “So?”

“That’s the cost of the ex¬ clusive Handmaster Model H. That’s the model your friend Valera made so famous.”

“I don’t understand law¬ yers,” said Murray. “They all play the same game, but keep changing the rules. What kind of robot would you like? Maybe Blackstone? Let’s have it.”

“Maybe Terrence McKay.”

“For the love of Helen! Justin, you’re impossible! I thought I’d hear you out, but this tears it. Now why,” he said, pushing a long finger into Justin’s chest, “do you want a robot to look like a ham television actor?”

“Terrence McKay is the

53

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

highest-paid TV star in America,” said the lawyer.

“He’s a lousy actor.”

“He’s the idol of millions.”

“Damn it!” Lawrence stood up. “Unless I quit playing the part of Watson, I leave this show on the road. What the deuce are you talking about?”

“Sit down,” said the law¬ yer, “and I’ll explain. What¬ ever your opinion of his thespian ability, Terrence McKay is undoubtedly the most popular figure of the screen. There isn’t a more familiar face in America. Agreed?” Murray nodded. “Then here’s the point. I’ve built up a little brief against the Handmaster Corporation, but it’s so puny that I’m sure it couldn’t stand on its own two feet in a court of law. But it’s something else again if I can produce a robot in court that’s a spitting image of a living human being — especially the unmistakeable image of Terrence McKay. Then I get Mr. McKay to do the suing, and put a law on the books that says no manu¬ facturer may produce any robot with any resemblance to any human being, living or dead. Get it?”

“A noble thought, but hopeless, Justin, hopeless. Even if you got Terrence Me-1 Kay to sue Handmaster,

where would you get the robot?”

The lawyer looked wise. “I’m handling McKay’s sec¬ ond divorce. I had lunch with him the other day and told him about the robot. He was incensed, to say the; least. He’ll sue.”

“But the robot doesn’t ex¬ ist!”

“That’s where you come in,” said Justin. “You’re go¬ ing to buy it from the Handmaster Corporation, but directly from an untrustwor¬ thy but influential underling named Albert Yoder. He’ll see that a Terrence McKay robot is made and delivered to your office— five thousand dollars over ceiling price. And Mur¬ ray — Mr. Yoder will want that extra five thousand in cash. I’m sure you under¬ stand.”

In three weeks, two deliv¬ eries were made simultane¬ ously from the Handmaster Robot Corporation.

One was made to the prom¬ inent realtor, Murray Law¬ rence, and was delivered in person by a slit-eyed, nervous little man with an unruly moustache. It was a robot, the exclusive Handmaster Model H, list price: $10,000. Lawrence wrote a personal check for that amount while

54

FANTASTIC

Albert Yoder stood by his chair, anxiously wiping his hands on his trousers. Mur¬ ray blew on his signature, withdrew a fat envelope from a drawer, and handed both to the waiting man. Then he turned to look, with a won¬ derment and awe he never quite recovered from, at what seemed to be the famous television star, Terrence Mc¬ Kay, but was actually an un¬ thinking, unfeeling machine of manufactured flesh, bone, and brain.

The second delivery was a letter, on the personal sta¬ tionery of Brigham Hand- master, and it was addressed to Justin Mark, counselor-at- law. It read:

“Will you discontinue the suit which you are preparing against the Handmaster Ro¬ bot Corporation, as a person¬ al favor to yours,

Brigham Handmaster”

Terrence McKay threw a towel on his dressing table and whirled to face Justin in a much too dramatic gesture.

“There are some things you don’t know,” the actor said coldly. “One is the fact that the Handmaster family are dear personal friends of mine.”

Justin could see his own

face in the mirror, and was able to watch it register dis¬ may. What a fool I am, he thought bitterly. I might have known that.

“Secondly, I don’t believe that a word you’re saying is true. I don’t think there is any such robot, and if there is, the resemblance is only slight and accidental.”

“Very well, then,” said the lawyer, trying to rally his forces after this unexpected attack. “Suppose I put it this way. If there were such a ro¬ bot, and it was a dead-ringer for you, and it was made with the express intention of du¬ plicating your own body — would you sue?”

The actor stepped to the television monitor set into the right wall of his dressing room, flipped a switch, and watched a re-run of a scene from the newest McKay pro¬ duction. He smiled affection¬ ately at the screen, enjoying the close-ups. Satisfied, he shut off the set, came back to his dressing table and started to remove his robe.

“I should be very dismayed if such a robot existed,” he said. “But I really can’t be¬ lieve it.”

“Okay,” said Justin, lift¬ ing his hat from the table. “We’ll see about it later.”

In the doorway, he turned

55

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

once more to McKay. “By the way,” he said lightly, “I un¬ derstand your robot does the laundry.”

There were several mes¬ sages on Justin’s desk when he returned, three of them from Lawrence. And drop¬ ped casually on the blotter was another letter from the office of the Handmaster Cor¬ poration.

He picked up Murray’s messages first. They were all pleas for a return phone call. He asked his secretary to get the number, and soon the phonescreen glowed yellow. But it was Terrence McKay on the image.

“What the hell?” said Jus¬ tin.

Then Murray appeared. “It’s your damned robot,” he explained. “I want to talk to you about it, Justin. I’ve been threatened.”

“You what?”

“Well, not out in the open. A Handmaster representa¬ tive called me yesterday and offered to buy him— I mean it — back. Claimed that there was an error in manufacture, and that the robot wasn’t ‘serviceable.’ They found out, Justin,” he concluded nervously.

“I expected they might find out. Yoder’s out of work.”

“That ‘serviceable’ busi¬ ness,” said his friend, and Justin could see that he was sweating. “That could be a threat in disguise, Justin.”

The lawyer bit his lip, then remembered not to look wor¬ ried. “All right. I’ll draw up a notice of purchase this aft¬ ernoon. I’m buying your Ter¬ rence McKay robot from you. I’ll call for my property this afternoon.”

Murray looked relieved, and with a brave attempt at humor put his arm around the robot. “How much of a mark-up?” he cracked. But he was still sweating.

The letter read:

“I offer you my personal check for twenty-five thous¬ and dollars, if you will dis¬ continue the suit you are now preparing against yours, Brigham Handmaster.”

The doorman was a cinch, but the real test of whether Justin could get away with the experiment was the desk clerk. He was a lanky, sleepy- looking man, but with a lot of questions behind his heavy-lidded eyes. As Justin and the robot approached the desk, he said:

“Mr. McKay! But I thought — ”

56

FANTASTIC

Justin interrupted hurried¬ ly. “I’m Franklin, Mr. Mc¬ Kay’s doctor. He had a bad attack of laryngitis at the studio, so I brought him home.”

Corny, thought Justin, but the only way. Alfred Yoder hadn’t bothered to duplicate McKay’s famous voice in the Model H.

“I see,” said the clerk so¬ licitously. “Do you need any help?"

The lawyer smiled. “I’m afraid I do. Mr. McKay for¬ got his keys when he left the studio.”

“Well ...” the clerk looked at the robot uncertainly. “I guess it’s all right. I have a passkey.” He reached beneath the desk for it, and came out to join them. “Follow me, please."

Upstairs, the clerk let them into the McKay apart¬ ment, fussed around a bit, deprecated Justin’s offer of a dollar tip, and left.

When he had gone, Justin seated the robot on a plush hallway sofa and gave it in¬ structions.

“Now get this straight, Terrence. When your coun¬ terpart comes through that door, I want you to say : ‘How do you do? I’m Ter¬ rence McKay.’ If that doesn’t startle him — ” Justin stop¬

ped, realizing that he might as well confide in the book¬ case.

He left the robot sitting motionless in the hall, and went into the kitchen. There was a turkey sandwich in the cold unit, and he ate it with great enjoyment,., downing a tin of beer. Then Justin came back and looked for a suit¬ able hiding place for the moment when the real Ter¬ rence McKay would come through the door. What a mystery I’m making of this, he thought to himself. Mur¬ ray was right. Trouble with me is, I think I’m Sherlock Holmes.

He went to the robot and straightened its pocket hand¬ kerchief. He was about to adjust its polka-dotted bow tie when he heard the click of a turning latch.

Justin looked around wild¬ ly. Damn! he thought. With a bound, he headed for the hallway closet. Luckily, it was spacious, and not jammed with damp over¬ coats. The door was thin enough to permit sounds to come through clearly. And the first sound that Justin heard was a light footstep, then the closing of a door, and then — a woman’s voice.

“You told me you were go¬ ing out of town,” the voice

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

57

eaid. It was a young, sweet voice, but its tone was harsh and accusing.

“Don’t think I came to spy on you, because I didn’t,” she said. “I came to get some¬ thing. My compact. I left it here Friday.”

There was a silence.

Then —

“Oh, Terry!” The voice rose to a higher pitch. “Why must you act this way? Don’t you see what you’re doing to us — to all of us? If you only knew! Don’t just stare at me!” Her voice dropped to a low tone, but it still skirted the edges of hysteria. “I know I’m making a fool of myself. But I don’t care, do you see? I just don’t!” She gasped. “I can’t stand this anymore !”

Then she was pleading —

“It’s the only thing you can do. Terry, darling, you must see that. Leave her alone. She’s no good for you. Maybe I’m not good for you either, but leave her alone!”

Then the voice cracked, and the sobs came.

“This could mean the end of everything, Terry — every¬ thing! Terry! Don’t just stare! TERRY!”

After that, the silence was like a heavy weight, pressing against the closet door. Jus¬ tin’s breathing became heavy,

and hearing it, the lawyer held his breath and listened again.

There were two explosions !

Stunned, Justin fumbled clumsily with the doorknob, finally wrenched his way out of the closet. The door to the apartment was opened wide. He ran through it, out into the lobby, but it was empty, the elevator already descend¬ ing.

The lawyer walked slowly back into the room. Seated rigidly on the sofa, its manu¬ factured flesh and bone shat¬ tered beyond recognition by the blast of a pistol, was the robot.

As Justin came through the doorway, a flat voice from somewhere beyond the pulpy mass said:

“How do you do? I'm Ter¬ rence McKay.”

Justin rounded the corner and entered a drug store. He went into thie visiphone booth and dialed Murray’s number. His friend appeared on the screen, a napkin tied ludic¬ rously around his neck. In spite of himself, Justin laughed.

“What is it?” said Murray.

“Another favor,” said Jus¬ tin. “Go to 12 Terrace Row, Apartment 18-B. You’ll find your — I mean my robot

58

FANTASTIC

there. It’s shot to hell, so you can have it at half price.”

“What happened?”

“Figure it out for yourself when you get there. Mur¬ ray — ”

“What?”

“I’m not joking about this. Be sure to get there this afternoon and get rid of the robot. Now get off the phone so I can call my office.”

“Miss Lyons,” Justin said when the sharp features of his secretary appeared on the screen, “I won’t be into the office at all this afternoon. Send any important calls to my apartment.”

“There was one message, Mr. Mark. From Mr. Hand- master.”

Justin rolled his tongue back. “A letter?” he asked carefully.

“No, sir. It was a telephone message. Mr. Handmaster asked if you could come over to his home. As soon as pos¬ sible. He said it was urgent, Mr. Mark.

It was the same robot but¬ ler who came to the door as Justin entered the Handmas¬ ter home for the second time.

“Please come in, Mr. Mark,” he said. “My master is expecting you.”

Justin walked past him, but turned when he saw that

the robot was not following at his heels. Instead, it stood stiffly in the doorway, still smiling at nothing, and Jus¬ tin was alarmed to hear him say:

“Please come in, Mr. Mark. Please come in, Mr. Mark. Please come in Mr. Mark.”

Then the robot shut the door, turned and met Justin's eyes, broadened its smile and began to follow him. Justin was unnerved by this unchar¬ acteristic performance, but managed to collect himself. He walked into the main room, and this time it was Handmaster who arose un¬ steadily to greet him. There was no formality.

“I’m very glad you could come,” he said. “It’s very im¬ portant to me.” His voice and manner were calm. Again, Justin felt the presence of the robot near his back. He turned, shocked, for the robot had1 placed one hand on Jus¬ tin’s arm.

“Please come in, Mr. Mark,” said the robot again, repeating the speech in the same gentle voice. “Please come in, Mr. Mark.”

The robot’s grip tightened on Justin’s arm, and the law¬ yer realized that he would have to battle the robot for his release. “Mr. Handmas¬ ter,” he said, trying to keep

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

59

his voice level, “there’s some¬ thing wrong. He — ”

“John!” Handmaster yelled at his butler. Instantly, Jus¬ tin’s arm was freed. The robot stood stiffly at atten¬ tion. The manufacturer went up to it, peering into the placid eyes.

Justin felt his scalp prickle as he looked on, for great, oily tears seemed to be coming from the soft blue eyes of the robot, running down the smooth-planed cheeks and over the smiling lips.

“Good Lord!” said the lawyer. “Can robots cry? Do they have feelings?”

“In a way,” said Handmas¬ ter sadly. He put his hands on the robot’s shoulders, and looked at him with an emo¬ tion that might have been affection.

“John is one of our early models,” the manufacturer said. “The early Series had a tendency towards — mental imbalance. But John has al¬ ways been — all right.” He put his hand on the robot’s neck. “Have you ever seen a robot turned off, Mr. Mark?”

“How do you mean?”

“Not killed, you know,” Handmaster said - softly. “Turned off. Stopped. For good, unless the Factory sees fit to reactivate it. But even

then, they’re not the same. Just — spare parts.”

His hand moved up the neck of the robot.

“There’s a button here, a flesh-colored button, just be¬ hind the right ear. You’d hardly know it was there. It’s well concealed.”

Justin said: “Are you go¬ ing to — ”

The manufacturer dropped his arms. “No. Not now. We’ll see about that some other time. John has been with me for many years. He gives me the feeling of a loyal and de¬ voted servant, a faithful servant. I enjoy that feeling Mr. Mark.” -

He sent the robot out of the room with a word. John went silently, but in another minute he was back, bring¬ ing Angel Handmaster into the room.

“Come in my dear,” he said to her. “Mr. Mark is here.”

The girl came towards us, walking in a trance-like state.

“You remember Mr. Mark, don’t you?”

Angel looked vacantly at Justin.

“He’s going to help us. Aren’t you Mr. Mark?” Handmaster’s strong gaze was compelling.

Justin stared back. “Of course. If this is something

60

FANTASTIC

I can help you with. But I’m afraid it’s not too clear.”

“You’ve handled problems of this sort before,” Hand- master continued, “before you took divorce cases and so forth. Handle this problem for me, Mr. Mark, and you can consider your libel suit settled without court action. This is more important to me.”

The manufacturer took his daughter gently by the shoul¬ ders and eased her into a chair by the cold fireplace. Her eyes were still expres¬ sionless, even when her father said: “Tell Mr. Mark what you’ve done, Angel.”

Angel looked at the floor.

“I’ve killed someone,” she said.

Her voice was dull and un¬ excited, but Justin recognized it now, and knew what was coming.

“I’ve killed Terrence Mc¬ Kay,” she went on. “In his apartment, this morning.”

“Why?” said Justin tight¬ ly-

“I was in love with him. And he was — unfaithful.”

Justin looked up as he heard the angry noise Hand- master suddenly made in his throat. “A lack of fidelity seems to be a Handmaster family problem, Mr. Mark,” he said bitterly. “I’m sure

you know about my first wife. The Sunday horror- gravure has told her story often enough.”

Justin searched his mind hurriedly for that twelve- year-old story, but all he could recall was something about the first Mrs. Hand- master’s lover, whose flour¬ ishing business had been wrecked by Handmaster’s clever and ruthless tactics following the divorce. The lover had shot himself. A messy business.

“I made my first wife a Jonah for every man she met after her betrayal,” said Handmaster. “In my young¬ er days, revenge was my favorite pastime, Mr. Mark.” The manufacturer lit a lean cigar.

Angel began to cry, but in¬ stead of comforting her, Handmaster went to a cab¬ inet and opened a drawer. He returned with a pistol in his hand. “This is the gun my daughter used,” he said to Justin. “It’s a family heir¬ loom, you might say.” He handed it to Justin, who took it gingerly. “It’s killed more than one thoughtless lover,” said Handmaster, and Justin knew it was the weapon that had brought death to his first wife’s luckless amour.

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

61

“Will you handle this prob¬ lem for me, Mr. Mark?”

Justin cleared his throat. “Well, I think there’s some¬ thing I ought to tell you first—”

Handmaster stopped him. “Before you do, I want you to know that the situation is far from hopeless. I can provide you quite a suitable scape¬ goat, if necessary. When Angel returned home with her unhappy tidings, I sent some competent employees to the McKay apartment, and they did not return alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“They discovered a man in the act of removing the body. They have brought him here, so that we may ascertain his purpose, and whether he might have suitable motive for committing the crime. Or perhaps, to see if we could provide that motive.”

Justin shot to his feet. “What man?” he Said.

“His name is Lawrence, and he has something to do with real estate. I thought I would get your expert legal opinion before we made our next move.”

“My expert legal opinion is for you to release him right away,” said Justin angrily. “He had nothing to do with it. And as for your daughter, she can thank her good fairy

62

that I beat her to Terrence McKay’s apartment this morning!”

Handmaster was obviously shaken by his words, and his nervous fingers let the long ash of his cigar drop to the rug. “What are you saying?”

“Your daughter destroyed twenty-five thousand dollars worth of robot, Mr. Hand- master. So far, that’s her only crime.”

Angel’s tears stopped, and she sat up stiffly, her face a pretty picture of surprise.

“So you can let Murray Lawrence go right now,” Justin continued, “and you can stop worrying about Ter¬ rence McKay. He’s in sick¬ ening good health. And since there’s no murder case, I guess we’re back to our old standing on the libel suit. As a matter of fact,” he finished wryly, “you can thank your daughter’s impetuousity for helping you win it. She’s ruined the best piece of evi¬ dence I had.”

The lawyer started for the doorway, embittered at the turn of events, but somehow relieved to have seen Hand- master humbled before him.

On his way out, he almost collided with the incredibly beautiful woman who was Handmaster’s wife. But her

FANTASTIC

classic features were strange¬ ly distorted, her creamy complexion mottled by the crimson of uncontrolled an¬ ger. She swept past Justin, and to his amazement, threw herself in a rage at her adopted daughter.

“You fiend! You filthy, rot¬ ten tramp!” she screamed.

Her long red fingernails clawed at the young girl, who cried out in horror. Hand- master stumbled backwards in bewilderment.

Justin rushed back into the room and tried to separate the two women, but the strength of Mrs. Handmaster was doubled by the vigor or her anger. By now, her fin¬ gers had encircled Angel’s throat, and Justin found him¬ self helpless to stop them from throttling the life from the young girl’s body.

“Handmaster!” he shout¬ ed. “Help me! She’s killing her!”

The robot manufacturer stood frozen. Then, with a great effort, he leaped to Jus¬ tin’s side. They managed to pry the fingers from the slim white throat, but not to hold the frenzied woman. She tore from their grasp, and reach¬ ed out for the gun that Jus¬ tin had- returned to the table near Angel’s chair.

“Joanna!” Handmaster’s

ABE LINCOLN— ANDROID

crackling cry was terrifying. Justin grabbed for her arm, but he was too late. She fired, wildly, shattering a precious voice atop the mantelpiece. Angel shrieked, and made a break for the doorway.

“You killed him!” Joanna Handmaster screamed after her. “You killed the only man I’ve ever loved!”

She fired after the girl be¬ fore Justin could reach her again, but her aim was poor. Angel fell sobbing to the floor, but she was unhurt.

“Joanna, please!” Hand- master pleaded. His wife whirled to face him, the gun still a deadly power in her hand. “You can’t do this — you don’t understand—”

Justin saw the strange new light that entered the wom¬ an’s eyes as she faced her husband. But he didn’t quite understand its significance until she said:

“My lord and master!”

She laughed, harshly.

Handmaster took a hesi¬ tant step forward, as if to meet the bullet she fired at his chest.

Handmaster’s fall was slow and awkward.

He lifted one arm as he went down, and clutched at the table, overturning it.

“Fidelity,” he said, as Jus-

63

tin stooped to help him, “was always ... a family prob¬ lem.”

Justin looked up from the blood-stained shirtfront. Handmaster’s wife had put down the gun, and had sat heavily in the chair before the fireplace. Her body had gone limp and lifeless, the angry fire banked and dying.

“Angel!” snapped Justin. “Call an ambulance. Right now!”

He turned to the robot manufacturer again. The light was dimming in his eyes, but labored breaths still

came from his mouth. He was trying to say something, but the words were unformed, muted.

“What is it?” said Justin, bending closer.

The speech came out in a harsh whisper.

“Turn her off,” Handmas- ter was saying.

“What?” Justin put his ear to the moving lips.

“Turn her off!”

Handmaster raised his arm in a supreme effort, and pointed to the back of his right ear. It was the last thing he did. the end

“They said if we stood here long enough we'd meet a friend."

64

THE DAY

VANISHED! •

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BOTTLE BABY

By HENRY SLESAR

There’s this guy named W ormstocker, see — and about •women he knows nothing whatever. Then along comes this dream chick, fresh from a beauty contest in outer space somewhere, and chirps, "Hey, buster — what’s with this pastime called sex you’ve got down here on Earth?’’ W ormstocker gulps, "Well — ■” and the chick says, " Show me — don’t tell me.’’ That was how it all started.

WHEN Mortimer Worm- stocker, Ph.D., walked into the laboratory he knew that it was going to be a re¬ warding day. Sunlight was streaming through the win¬ dows of the Chisolm Drug Company, the white mice and guinea pigs were squealing contentedly in their cages, the retorts were bubbling merrily. It was a day for Sci¬ ence and Progress, and there was a smile of anticipatory pleasure on Mortimer’s pleas¬ ant, scholarly face.

He wasn’t much to look at in street clothes. His brown suit was serviceable, if some¬ what shabby, but it hung limply on his thin shoulders. The long lines of his face, with its highset eyebrows, gave him the look of a sur¬ prised horse. His hair was

either brown or gray, depend¬ ing on the light.

But when he exchanged his mufti for the cool white smock of the laboratory, Mortimer was transformed. He still wasn’t much to look at, but at least you knew he was a man of dedicated sci¬ ence.

He set to work quickly, checking the condition of the fluids which had been sim¬ mering in the Bunsen Burn¬ ers overnight. He clucked at every notation he made, sometimes with satisfaction, more often with displeasure. He became so absorbed in his study, that the entrance of his pretty, red-headed lab as¬ sistant went unnoticed.

Cherry Cooper wasn’t sur¬ prised. Her exits and en¬ trances had gone unnoticed

66

It was the weirdest end-run in history.

by Mortimer for almost three years. Other men thought she made a magnificent entrance, and also approved her exits. But somehow, the shape that launched a thousand street- corner whistles never seemed to disturb Mortimer Worm- stocker, Ph.D.

“Has anything happened?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing much, Miss Cooper. The antibodies have failed to appear in any of the experiments. Some good re¬ sults with the Collodian filter, but that’s not too important.”

“That’s too bad. Anything I can do now?”

“Nothing special. You might clean up here while I prepare the new batch of virus. Unless you have some¬ thing more important.”

“Well, Mr. Chisolm does want that report, Dr. Worm- stocker. If you could spare the time.”

Mortimer blinked at her. “Report? What report? I haven’t time for reports, Miss Cooper.”

“Mr. Chisolm’s getting pretty nasty about it. He hasn’t had word from you about the cold serum in three months.”

But Mortimer wasn’t lis¬ tening. He never listened when the conversation con¬

cerned P. G. Chisolm, presi¬ dent of the drug company. All Chisolm cared about was the dividend on Chisolm stock, on the promotion of some new 12-way cold tablet or cough medicine or some such patent item. He never could appreciate Mortimer’s views on pure research.

“Well, Doctor?”

“Well, what, Miss Coop¬ er?”

“What shall I tell Mr. Chis¬ olm?”

Mortimer whirled on her angrily, almost bumping into her forecastle. It was an op¬ portunity most men wouldn’t have missed. “You can tell Chisolm to — to jump in the lake!” Mortimer gasped at his own daring, but stuck out his chin to prove he meant it.

Cherry smiled like an in¬ dulgent parent. “I’ll write him a memo and say you’re working on it. All right?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

She made a characteristi¬ cally interesting exit, and Mortimer went back to work.

He was idylically happy. Even the failure of the night’s experiments didn’t spoil the radiant mood with which he had begun the day. Research was all Mortimer lived for; in this case, re¬ search of the virus which produced that elusive and an-

68

FANTASTIC

noying affliction, the common cold. It wasn’t the first time he’d been engaged in such study. He’d spent four years with the Common Cold Re¬ search Unit at Salisbury, England, experimenting with rabbits, mice, voles, squirrels, chickens, pigs, baboons, and college students. He had learned a great deal about the reaction of the cold virus, but had discovered no cure. He hoped to perform that mir¬ acle in a Chisolm Company test tube.

There were only two thorns in Mortimer’s bony side at the moment. One was P. G. Chisolm, the company president— but thanks to Cherry Cooper’s adroit block¬ ing, Mr. Chisolm could be handled.

The other was Hugo Hol- meyer.

Holmeyer! The very name was an imprecation. At its mention, Mortimer’s gentle face went black and scowling. Say it twice, and his gray- brown hair would begin to bristle like the back of an an¬ gry boar.

It was hard to believe that Hugo and Mortimer had once been classmates, sharing each other’s textbooks, carving up cadavers side-by-side, sitting around for hours in smoky fraternity houses, arguing

about the germ theory. It had looked as if a lifelong friend¬ ship had been formed, even after graduation.

Then Mortimer’s article had been published.

It was an innocuous little article, about cow-pox. It had been printed in an obscure bacteriological journal with a circulation of less than twelve hundred. Unfortunately, one of the subscribers was Hugo Holmeyer. More unfortunate¬ ly, Mortimer’s article made reference to a series of ex¬ periments which he described as “unsatisfactory, unscien¬ tific, and a bit foolhardy.” Later, when Mortimer re¬ ceived the bitter telephone call all the way from New York to the Chisolm Labora¬ tory in Ohio, he protested that he never realized just who had conducted the ex¬ periments.

It was Hugo Holmeyer, of course. End of one friend¬ ship.

But it was worse than that. The slur rankled in Hugo’s now large (250 pounds) body. He published a virulent counter-attack, calling Mortimer an “un¬ schooled pill-maker.” Morti¬ mer countered with a short, fiery article proving Hugo’s experiments wrong point-by-

BOTTLE BABY

69

point. Hugo answered with an enraged letter. Mortimer replied with an insulting telegram. Hugo retaliated by taking the next plane to Ohio and punching Mortimer in the eye. Mortimer swung his left and missed. Hugo hit him again and stalked out.

Then there had been sev¬ eral months of uneasy truce. But when Mortimer’s ap¬ pointment as Chief Research Chemist for the Chisolm Company was announced, Hugo held a press conference. He made the statement that the Chisolm Company, under Mortimer’s inept guidance, would never find the cure for the common cold.

Now it was a year later, and Hugo Holmeyer’s predic¬ tion still held true.

But Mortimer wasn’t dis¬ couraged. His enthusiasm and faith was still evident this morning, as he got set to remove his filtered cold virus to the vacuum pump.

When he was ready, he called for Cherry.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“All set,” he said cheer¬ fully. “Prepare the DPI pump.”

She set up the device with swift, expert fingers. When the job was completed, she came up to the table and put her hands behind her back.

“Dr. Wormstocker . .

“Yes, Miss Cooper?”

“Were you planning to go anywhere this evening?”

“This is Thursday, isn’t it? You know I never go any¬ where on week nights.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d care to come to my apartment this evening, for dinner. I sort of hoped you’d help me with my biology.”

“Your biology?”

She blushed. “The course I’m taking in night school.”

“Well,” Mortimer frowned.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d enjoy it, Doctor.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of an instructor — ”

“Well, you know what they say. A good teacher always learns something from his pupils.”

“Learns what?”

“Why not come up and see?” Then Cherry got busi¬ ness-like. “You think it over. I’ll leave you to your experi¬ ment.”

She exited, and this time Mortimer’s .eyes followed. He had the uneasy feeling that there had been a sexual im¬ plication in her conversation, and Mortimer wasn’t on the best terms with sex. In his almost forty years, he had had a few brief skirmishes, mostly with horn-rimmed

70

FANTASTIC

bedroom enthusiasts who were well past the age of con¬ sent. He knew that it was an interesting phenomenon, (in¬ dispensable, biologically) but he could never quite cope with its complications.

He shrugged, and started the mercury vapor pump that would clear the air from the flask on the laboratory table.

He watched the process, suddenly feeling drowsy. Mortimer had read the Bac¬ teriological Journal until well past one P.M. the night be¬ fore, and his eyelids were heavy. He yawned, and pulled up a laboratory stool, sitting down with his elbows resting on the tabletop.

The flask was becoming cloudy, but he hardly noticed it. Then it became cloudier still, but his eyes were almost shut.

Finally, he started to doze off.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

He opened his eyes quickly and looked at the door.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

“Who is it?” Mortimer said. No answer came.

He frowned and stood up, looking around the room. He looked at the ceiling and then at the floor. He looked under the table and into the closets.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

The annoying sound per¬ sisted, but he couldn’t find its source. He went to the win¬ dow and peered out, but his view of the street yielded nothing.

He shrugged and came back to the flask.

Then he saw her.

“Ha-ha-ha!” she laughed, throwing back her lovely head. “I’m right under your nose!”

She was telling the exact truth. She was right under Mortimer Wormstocker’s nose, and Mortimer’s nose was directly above the con¬ tainer. Because the laughing girl was less than a foot high, and she was standing smack in the middle of the airless flask.

A man of less scientific mind might have fainted at this shock to his sense of seality. All Mortimer did was stare, and the more he stared, the more incredible the sight became.

The creature in the glass was not merely tiny : she was a perfect miniature of the most stunning, eye-filling showgirl that ever closed a show in Boston. And there wasn’t any question of her charms; they were clearly ex¬ posed behind the clear glass of the container. Long limbs

BOTTLE BABY

71

and high, rounded breasts, a sinuously curved body, beau¬ tifully turned arms and legs, flowing canary-yellow hair. The way she posed, with her hands on her hips, her chin tilted, her red mouth laugh¬ ing, Mortimer could tell that she was proud of her brazen nudity.

“Well?” she said. “Say something!”

Mortimer swallowed the cannonball that was lodged in his throat. Then he made a bleating noise.

She cocked her head. “That’s funny. Can’t under¬ stand that word at all. Won¬ der if my Language shot is working?”

“Who are you?” Mortimer croaked.

“That’s better. I under¬ stood that perfectly.”

“Who are you? How’d you get in there?”

“Help me out and I’ll tell you.” She laughed again. “Don’t be shy. Just reach in and take me out.”

Mortimer closed his eyes and muttered a short prayer. He took the stopper out of the flask, destroying his vacuum, and timidly put his right hand near the top of the receptacle.

“Well, come on!”

“I can’t!”

“You can, too. I don’t weigh very much.”

He shut his eyes even tighter and lowered his hand inside. When he touched her cool white skin, he gasped as if ice water had been flung in his face. She took hold of his fingers and curled them around her torso. Mortimer flushed all the way to his fin¬ gernails, and lifted her out gently.

She stood on the lab table, almost doubled over with laughter.

“You’re funny!” she said. “Afraid to even touch me. Why, where / come from, men touch me all the time.”

“Where do you come from?”

“01-84. You wouldn’t know it, of course. It’s a gal¬ axy you probably never heard of.”

“But how’d you get into my flask?”

“It’s all part of my prize. The judges arranged it so that I would appear in a vacuum on your planet, to prevent me from landing in either fire or water. You can understand that.”

“Of course,” Mortimer bulped. “But what prize?”

“The Miss 01 prize, of course. It’s a beauty pageant we hold every year. The win¬ ner gets a free two-week va-

72

FANTASTIC

cation to any planet in the cosmos.”

“And you won?”

“That’s right. And I chose Earth because I’ve heard the men are so different down here. Is it true? Are you really different?”

Mortimer blinked rapidly. “Well, I’m a lot bigger, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, I can be your size, too. For a couple of hours, any¬ way — it’s sort of a strain.”

“But how did they get you here? And how could you breathe in a vacuum?”

“Breathe? Oh, you mean oxygen. We don’t have to breathe for days, if we don’t want to. Do you breathe all the time?”

“All the time,” Mortimer said hollowly.

“How tiring,” the girl said, throwing out her tiny, voluptuous chest and yawn¬ ing. “My name’s Lolionomo- nillionolli. What’s yours?”

“Mortimer. Mortimer Wormstoeker.” Some of his scientific detachment was re¬ turning. “This is really amaz¬ ing. Extraordinary! You must tell me everything. How did you get here?”

“Oh, it wasn’t difficult. The bigdomes have all sorts of things on 01-84. Something to do with a quadridimensional

warp. It’ll wear off in two weeks, and I’ll go back. But the fuss I had to go through ! All those shots and things — ”

“What kind of shots?”

“Oh, you know. Anti-infec¬ tion shots, anti-boredom shots, Language shots, stuff like that.”

Mortimer licked his lips. “Listen, Miss Loli — Lol — ”

“Just call me Lolly.” She giggled, and appraised him with frank interest. “You know, you’re sort of cute, Mortimer.”

“I am?”

“Oh, definitely. I think I’m going to like it here. Espe¬ cially if you make it — inter¬ esting.”

“Interesting?”

“Oh, you know.” She wrig¬ gled her naked little body in a gesture that was self-ex¬ planatory. Mortimer blushed again, and she came closer to him. “Put me on the floor,” she said.

“What?”

“Go on, put me on the floor. I want to show you something.”

Mortimer couldn’t imagine what was left to show, but he put out his hand timidly and closed it around her soft little waist. When he lowered her to the floor of the laboratory, she looked up at him and said:

BOTTLE BABY

73

“How tall are you?”

“Five-feet-ten.”

“Then five-feet-four would be perfect, wouldn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Lolly said, and hugged her arms around her body. A subtle transform¬ ation took place in her tiny figure, and for a moment, Mortimer thought she was beginning to glow lumines- cently. Then he stepped back, and realized that the trans¬ formation was no longer subtle. Lolly was definitely changing, upwards, out¬ wards, and sideways.

She was getting bigger!

At first, he regarded the process with intent, scientific interest. Then the realization of her ever-increasing nudity struck him.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “Not here!”

But it was too late to stop her progress. He put both hands over his eyes.

When he peeked out from between his fingers, Lolly was a lovely, shapely, indis¬ putably naked five-feet-four. Hard to believe — and how !

“There!” she said, with a satisfied grin. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

“Much,” Mortimer mur¬ mured, backing away from her. “But you really must get some clothes — ”

74

“Why? Don’t you like me this way?”

“Yes. I mean no! Girls just don’t do that here — ”

“Don’t do what?” She moved towards him.

“Go around without any clothes.” He ducked behind an Erlenmeyer flask. “You’d get arrested. We have laws.”

“We have laws, too,” Lolly said slyly. She cornered him at the guinea pig cages. “Nat¬ ural laws.”

“Please!”

It was one of those mo¬ ments in Mortimer’s life when he both welcomed and feared interruption. Unfor¬ tunately, this interruption came in the person of a short, ferocious little man named P. G. Chisolm. When Mortimer saw him in the doorway, he yelped audibly and tried to crawl in with the guinea pigs.

“Dr. Worrastocker !” Chis¬ olm’s voice was a blast of pure indignation. “Really ! Really!”

“Oh, oh,” Lolly giggled, and hugged herself.

She was gone!

Mortimer and Chisolm stared at each other across the space vacated by the girl. Almost in unison, their jaws dropped.

“Where’d she go?” Chis-

FANTASTIC

olm said hoarsely. “Where is she?”

Mortimer started to an¬ swer, but he felt something tugging at his pants leg. He looked down, and realized that Lolly had restored her¬ self to her original tiny size, and was hiding behind his trousers. He interpreted the tug . as a warning to keep silent.

“Where’s who?” he said.

“You know damn well who ! That — that woman who was in here ! That naked woman!”

Mortimer’s innocent ex¬ pression would have drawn admiration from Barrymore. “Naked woman, Mr. Chis¬ olm?”

“Yes, naked woman!” The president’s bald scalp was crimsoning. “You know damn well you had a naked woman in here just a second ago. Now what did you do with her?”

“But Mr. Chisolm — where could I hide a naked wom¬ an?”

“How should I know? But I saw her! Don’t tell me I didn’t! Now I know how you’ve been wasting your time all these months. Pure research, huh? Haven’t even got time to write a lousy progress report! Too busy!

I’ll bet you were busy, Worm- stocker !”

“You’re being unreason¬ able,” Mortimer said calmly. “Just because of a common hallucination — ”

“Hallucination ? A naked woman in my laboratory? I saw it with my own eyes, Wormstocker !”

Mortimer studied him mus¬ ingly. “Must be optica de¬ mentia erotica,” he said. “Fairly common ailment. Overwork, probably.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t be upset, Mr. Chisolm. Just spend a little time in bed. That’s all you have to do.”

Chisolm stared back, some¬ what shaken. “Are you tell¬ ing me I didn’t see a naked woman?”

“Only in your imagina¬ tion,” Mortimer said cheer¬ fully. “But you’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I have been working hard,” Chisolm admitted. Then he scowled again. “But she was here!”

“Oh? Then where is she now?”

Chisolm withdrew his handkerchief and began mop¬ ping his forehead. “Not here,” he muttered. “Not here, all right. I could have sworn — Dr. Wormstocker! Are you sure about this optica

BOTTLE BABY

75

dementia erotica? Are you sure it's not serious?”

“No, no, my good man,” Mortimer laughed. “Get right home to bed and you’ll be as good as new in a week.”

“Yes,” Chisolm said, turn¬ ing to the door in a dream¬ like daze. “Yes, I’ll do that. Right away ...”

When he was gone, Morti¬ mer’s aplomb vanished. When Lolly came in sight again, he spoke to her an¬ grily.

“Don’t ever do that again! You almost cost me my job!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mort¬ imer.” But the grin on her face was mischievous. “But I really couldn’t help it, could I?”

“I’ve got to get you out of here before there’s more trouble. I’ll have to take you home — ”

“Goody!”

“But how? I can’t just put you in my pocket — ”

“Sounds like fun.”

He snapped his fingers. “I know! The traveling cage!”

“The what?”

“The traveling cage. We use it to transport mice and other laboratory animals. It has plenty of ventilation, but I don’t suppose that matters to you.”

“I don’t care how we get home,” Lolly cooed, rubbing

76

her hip against his pants leg. “As long as we get there . . .”

“Stop that!”

Mortimer strode over to the supply locker and lifted out a cage. It was about six¬ teen inches long, and a foot deep. He opened the small wire door and examined the interior. It was a trifle gamey, so he cleaned it out with an alcohol swab and placed it on the floor. Lolly looked at it, blew Mortimer a kiss, and stepped inside.

He shut the little door with a sigh of relief.

When he left the labora¬ tory, he saw Cherry Cooper outside.

“Going to lunch so soon?” she said.

“No,” Mortimer answered. “Going home. Don’t feel too well today.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Then I don’t suppose you can make it for dinner tonight?”

“Some other time, per¬ haps. Feel rather ill.”

“Must be an epidemic,” Cherry smiled. “Mr. Chisolm went home, too. Said some¬ thing about dementia erotic, something like that.”

“Yes,” Mortimer said. In¬ side the cage, Lolly giggled heartily.

“What was that?”

“Just one of the mice. I —

FANTASTIC

I’m taking her home. For re¬ search purposes.”

Lolly giggled again, and Mortimer bolted for the ele¬ vators. She continued to titter all the way to the ground, and the elevator man looked at Mortimer suspi¬ ciously.

When the taxi finally drew up before the brownstone rooming house on Oklahoma Avenue, Mortimer tossed more than enough money into the lap of the driver. When he went up to his soli¬ tary room on the second floor, he couldn’t resist the impulse to tiptoe.

He closed the door behind him gratefully.

Inside the cage, Lolly’s tiny voice said: “Is this it?”

“Yes. But you’ll have to be very quiet. This is a respec¬ table boarding house, and if they knew you were here I’d be out in no time.”

She giggled, and there was an abandon in the sound that Mortimer didn’t like. He bent down to release the catch of the door, and when the beauty-contest winner came out, there was a noticeable stagger in her walk.

“Whoopee!” she cried, flinging her arms over her head. “Let’s have a ball, Mortimer!”

“Shush! I told you to be quiet!”

“Don’t wanna be quiet! Wanna have a ball! Wanna sing!”

“Please !” Mortimer said desperately.

But Lolly was already singing, in a wild off-key yodel that set the bric-a-brac trembling on the shelves. Then Mortimer realized his troubles had been compound¬ ed. His miniature visitor was drunk.

He stared at her in amaze¬ ment as she reeled about the floor of the room. Then he remembered the alcohol he’d used to clean out the travel¬ ing cage. The fumes must have reached her tiny nerv¬ ous system.

“You must be quiet!” he whispered hoarsely. “Mrs. Veeber will hear you!”

“Whozzat?”

“My landlady. She’s ter¬ ribly strict!”

“Kiss me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“All right. Then I’ll sing!”

“No, no!”

“Then kiss me!”

“I can’t! I’d swallow you!”

“Then I’ll make myself big—”

"No, you can’t! It’s bad enough this way!”

But Lolly was hugging herself delightedly, and all

BOTTLE BABY

77

Mortimer Wormstocker could do was watch the process do its work. When she was Earth height, he groaned loudly. Because if Lolly had looked nude in the antiseptic surroundings of the labora¬ tory, she was positively inde¬ cently naked in the surround¬ ings of his own room. She leered at him with beautiful eyes that he realized were bright pink. Then she put her arms out.

“No!” Mortimer said. “Not again! Not here!”

“You’re so funny. They were right on 01-84. Earth men are different ...”

Mortimer couldn’t look.

He tripped against the sofa and fell into the pile of cushions. The girl leaned over him, and all was almost lost when the knocking start¬ ed. At first, Mortimer thought it was the pounding of his heart. Then he realized it was Mrs. Veeber at the door, and his heart almost stopped pounding com¬ pletely.

“Dr. Wormstocker! What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing! Nothing, Mrs. Veeber.” His words were half-smothered by Lolly’s torso.

“Swear I heard a woman’s voice,” Mrs. Veeber grum¬

bled. “You better let me in, Dr. Wormstocker.”

“No!” Mortimer cried. “I’m not dressed.” He was almost telling the truth. Lolly had already stripped him of his suit jacket, and was working on his shirt buttons.

“Well, put somethin’ on. I want to look around, Dr. Wormstocker.”

“Please!” he hissed in Lolly’s ear. “Diminish! Get small! Get lost!”

“Will, if you kiss me,” Lilly giggled.

He grabbed her and plant¬ ed a kiss of sheer expediency on her lovely red mouth. It didn’t take him long to start enjoying it, and Mrs. Vee- ber’s protestations outside the door suddenly became far-off, meaningless noises. Then he gasped and pushed the girl away. In another mo¬ ment, she was out of sight.

He opened the door. Mrs. Veeber looked formidable.

“Yes?”

“Want to look around. Sounded like a woman to me, Dr. Wormstocker. Drunk woman.”

“Really, Mrs. Veeber! I’ve been living here for five years. Did I ever bring a woman here?”

“Nope. But there’s always a first time.” She darted a quick professional look

FANTASTIC

around the room, and walked inside. She opened just the right doors and looked in just the right corners. The search satisfied her, and she left.

Lolly peeked out from be¬ hind a sofa cushion.

“All clear?”

“Yes,” Mortimer said grimly. “Now, young lady, we’re going to talk about clothes.”

“Clothes? Clothes won’t do me any good, Mortimer. I can only stay your size for a little while.”- She grinned sly¬ ly and crooked her finger at him. “But long enough . . .”

“Never mind that. I mean clothes your size, the size you are now. You can’t go around naked that way. It’s not decent!”

“All right,” Lolly agreed. “You go get me some clothes, and I’ll go back into that little cage of yours. I like it in there. It smells good.”

“That was the alcohol,” Mortimer sniffed. “You should stay away from it. It makes you dizzy.”

“I like being dizzy. Where do you get this alcohol?”

“All sorts of places. Bars, mostly.”

“What are bars?”

“Never mind. You stay out of that box. I’ll go to Glimdales Department Store down the street and see what

I can bring back. What’s your size?”

“Hm?”

“You know. What size — things do you wear?”

“I don’t know. We don’t wear clothes on 01-84.”

“Well, what are your measurements?” When she shrugged helplessly, he said: “Look, you better make your¬ self big again. I’ll find myself a tape measure.”

It was a job making the measurements, and Lolly seemed to enjoy it much more than he. Finally, he jotted them down.

“Thirty-eight, twenty-six, thirty-six. I’ll go to the Toy Department and see if they have doll’s clothes in this pro¬ portion. Good idea, don’t you think?”

“Terribly clever.”

Mortimer smirked. “Sim¬ ple deduction. Now you wait right here. Shrink back to your normal size and don’t make any noise. Under¬ stand ?”

“Perfectly!”

Mortimer was pleased by his ingenious notion about the doll’s clothing as he en¬ tered Glimdales Department Store. But when he faced the row of dolls in the Toy Sec¬ tion, it was with an air of helplessness and confusion.

BOTTLE BABY

79

Finally, he attracted the at¬ tention of a bored saleswom¬ an, and asked for a doll which would suit Lolly’s dimensions. She looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then burst into shrieking laughter that turned every shopper’s head toward them.

“Please!” Mortimer said. “What’s so funny?”

A floorwalker came strid¬ ing to the counter asking the same question. Between hys¬ terics, she said: “Gentleman here wants a sexy doll.”

“Very funny,” Mortimer said icily, and stalked off.

When he returned to the rooming house, his head was bowed with a sense of fail¬ ure. He went slowly up the steps to the second floor, and opened the door cautiously.

“Lolly?” he said softly.

No answer.

“Lolly?” He pushed aside the sofa pillows, and then peered into the empty travel¬ ing cage. The alcohol fume almost knocked him down.

“Lolly!” he repeated, now anxiously.

But there wasn’t any doubt. After a frantic but thorough search of the small room, it was obvious that the girl from 01-84 was gone.

Mortimer didn’t know if he was happy or sad. She was a nuisance, no question about

80

that. She could have gotten him fired that morning, and thrown out of his room that afternoon. She was definitely bent on mischief, and her in¬ tentions concerning Morti¬ mer were all too clear.

But there was another side to the matter. She was an alien from deepest space, a scientific marvel, a phenome¬ non. Her discoverer could well become the most talked- about man of the decade. Could Mortimer allow such an opportunity to escape him? An opportunity that would make his colleagues — including Hugo Holmeyer —turn pitifully, beautifully, green with envy?

If there was any other reason for wanting Lolly back, Hugo dismissed it from this thought. Science was reason enough. He had to find her!

He hurried down the stairs to the parlor floor. Mrs. Vee- ber, her spinster sister, and two decrepit female boarders were knitting and chatting cozily. Their placid expres¬ sions told Mortimer what he wanted to know. They had definitely not seen a little naked woman recently.

He nodded to them cour¬ teously and went out the front door.

Outside, he looked up and

FANTASTIC

down Oklahoma Avenue, feel¬ ing the hopelessness of his task. She could be anywhere!

Then he saw the glowing red neon three doors from the brownstone. It said : BAR.

Of course!

It was the first time in Mortimer’s life' that he had entered such a place. He walked up to the long ma¬ hogany counter and ad¬ dressed the shirtsleeved man who was poking a towel into a thick glass.

“Pardon me,” he said.

“Whatllitbe?”

“Hm?”

“I said, what’ll it be, Mac?”

“I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Sure. But usually guys have a drink when they’re askin’ me questions. Whatll¬ itbe?”

“Anything at all,” Morti¬ mer said, annoyed at the blackmail. The shirtsleeved man produced a green bottle and filled a small glass to brimming. He placed it under Mortimer’s nose, and the scientist looked at it distaste¬ fully, shut his eyes, and downed it. It tasted awful.

“Look,” he continued, try¬ ing to keep the hot liquid from making a return trip.

“I’m looking for somebody and I think she might have come in here. But it’s going to sound crazy — ”

The bartender refilled the glass.

“Must I?” Mortimer said. The man nodded soberly. Mortimer sighed and drank it. “It’s a girl, about so high. You couldn’t miss her. For one thing, she didn’t have any clothes on.”

The barman stopped wip¬ ing the glass in his hand.

“No, seriously,” Mortimer said. “She’s about a foot high and stark naked. I think she came in here because she likes the smell of incohol. Al¬ cohol I mean. Urp.”

“Okay, buddy.”

“She might be anyplace. Maybe right behind you.”

The man whirled and look¬ ed behind him. When he turned back to his patron, his face was grim.

“Look,” Mortimer said, “I’m willing to buy your drinks. But you must help me find her. It’s terribly impor¬ tant.”

The barman kept his eyes on Mortimer as he filled up the shot glass once more. Mortimer knocked it back and said:

“I had her up in my room but she got away. I went out to buy her doll’s clothes, but

BOTTLE BABY

81

I couldn’t find her size. They told me they didn’t carry sexy dolls.” He giggled suddenly, and looked surprised.

“That’s all, buddy,” the bartender said. He took the glass away.

“If you’ll only let me urp around here,” Mortimer pleaded. “I’m urp she’s here’s someplace — ”

“Bye-bye,” the man said. “Time to go home.”

“I can’t go home! Not without Lolly.” He thrust himself over the counter and began peering behind it. The barman grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back into position.

“Now you cut that out,” he said warningly. “Go home like a good little boy.”

“I must find her! Urp!”

“I said beat it!”

“Lolly!” Mortimer shouted.

“Get outa here!”

“LOLLY!”

That did it. The barman came thundering around the end of the counter and start¬ ed for Mortimer. He grabbed for his shirt collar and the seat of his pants, in the tra¬ ditional preparation for bouncing recalcitrant pa¬ trons. But Mortimer, forti¬ fied by three unfamiliar bolts of alcoholic lightning, and burning with the conviction

that Lolly was in the vicinity, didn’t make his job easy. Mortimer squirmed out of his grasp, and reached for the first equalizer he could find. It was the whiskey bottle.

Fortunately, he missed, and the bottle crashed on the end of the bar, spraying them both with cheap rye. But the barman was shouting cop, and his cries weren’t unheed¬ ed. In another minute, Morti¬ mer found four strong arms around him.

Five minutes later, he was looking into the benevolent face of a desk sergeant.

“Drunk and disorderly,” the arresting officer yawned. “Lookin’ for little naked men, Chief.”

“It’s a woman!” Mortimer shrieked. “I told you it’s a woman. Her name’s Lolly—”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Mac,” the cop said, tugging his cap. “Woman, Chief. Little naked woman.”

“That’s better,” Mortimer said. “Only you don’t really understand. I’m not drunk. Never even had a drink. Re¬ search scientist, for big company. You can call ’em. Go ahead.”

The chief nodded, either wisely or sleepily. “What’s the name, sir?”

“Mortimer Wormstocker. Doctor Wormstocker. If you

82

FANTASTIC

will call Mr. P. G. Chisolm, he’ll tell you I’m all right.”

The chief and the cop ex¬ changed glances. “Okay with me,” the desk sergeant said. “I ain’t lookin’ for more overnight guests. Phone the guy he wants, Finney.”

Mortimer said: “You’ll have to call him at home ; he’s not feeling well. The number’s ESplanade 9-1040.”

But when they located P. G., Mortimer hesitated be- for explaining the situation.

“Mr. Chisolm?” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you — ”

“You should be! I’m not a well man, Wormstocker.”

“But I’m in trouble, Mr. Chisolm. There was some kind of misunderstanding in my neighborhood, and I seem to be in the police station — ”

“The what?”

“The precinct house. I wonder if you’d just tell the officer that I’m all right?”

“Now listen, Wormstock¬ er — ”

“Please, Mr. Chisolm! Ex¬ citement is the worst thing for your condition. Just tell them that I’m your chief chemist, and that you’ll vouch for me. Okay?”

“All right,” Chisolm grum¬ bled. Mortimer handed the receiver over to the precinct sergeant.

“Okay,” the officer said when he hung up. “You can go, Dr. Wormsucker. Only take my advice and stay outa ' bars. You just ain’t the drinking type.”

“But about this woman — ” Mortimer saw the look in the sergeant’s eyes and dropped the subject. “Never mind,” he said gloomily. “It’s too late, anyhow ...”

He walked slowly back to the rooming house. Inside the room, he dropped to the sofa and held his aching head. It was hopeless.

Something soft, warm, and round touched the back of his neck.

“Huh?” Mortimer said.

Two hands stole around the back of his head and closed over his eyes. There was a distinct giggle behind him.

“Lolly!”

She leaned over him and almost put his eyes out. “Hello, Mortimer! What took you so long?”

“Stop leaning on me! Where have you been?”

“Oh, sunbathing.” The full-sized Lolly answered off¬ handedly. “Up on the roof. It was very pleasant.”

“I’m sure it was. Especial¬ ly for the neighbors. You can’t do those things on Earth, Lolly. You’ll spend the

BOTTLE BABY

83

rest of your vacation in jail !”

That thought reached her. “Oh, dear. That would be terrible, Mortimer. But what can I do about it? Did you get the doll’s clothes?”

“No. They just didn’t seem to understand. There were plenty of clothes around, but I couldn’t figure out what to get."

“I know! I’ll go with you to the store! Are they still open?”

“I guess so. They’re open until nine on Thursdays. But you can’t go with me — ”

“I’ll make myself small, of course. Then you can take me in that nice cage — ”

“After I wash it out,” Mortimer said grimly.

“Then you’ll take me?” She clapped her tiny hands with delight.

“Okay. But you better be¬ have yourself.”

The Toy Department of Glimdales was still crowded, and Mortimer liked it that way. He skulked past the floorwalker, and edged his way casually to the doll coun¬ ter, holding the traveling cage firmly with both hands. When he reached the counter, he was glad to see the sales¬ woman busily engaged in conversation with a stout

male customer. He put the box on the floor, and bent down in pretense of tying his shoelace.

“All right,” he whispered into the grill of the cage. “The doll’s clothing is right behind the counter, in the white boxes. Go through them and pick something. But for heaven’s sake, don’t let any¬ one see you!”

He unlatched the door and stood up.

He grinned inanely at the passing customers, rocking on his heels in a sick imita¬ tion of nonchalance. In the hubbub of the floor, he knew that Lolly’s activity behind the counter would go unno¬ ticed, but he prayed that the saleswoman could stay away.

“Psst!”

He started when he heard the sound.

“Psst, Mortimer!”

He leaned over the coun¬ ter. Lolly was standing there, draping a tiny blue satin dress over her ample bosom.

“How about this?” she giggled.

“Fine, fine!” Mortimer said anxiously. “Put it on and let’s get out of here!”

He turned around again, forcing the smile back to his face. He began sweating freely, and when he heard the saleswoman’s voice behind

04

FANTASTIC

him, the perspiration turned cold on his forehead.

“How’d you get down there?” the woman said. Mortimer turned, just in time to see her reach behind the counter and lift Lolly in her hand. He was about to gasp out a warning when he saw Lolly’s slim body, now encased in the doll’s dress, go rigid. Thank heavens! Morti¬ mer thought. She was pre¬ tending to be a doll !

She placed Lolly on the counter and looked at her ad¬ miringly. “Gosh, you’re a real one! What’ll they think of next?” She spotted Morti¬ mer, but didn’t seem to

recognize him. “May I help you, sir?”

“Er, I guess so. Looking for a doll, for my little girl. This one seems pretty nice.”

“It is nice, isn’t it? Look. Real hair.” She tugged at Lolly’s blonde toppiece, and Mortimer closed his eyes and hoped for the best. Fortun¬ ately, Lolly went along with the gag.

“Yes, wonderful,” Morti¬ mer said. “How much is it?”

“Sorry, sir. It’s sold.”

“It’s what ?"

“I promised this one to a customer, at the other end of the counter.”

“But it can’t be sold !”

One dummy came alive and started clawing

85

“I beg your pardon,” she said haughtily. “Excuse me.” She went around the corner and said loudly: “Mr. Bru¬ baker! Mr. Brubaker! Over here, please.”

A stout, red-faced gentle¬ man answered her call. He looked prosperous, judging from the diamonds that spar¬ kled on his little finger and tie-clip.

“Here’s just the doll you wanted,” she said. “I think your little girl w;ould adore it.”

“Well, she’s pretty particu¬ lar,” Mr. Brubaker said, pad¬ dling his round stomach with his fingers. His jaw dropped when he saw Lolly, standing woodenly on the counter, un¬ blinking, unbreathing. “Say, you’re right. Now that’s what I call an unusual doll! I’ll take it.”

The saleswoman smiled. “I’ll go get my book.”

When she was gene, Bru¬ baker looked at Mortimer and winked. “My little girl’s twenty-five, but she still likes her dolls. And I like my little girl. If you know what I mean.” He winked again, and laughed. Mortimer shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“Gosh,” Brubaker said, leaning closer to the girl. “She sure is a sexy little doll.

You can almost reach out and — ”

He put his hand on Lolly's torso and squeezed. Obvious¬ ly, he enjoyed the sensation, because he continued to ex¬ plore the contours of the life¬ like doll, chuckling concup- sciently. Mortimer watched the inspection with growing panic, and when he saw Bru¬ baker’s plump fingers near Lolly’s lips, he began to shake with dreadful anticipation.

“Ouch!”

Mortimer saw Brubaker’s finger at Lolly’s red mouth, and Lolly’s tiny teeth sunk deep in the skin. The stout man howled again, and Lol¬ ly’s long leg shot out and clipped him neatly on the second chin.

“Help! Murder!” Brubak¬ er shouted!

“Lolly!” Mortimer cried. He grabbed at the enraged girl and managed to pull her off the stout man. Then he reached for the traveling cage, and shoved her inside. He grabbed the handle and ran.

“Thief!” Brubaker shout¬ ed, sucking his finger.

“Thief!” an old lady at the ribbon counter echoed.

“Thief!” the crowd said.

Mortimer was already at the Down escalator when the cries caught up with him. He

86

FANTASTIC

saw a counter marked De¬ liveries and hurried over to the freckle-faced youth in charge.

“Look,” he said. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you get this package delivered for me. Right away!”

“Yes, sir!” the boy an¬ swered, taking the cage.

He waited for directions.

Mortimer gave him the ad¬ dress of the rooming house. Then, free of the incriminat¬ ing cage, he sauntered off to the escalator again.

“There he is!” Brubaker shouted.

“Stop him!” the floorwalk¬ er cried.

“Thief!” the saleswoman yelled.

He bolted for the escalator and discovered too late that it was moving upwards. He tried to battle the crowds and the moving stairs, but inex¬ orably, they carried him back into the waiting arms of his pursuers.

“Well!” the desk sergeant said. “If it isn’t our old friend Wormsmacker ! I thought I told you to stay out of bars?”

“Honest, officer — ”

“Never mind the explana¬ tions. Complaint says you stole a doll from Glimdales Department Store.”

“I didn’t steal it! It be¬ longed to me!”

“Incorrigible,” the ser¬ geant said sadly. “Put him in Number Five until the morn¬ ing. We’ll let the judge figure out this screwball.”

“You can’t do that to me! I’ve got a job! An important job — ”

“Yeah, we know all about it. I’m slappin’ a two-hun- dred-dollar bail on you, Wormsticker.”

“But I don’t have that much with me!”

“Then be our guest. Okay, Finney.”

“Please! Just let me call my boss again!”

The sergeant sighed. “All right. One phone call."

P. G. Chisolm took a long time getting to the tele¬ phone. And when he did, his voice didn’t sound encourag¬ ing.

“Mr. Chisolm? This is Mortimer again. Listen, Mr. Chisolm — ”

“Wormstocker ! Do you know what time it is?”

“About ten, I guess. But listen, Mr. Chisolm, I seem to be in another jam — ”

“Not the police again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

There was a pause. “Wormstocker — ”

“Yes, Mr. Chisolm?”

“You’re fired.”

BOTTLE BABY

87

“What’s that?”

“Fired,” Chisolm said pleasantly. “F-I-R-E-D. Is that clear? I’ve had enough of you, Wormstocker.”

“But Mr. Chisolm — the re¬ search isn’t completed!”

“Doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t think you’ll ever find a cure for the cold, Worm¬ stocker. I should have lis¬ tened to that fellow in New York. What’s his name, Hol- meyer.”

“Holmeyer?” Mortimer shouted.

“Yes, Holmeyer! He said you were a phoney. Now I know he was right ! Good-bye, Wormstocker!”

Mr. Chisolm ! Wait — ”

Minutes later, Mortimer was sitting disconsolately on a wafer-thin mattress in cell number five. He was under¬ standably depressed at the events of the day, but the final blow had been the men¬ tion of Hugo Holmeyer’s hated name.

. Holmeyer! How he’d gloat over the announcement of Mortimer’s discharge! Morti¬ mer couldn’t bear the mental image of his fat face wreath¬ ed in a smug smile. He punched out the air, and al¬ most smashed his knuckles against the prison wall.

But why should he get so upset over a lousy cold cure?

When he had a discovery of far greater importance — right in his own apartment? A visitor from another gal¬ axy!

If Hugo only knew about that! Mortimer chuckled at the idea. It was worth a trip to New York, just to display his find. Wouldn’t Hugo’s fat lips drool, his beady eyes narrow with envy, his gross body quiver with frustration? Yes, he must show Hugo.

It was a delightful specu¬ lation. There was only one thing wrong with it. Hugo was in New York, and Morti¬ mer was in an Ohio jail.

But half an hour later, rescue came, in the person of Officer Finney.

“Okay, pal,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Wherever you want. Your bail’s been paid.”

“What? Who paid it?”

“Lady,” Finney shrugged, and unlocked the door.

Mortimer came out hesi¬ tantly, expecting to see Lolly’s sensational figure at the sergeant’s desk. But he was wrong. It was a sensa¬ tional figure, all right, but it belonged to Cherry Cooper.

“Mortimer!” she cried, running at him and throwing her arms around his thin

FANTASTIC

shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Miss Cooper! How’d you know I was here?”

“I called you at home, but you weren’t there. I knew you never went out on week nights, so I got worried and called Mr. Chisolm. He said something about your being in jail.”

“The first time or the sec¬ ond time?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Mortimer said. “Thanks a lot, Miss Cooper. It’s all just a terrible misunderstanding. ”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Maybe I’d better come home with you.”

“That won’t be necessary. As a matter of fact, I’m leaving town tonight.”

“Leaving town? But you can’t, Mortimer. I mean, you’re only out on bail.”

“Oh, I’ll be back tomorrow. But I have to take the night plane to New York.”

“New York?”

“Yes. Do you know any good hotels around Sutton Place? Have to see an old friend who lives there.”

“Well, there’s the Sutton Park. But what’s so impor¬ tant?”

“I have something to show him,” Mortimer said grimly. “Something very important.”

The DC-7 bumped onto the landing strip at LaGuardia Airport, and for the tenth time in the last three hours, Mortimer Wormstocker won¬ dered if his baggage was all right.

Lolly had been remarkably acquiescent about the pro¬ posed trip. She had crawled into the traveling cage with a pleased giggle. He knew that she would get careful handling by the airline, but what worried him more was her sense of mischief.

However, the trip had been free of incident so far. He picked up his cage at the bag¬ gage counter and hailed a taxi outside the terminal. He gave the driver the address of the Sutton Park Hotel.

Inside the hotel room, his first act was to free Lolly from her tiny prison. He was about to compliment her on her good behavior, but he didn’t have time. Lolly step¬ ped out onto the hotel carpet in her little blue doll’s dress, and hugged herself. The cloth began to shred, and fi¬ nally burst apart as the girl from 01-84 transformed her¬ self to Earth height.

“No!” Mortimer groaned. “Not again, please!”

She pouted prettily. “Some¬ times I think you don’t like me, Mortimer.”

BOTTLE BABY

89

“I do. But not without clothes on.”

“That’s strange. On 01-84, that’s the only way men like me.” Her face brightened. “I know what’s wrong. Maybe if you didn’t have any clothes on either — ”

“Never mind that! I’ve got something very important to do today. I want you to meet an old — friend of mine. Dr. Hugo Holmeyer.” He gritted his teeth when he said the name.

“But I don’t want to meet other men, Mortimer. I just want you.”

“Believe me, Lolly, it’s very important to me.”

“All right,” she said cheer¬ fully. “Then can we come back here and — talk?”

“We’ll see.” Mortimer picked up the hotel phone and called Hugo’s number. When he heard the familiar, pompous voice on the other end, he almost giggled with anticipatory glee.

“Hugo?” he said. “This is Mortimer Wormstocker.”

“Wormstocker? What the hell do you want?”

“Oh, I was in New York for a day, so I thought I’d ring you up.”

“What for? I’ve got noth¬ ing to say to you.”

“But I have something for you, Hugo. A little discovery

90

of mine. I think you’ll be very interested.”

“Don’t tell me,” Hugo said sourly. “You haven’t found the cold cure?”

“No . .

“Aha !”

“But I found something else. A visitor from another galaxy — ”

“What? Wormstocker, are you out of your head? You’ve been overworking.”

“Maybe so. But if you’d like to see her, Hugo, I’ll be glad to bring her over.”

“I haven’t got time for your nonsense!”

“Okay,” Mortimer said casually. “But she’s a woman only one foot high.”

“What did you say?”

“I said she’s only one foot high. Just thought you might be interested.”

There was a brief pause. Then Hugo Holmeyer, in syrupy tones, said: “Of course I’m interested, old friend. Very interested ! Have you got this little creature with you?”

“Naturally. I’ll bring her over whenever you say.”

“Good, good,” Hugo said sweetly. “You do that, Morti¬ mer. You bring your little friend over, in about an hour.”

“That would be fine. And FANTASTIC

you don’t have to humor me, Hugo. I tell you she’s real.”

“Naturally ! Naturally, Mortimer. You come by in an hour. I’ll be right here.”

Mortimer hung up and chuckled aloud. “He thinks I'm crazy ! But we’ll show him!”

“When?” Lolly said.

“In about an hour.”

“Oh, goody! Then we just have time for — ”

“No, we don’t!” Mortimer said nervously. “You make yourself small and we’ll go sightseeing. I’ve never been to New York before.”

“All right,” Lolly pouted.

They left the hotel room ten minutes later. There was still plenty of time before his visit to Holmeyer’s apart¬ ment, but he didn’t dare to remain alone in the hotel room with Lolly and her one- track mind.

He walked slowly up and down the city streets, gawk¬ ing at the tall buildings.

“Psst!” Lolly’s tiny voice said.

“What is it?”

“Problem.”

He lifted the cage to his ear. “What problem?”

“Got to go somewhere.”

“Go where?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“Oh,” Mortimer gulped. “But we’re ten blocks from the hotel.”

“Better let me out then.”

“No, I can’t!” He looked around wildly, and spotted a sign that said : RESTAU¬ RANT. “All right, we’ll go somewhere. But you must be very careful.”

“I’m trying to be careful,” Lolly said. “But I think you better hurry.”

Mortimer quickened his pace. When he entered the restaurant, a tired-looking waitress came up to them.

“Pardon me,” he said. “Can you tell me. where the ladies’ room is?”

“The what?”

“I mean the men’s room!”

She looked at him suspi¬ ciously. “Through that door.”

Fortunately, the two lava¬ tories turned out to be side by side. He looked around him, and pushed open the door marked HERS with his fingertips. Then he skidded the cage inside.

He went into the adjoining men’s room and looked into the mirror. His long face was pale.

“Just one day,” he told himself. “One day to ruin a whole career . . .”

He washed his hands and left. He stopped at the La-

BOTTLE BABY

91

dies’ door and listened for sounds of Lolly’s return.

Somebody screamed!

Quickly, Mortimer hit the door with the palm of his hand and pushed it open. Lolly was just crawling back into the cage and pulling the door shut behind her. He grabbed for the handle and ran.

When they were out of sight of the restaurant, Mort¬ imer fell panting against a building wall. “What hap¬ pened?” he said.

Lolly giggled. “There was a woman in the booth next to me. She came out when I was