New planets—new conditions ... unforeseeable,
difficult and dangerous to overcome. Granted.
Still, who'd have thought getting a haircut on
Procyon IV could be a matter of life and death?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Franklin was the newest and best ship of the Morgan InterstellarTransportation Corporation. It was plain from the Captain'spouter-pigeon stance that he too was aware of this fact. The onlyjarring note in Captain Webster's mind was the unscheduled stop atProcyon IV. He glanced again at the yellow blank in his hand, his lipsmoving slightly as he re-read it.
"Captain Webster, Commanding S. S. Franklin, enroute to earth. Makecontact with Procyon IV. Passenger for earth waiting at Iridium City.Necessary time will be allowed on your schedule. Chief Dispatcher."
Captain Webster crumpled the message into a ball and threw it on thefloor.
"Whistle stop!" he growled. His anger was motivated by the fact that hehad hoped to set a new record with the Franklin and the last thing hedesired was time added to his schedule. "If he isn't ready and waitingwhen we land," the Captain muttered, "he can walk to earth!"
The Franklin came out of sub-space drive. The navigator had nodifficulty finding Procyon's fourth planet, but it took much studiouspeering to find the tiny earth colony. It turned out to be a dot aboutthree miles in diameter, a mining settlement. In a few minutes, thegiant ship settled gently into a rickety landing cradle. A spacemanpressed the unlocking studs and the passenger port opened with a hiss.The gangway slid neatly out and made contact with the shaky steps.
With obvious distaste, Captain Webster gathered his dignity about himlike a cloak and started across the gangway. His feet had no more thantouched the plastic tread when he stopped abruptly. A wild apparitioncame charging up the stairway, long, unkempt hair streaming in thewind. Down the gangway it ran and propelled the Captain violentlybackward into his ship.
Puffing and gasping for air, the Captain half lay in the arms of twospacemen who had caught him just before he reached the decking. Nothingof what the Captain said was understandable except the word "outrage"which he repeated often and vigorously.
"Now, now, now, please Captain," the long haired apparition pleaded."Compose yourself. Don't get excited. I can explain everything. I'm Mr.Thurwinker of the Office of Colonial Development."
"Oh, oh," the Captain grunted. "The OCD, huh?" His anger evaporated andhe struggled to his feet trying to look dignified again. "Well—I'msure—ah—that is—no doubt you have a good reason for your actions,sir—ah—"
"Oh yes, indeed," Mr. Thurwinker replied, hastily, "but I can't stopnow. I must impress on you, Captain, the urgency of your ship leavingas soon as possible. Yes, yes it's imperative! And you must remain outof sight. Don't show yourselves under any circumstances! I'll get yourpassenger now." Without another word, Mr. Thurwinker scurried out ofthe ship. He turned at the end of the gangway. "Remember Captain, don'tlet anyone see you. Keep out of sight. Yes indeed, out of sight!"
The open-mouthed Captain watched the OCD man scramble down the stepsand reappear a moment later carrying a suitcase. He was followed byanother man whose hair was also streaming down over his shoulders. TheCaptain's mouth sagged open an additional half-inch as the strangelooking pair entered the ship.
Mr. Thurwinker set the bag dow