Read Ebook: A Planet for Your Thoughts by Norman James Morey Leo Illustrator

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Ebook has 247 lines and 11279 words, and 5 pages

One of the grapes on the grape-cluster head of the Uvan flashed a yellow light. It blinked on and off like a busy signal on a telephone operator's switchboard. For an instant, the Uvan tried to look menacing.

Bill whipped out his credentials. The pass seemed to strike a responsive chord in the Uvan for the latter's two eyes saddened. "No caviar," he murmured. "No caviar. A sadness. Up revolution."

The last phrase had some sort of magical effect for no sooner had it been uttered, than the streets were filled with more Uvans. They crowded around, muttering, taking up the refrain--"Up revolution. No caviar. Up revolution."

Bill backed away cautiously. There was a sudden empty feeling at the pit of his stomach. Why hadn't Castlebottom or the Patrol told him about this business of caviar? Why hadn't they warned him the Uvans were touchy about revolution?

Some fifty of them gathered in the street now. The individual grape cells on their heads flashing brilliant lights. They were a motley array, like nothing Bill had ever seen. Somehow, they didn't attempt to attack. They just strung along behind him, muttering "revolution" left and right with amazing persistence.

Then Bill spied the Interworld Government flag, bright gold on crimson, fluttering above a rambling low building--the American Commissioner's residence. He moved cautiously toward the doorway, afraid to excite the Uvans by too sudden a motion. At last he looked back. That was strange! The Uvans stood at a respectful distance.

Bill let out a sigh of relief and pushed the doorbell buzzer. He let out a wild yell. A fiery something grabbed his finger. Knives seemed to jab up his arm and slid down his spine. He reeled back among the Uvans who watched him as though this were all a very lively experiment.

"What the devil happened?" Bill gasped.

"Electric," answered one of the Uvans.

"Electric," Bill murmured. Then the light dawned. The electric buzzer on the door wasn't insulated. He had punched a live wire.

The cumulative strain of being followed by the grape-headed natives, then the shock from the buzzer had its effects on Bill. His legs sagged uncertainly and a cold sweat broke out, bathing his brow. He reached in one pocket, bringing forth a handy flask of super-potent Venusian brandy and unscrewed the cap.

Raising the flask, he felt the searing warmth trickle down his throat. What happened an instant later couldn't have come from the brandy. Bill felt something hit him from all four sides. It had the composite solidness of an avalanche, a few battering rams and a dozen Uvans.

A second before his consciousness keeled over backward into a depthless funnel of darkness he was under the distinct impression of seeing his brandy flask spin upward, spilling liquor over an orange-eyed Uvan. But that wasn't all. The Uvan simply dissolved before his eyes like a sugar man soaked by water!

With his eyes still shut, his neck and wrists clamped in the pillory, these last thoughts flashed through Bill's mind. Was it a crime to drink on Uva? What about the caviar? Why had the Uvans jumped on him without explaining? What were they going to do now?

A bustle of excitement in the market-place caused him to open his eyes again. He saw the stubby bodied Uvans pushing two new pillories into place, one on each side of Bill's.

It was then that Bill gasped. His eyes blinked in incredible wonder. "It's not possible!" he murmured. The head thrust through the pillory on the right was familiarly dainty--yes, Kitty Carlton!

Bill's astonished eyes swerved to the left.

"Castlebottom!" he shouted.

Castlebottom, with his pudgy neck uncomfortably pinched in the tight pillory slot, fussed and fumed with impotent rage. "Get me out of here!" he cried. "Someone will suffer. I say, there!"

Bill grinned, highly pleased. He twisted his head around as far as it would go, looking toward Kitty Carlton. "You hardly look put out," he commented. The girl did look rather pleased with the situation, despite the unyielding wooden collar.

Kitty smiled. "I'm not," she said.

"How'd you get here?"

"Very simple," said Kitty, her eyes flashing from Bill to Castlebottom. "Tubby wanted to marry me. I agreed to elope. It's so romantic you know. I thought Uva would be just the place."

"You mean Tubby ... ah ... Castlebottom agreed to elope and be married on Uva?"

"Well, he didn't know about that part of it!"

Bill grinned widely. "Something tells me you knew all along you'd be arrested the minute you brought a ship down here without entry credentials."

The outer fringe of the market-place crowd surged suddenly. Bill quickly swerved his glance, for a minute half expecting the Uvans to froth over and charge the pillories. This, however, seemed to be a wild surmise for the Uvans stood around, for all the world looking like a peaceful, deeply preoccupied convention of scientists and professors. Many of them carried umbrellas, some open, others closed. Many appeared to be puzzled as to why they were in the market-place at all.

He stopped directly before Bill and gazed up in a half bewildered fashion. "I'm Webster," he said. "Interworld Government representative on Uva. There's going to be a trial. I suppose you're the people up for trial?"

"A trail for what?" Bill asked.

Webster flashed Bill a disconcerted look, then turned and conferred with three official looking Uvans, some of whose eyes were at the backs of their heads. A low, earnest conversation ensued. Finally Webster fastened his eyes on Bill, appealingly.

"Do you mind telling me who's responsible?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Bill demanded, impatiently.

"Look here," said Webster, "you don't understand. There's going to be a trial. That's certain. But I might tell you for your own good, the Uvans are most absent-minded. They can't remember the charges against more than one person so I'd like to know which one of you is responsible. All of you can't be responsible. It just won't do. Now, which one of you caused the trouble?"

Bill glanced at Kitty, then at Castlebottom. Uva began to exhibit signs of unlimited promise for an alert freebooter. Bill twisted his pinioned left hand, crooking an accusing finger at Castlebottom.

"Liquor?" A curious, tense note entered Webster's voice. "Liquor, did you say?"

"It's a bald lie. I did no such thing," Castlebottom protested chokingly. "You know who I am? Ask Miss Carlton. She'll tell you who I am."

Commissioner Webster stared appreciatively at Kitty Carlton who, even though her head was caught in a pillory, would still be the toast of three planets.

"I never saw the fat man in my life," Kitty protested.

"That settles it then," said Webster. "Liquor. Hmm, a sadness, too. It could have been something else." He conferred again with the Uvan officials.

A moment later the pillory holding Castlebottom was carted away to the local courthouse, the entire population of Uva following it. The stocks, holding Bill and Kitty were released, freeing them.

"That's nice," said Bill as he rubbed his neck and dropped to the ground beside Kitty and the Commissioner. "But what's going to happen to Castlebottom?"

Webster shook his head forlornly. "Oh, by the time they get him to the court and ready for trial they'll have forgotten the charges again. The Uvans are terribly absent-minded about little things like that. They'll bring him back to the market and put him in the stocks again. It's the stock punishment. But now, let's get along and find you an office."

"An office?" Kitty Carlton interrupted.

Webster took her arm in colonial gentleman fashion and began walking.

"Yes, my dear," he said. "You'll both need an office. Everyone needs a place to think in. An office is best. You understand, Uva's principal industry is thinking. If you're to be here for any length of time you'll need an office."

Webster halted, let his eyes scan the oddly shaped buildings bordering the market-place, then he set off toward an empty stall in a nearby building. As he entered, followed by Bill and Kitty, he waved his hand elegantly. "This should do. Everything you'll need: umbrella stand, chairs and a do-not-disturb sign ... ah.... What's your name?"

"Petrie, Fuel Monopoly," said Bill.

Webster took a scrap of chalk from his pocket and scrawled a hasty, uneven sign on the amber sidewalk before the little office.

PETRIE OFFICE FUEL MONOPOLY

"Now, let's go in," continued Webster. He hung out the do-not-disturb sign and pulled all the shades so that nothing could be seen of the street. Then, with exaggerated caution resulting only from life in a prohibition era, he brought forth a personal flask and three folding cups. "Got to be careful here," he added. "The Uvans are made mostly of resin. It's soluble in alcohol."

"Hah, so that's why the door buzzer on your residence gave me such a jump," Bill laughed. "Resin is a non-conductor of electricity. They don't need any insulation here, eh?"

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