Fantastic Stories Present the Galaxy Science Fiction Super Pack #1. Edgar Pangborn

took off for the nearest sub-space center and a few hours later he was in Mr. Folan’s office at Planet Enterprises, gingerly balancing his cap on his knee. Mr. Folan’s sleek head nodded as Channing made his points and when he was finished the executive pressed a buzzer and called for the file.

      “You realize, Mr. Channing,” he said conversationally, as he turned over the pages, “that what you are asking will be a most expensive undertaking.”

      “I know that,” Channing said eagerly, “but upklin seeds are such a sure-fire proposition that I thought Planet Enterprises might be willing to do the job on a percentage basis.”

      Mr. Folan wrote some figures on the margin of the folder and considered deeply. “Yes,” he said at last, “I think it would work out on a seventy-thirty split.”

      “Seventy-thirty?”

      Mr. Folan inclined his head graciously. “Seventy per cent for Planet Enterprises and thirty for yourself.”

      Channing said slowly, “That’s a bit steep.”

      In a few brisk words, Mr. Folan showed just why he was an executive of Planet Enterprises, Inc. He gave Channing the figures for transforming the planet’s characteristics to those of Jupiter; he told him what acreage of upklin seeds he could grow and the exact profit to be expected. Channing’s share should be about one hundred and fifty thousand credits per crop.

      Fighting a rearguard battle, Channing said, “Your three hundred and fifty thousand won’t look so bad on the balance sheet, either.”

      Folan reeled off his figures again with practiced glibness. Channing had the sudden suspicion that his proposition wasn’t entirely unexpected. But the figures sounded reasonable and he had to admit that Planet Enterprises was risking a great deal of money.

      “Then there is the not inconsiderable cost of your own metamorphosis, Mr. Channing,” Folan added.

      “Huh?” said Channing.

      There followed the most excruciating half-hour of Channing’s life. Proposition followed explanation, counter-explanation followed counter-proposition. At the end of that time he emerged from the office with a stricken look and a small white card. The blonde receptionist read the look correctly and definitely and finally crossed him off her list.

      *

      For a jube, Ckm Dyk wasn’t at all bad-looking. His four legs growing directly from the bottom of the muscular, hairy trunk were strong and sturdy—always a mark of handsomeness in a male, for the legs had to take most of the strain of a gravitational pull several times that of Earth. He had three flexible tentacles, a thin melon slice for a mouth, but nothing resembling a nose. He didn’t need one, since he breathed through a set of gills at the sides of his head.

      He remembered vaguely that he had once been Jim Channing, an Earthman, but the memory had nearly faded. He had been warned of that, that he would soon forget he had ever been anything except what he was now, but he had already forgotten the warning.

      Phylox Beta III had changed, too, and in as great a degree. The wide ocean had become a turgid, soupy mush, covered by the trailing growths of the upklin flowers. The blue skies had turned an angry red and the sharp wind that rustled the hair on his squat body was almost pure methane.

      He waddled down to the low disk-shaped skimmer and started the jets. As it pushed its way through the clinging masses of the upklin flowers, he surveyed his crop happily. This was his second crop and it promised to be even better than the first. He was going to be a very wealthy buk, he told himself. He could buy.... His mind floundered. He didn’t know what Jubes longed for, what they sought wealth for. He was certain at the same time that there was a flaw in his contentment, that something was missing.

      What he was missing dropped from the sky a few days later. It came in a spaceboat and was his neighbor from Phylox Beta IV. Her body hair was a rich golden brown and she wore pretty bracelets, studded with basim stones, on each of her four legs. Ckm Dyk’s single eye, with its perpendicular outer eyelids and horizontal nictitating inner membranes to filter out the infra-red rays, shone with an emotion that was more than pleasure.

      Her thoughts flooded his mind. There was a warm recognition of his admiration and a delicious suggestion that it wasn’t unacceptable.

      “The agent told me you were upklin farming. I came to see if I could be of any help,” she told him.

      The sentences rang like golden bells within his burgeoning consciousness. He tried to shape his answering thought coherently, but his lack of telepathic experience betrayed him. She flinched momentarily beneath the raw, undirected stream of passionate love that overwhelmed her mind.

      Then an answering wave of shy, tender awareness and acquiescence laved his senses. Without the clumsy barrier of speech between them, they had scaled in a few pulsating moments the shining heights of love and devotion that human passion sometimes cannot find in a lifetime of searching.

      Ckm Dyk had never been so happy. They decided to farm the two planets together so they could be with each other always. There was sound economic sense in this; with both of them helping, the output of each planet would be nearly doubled. It meant a huge increase in administrative and paper work for Ckm Dyk, but he didn’t mind that. Often, as he pored over account books and production figures, a tremulous, shy devotion would envelop him in a gauzy mental cloud and he would lay down his stylo and answer Aln Muh with all the great love that surged within him.

      As the months passed, his happiness increased. The perfect attunement of their minds excluded all the scalding jealousies and the offended silences of misunderstanding that can mar the most loving human relationships. They did not need to see each other; the physical presence of the beloved was unimportant; they loved more with their minds than with their bodies.

      It seemed improbable that such a glorious idyll should ever be disturbed. Then, one morning, a shuttle-spacer came silently out of the red sky and landed beside the house. Ckm Dyk waddled toward it, impelled by a carefully built-in series of reflexes which he had completely forgotten about and entered its gaping maw. He never once looked at Aln Muh and the passionate entreaties that echoed through his mind only roused in him a dull irritation.

      *

      Jim Channing again found himself in Mr. Folan’s office. The figures the tall, sleek-haired man was reading out to him made tuneful music. Even when Planet Enterprises’ massive deduction was made, his share was comfortingly more than a million.

      “Not bad payment, Mr. Channing, for five years of life! In any case, it’s all over now—just a bad memory.”

      The executive smiled at him from his comfortable, familiar chair, aware of the torrents of confused thoughts hidden behind the gray eyes.

      When he had come out of the stupor that succeeded the almost disintegrating effects of his re-metamorphosis, Jim Channing remembered clearly the terms of the bargain he had made. He was to become a Jube, a living nightmare, living in a nightmare world, for five years. At the end of that time, Planet Enterprises promised him, he would be given back his humanity and he would have earned enough money to keep him in luxury for the rest of his life.

      They had kept their promise—to the letter. He felt it ungrateful of him that his paramount emotion was fury. He had been happy; no human attachment could ever make him as happy again. He longed for the glorious love and trust he had shared during that tremendous five years. Perhaps he had been a repulsive monster from whom any woman would run screaming. But he didn’t want a woman. He wanted Aln Muh.

      He said, picking his words with the greatest care, “Would a further metamorphosis be possible?”

      *

      Folan’s jaw dropped. It was a question he’d never expected to hear from any of the men who had taken the terrible choice for the glittering reward he held out to them. Most of them had picked up their vouchers and asked the way to the nearest tavern; many of the alien races did not find alcohol compatible with their metabolisms. A few had inquired tentatively about his current receptionist. Planet Enterprises had a big turnover in pretty