The Collected Stories

by Earl

  “Do you see how perfect this all is?” gloated the criminal. “I’m going to signal the Space Patrol now and tell them Blaster Barton is caught! They’ll come and take you to jail. And I’ll go away, free as a bird, because their eyes will plainly tell them I’m a Space Patrolman. You’ll rot in jail in my place for years to come. And I’ll roam through space with your young, strong body!”

  Jon’s mind groaned. It was ghastly. He could see no way out of the trap. He could only watch as Blaster Barton knocked the scientist cold, so he couldn’t talk. Then he went to the radio and signaled. Within an hour, the Chief of Space Patrol strode in with his men.

  “Good work. Lieutenant Jon Jarl!” he said. “Put the handcuffs on Barton.”

  As a man moved up with the handcuffs, Jon yelled out frantically. “Wait! This is all a mistake! I’m Jon Jarl! You’ve got to believe me!”

  The police chief turned cold, amused eyes on him, seeing only the brutal face of the space crook. “How stupid do you think we are, Barton?” he snapped. “Can’t we see with our own eyes that you’re the criminal?”

  Jon gave up. It was hopeless. But suddenly, a faint hope flashed up within his spinning mind. “All right!” he growled, playing the full part of the crook. “I’m Blaster Barton, and I’m caught. But I just dare that Lieutenant Jon Jarl there to fight me bare-handed, alone in this room, and see which one of us comes out on his feet. I can lick any Space Cop alive, see?”

  The chief grinned in sheer delight. “You want to fight Lieutenant Jon Jarl? Mister, you don’t know what you’re asking. But fine! We don’t mind letting him beat you to a pulp, if you want it that way! Give me your gun, Lieutenant Jarl. I leave you with the extreme pleasure of pounding this crook black and blue!”

  Barton—in Jon Jarl’s body—could make no protest, since he had to play the part of a brave Space Patrolman. So he handed over his gun, and the police all left the room.

  The Space Patrolman and the criminal faced each other unarmed, in each other’s bodies. “You fool!” growled Barton. “This won’t do you any good. I’ve got your young trained body. I’ll win.”

  “Will you?” said Jon, charging. They exchanged blows with fury. At first, Jon took the worst of it, in Barton’s older and slower body. The lithe, superbly trained body of Jon Jarl, run by Barton’s cruel ego, easily held the advantage.

  But slowly, the tide changed. It was Jon’s mind running Barton’s body. And Jon’s mind knew a hundred fighting tricks from the rugged Space Patrol Training Schools. Whereas Barton’s mind, running Jon’s body, knew only his own clumsy rough-and-tumble tactics. Before long, the dancing form of Barton was savagely chopping down the bewildered form of Jon Jarl!

  It was the strangest fight in all history. Jon Jarl was doing his best to defeat his own body! He was giving his physical form a terrific beating!

  A final smashing punch laid the uniformed body low. Panting, Jon used Barton’s arms to place the unconscious form in one chair. Then he sat in the other chair and fastened the electrodes. He was just able to reach the master switch and pull it into reverse position.

  Jon’s mind swam and when it cleared, he let out a long sigh of relief—out of his own throat. Opposite him sat Blaster Barton. Each was back in his own body.

  When Jon called and the police came in, the chief was astonished. “But it looks as if you took the worst beating, Lieutenant Jarl!” he gasped. “You’re all battered!”

  “You’ll never figure this out, chief,” murmured Jon, grinning through his cracked lips. “But the only way I could win was by losing!”

  INTERPLANETARY CENSUS

  A thousand ships of the Space Patrol thrummed out into space, away from Earth, and veered off toward all the other worlds of the Solar System. Grimly, guns bristling, the huge fleet had the power to blast any world to ruins.

  Was there war among the worlds?

  The rocketship of Lieutenant Jon Jarl landed and he stepped forth as wondering and half-frightened natives peered anxiously at the strange weapons in his hands. The weapons consisted of an electric pencil and a strip of aluminum paper.

  “Don’t be scared,” Jon laughed. “I’m only here to take the census!”

  When their faces were mollified, Jon Jarl explained. “The Earth Federation has decided to take a census of all the planets and moons and asteroids. We’re going to count every living soul everywhere. The Space Patrol has been assigned to the job.”

  Jon himself had been assigned to Phoebe, the tiniest and most remote of Saturn’s moons. He would go from door to door of the native villages and tabulate those within. The natives of Phoebe were simple peasants. Physically, they were tall and reedy and had four arms.

  But at the first door, Jon’s troubles began. The natives were prolific, to say the least. Besides the parents, Jon saw a dozen more little faces peering from chinks in the walls.

  “How many children in your house?” Jon asked.

  “Fifteen,” replied the father. But after Jon wrote it down, he added—“but there are more outside in the yard!” He led the way and Jon was suddenly bowled over by a horde of kids, yelling and playing some game.

  Jon picked himself up. “All yours?” he gasped. “How many?”

  The father scratched his head. “I never counted,” he admitted. “Maybe 60 or 70. Or 80.”

  Jon finally lined them up and counted, and wrote it down. “What a big family!” he murmured.

  The father shook his head. “We’re the smallest family in this village.”

  Some days later, Jon left the village and rocketed for the next one. Luckily, Phoebe was sparsely populated and the villages were few in number.

  But while passing over a barren stretch, Jon saw a moving figure below. Did someone live down there in the wasteland? As census-taker, it was his duty to find out. Phoebe had never been thoroughly explored.

  Jon was startled. The creature facing him when he landed, was a huge man-sized amoeba! Almost like a giant germ. “Well, that critter doesn’t go in my census as a thinking being,” Jon muttered.

  “Why not?” came back in clear telepathic radiation. “I have a mind!”

  Jon managed to speak after a moment.

  “An oversized intelligent amoeba! All right, down you go as one of a new species.”

  “No—two!” came back the thought radiation, as the creature split into two identical halves. “And I split every hour. By this time tomorrow, there will be dozens of me.”

  “I give up!” moaned Jon. “How can I count you in the census? It would change every day!”

  “Please count me in the census,” begged the amoeboid eagerly. “Don’t ignore me. I have a right to be included because I’m a living creature with a mind!”

  But Jon was returning to his ship, dismissing the matter from his mind. “What next?” he wondered. “There can’t be anything stranger than that.”

  He was wrong. For further on, Jon saw a lone figure running and hiding among rocks. Jon pursued. Every soul had to be counted, and the figure was human-like. It was a mad chase and Jon stumbled once and cut himself. But he panted on and finally caught the fleeing figure. Now he could see it was made of metal!

  “Why, you’re a robot!” Jon choked.

  “Yes,” came back in a metallic voice. “My human master freed me and left me on this world to live my own life. Don’t take me back.”

  Weary and hot from the chase, Jon sat on a stone and decided the census-taking business was a strange affair. All his effort had been for nothing. He couldn’t count a robot in the census of living people!

  “On your way,” Jon muttered, turning back to his ship.

  At the ship, Jon heard a slithering sound and four huge amoebae rolled up. “There are four of us now,” came the telepathic thought. “Won’t you count us in the census?”

  “Are you following me around?” Jon grunted. “How can I count you? It’s impossible. Forget it.”

  More surprises lay in store for Jon as he continued on Phoebe. He came upo
n rocks that moved and talked among themselves! Jon tried to speak to them, but they utterly ignored him as if he didn’t exist. Should he put them down as “people” or not? Jon threw up his hands and made a notation of the odd discovery.

  Later, an odd ship landed and the being that stepped out was a cross between a turtle and an eagle.

  “Now where are you from?” Jon inquired. “Mars? Venus? Ganymede? Pluto?”

  “None of those worlds,” came back the calm reply, again in projected thought radiation. “I’m from another star—the one you call Sirius! I’ve made the first journey from our star here. A great feat!” His thought-voice suddenly weakened. “But it was a long trip . . . great hardship . . . end of my endurance . . .”

  A moment later, Jon stared down at the dead form of an interstellar explorer who would never return to tell of his amazing flight!

  “And I’m supposed to be on a census-taking tour,” Jon muttered ironically. “I can’t count him—dead!”

  “But you can count me—or us!” came a thought-voice behind him. Jon whirled to find eight amoeboid creatures rolling up. “Please count us?” It was almost in a sad thought-voice.

  “Will you stop pestering me?” Jon yelled. “I’ve got enough trouble without you multiplying monkeys following me.”

  Jon next stumbled on a greater surprise—an Earthman! He sat before a cave, slovenly and ill-kempt.

  “I’m a hermit,” he growled in surly tones. “I hate people. Go away.”

  “Well, at least you go down in the census report,” Jon said almost happily, marking him down. But as Jon turned away, his eye caught a stack of food crates piled beside a rocketship.

  “That’s enough food for an army,” Jon said puzzled.

  The hermit’s voice was cold. “I—I like to eat a lot. Now go!”

  Jon left, but when night fell he went back. From behind a tree, he watched the hermit lug the food crates inside the cave. No man could eat that much in less than a year, Jon decided. What lay in the cave?

  Jon crept in after the hermit and saw it was a giant cavern. In the dim light of flickering torches were a dozen other Earthmen. What did it mean? Why wouldn’t the hermit reveal them to be counted in the census?

  A blow crashed without warning against Jon’s skull, and half-senseless, he was dragged before the men. Sweeping his eyes over them, Jon could see the grim, hard-bitten faces of desperate men.

  “Criminals!” Jon gasped. “Wanted men! Hiding out on Phoebe. And the hermit has been supplying you with food.”

  “Yeah, Space Copper,” grunted one bandit, leering and drawing his ray gun. “And pretty soon, there’s gonna be one less to count in the census—you!”

  Jon reached for his gun, but it was gone. They had taken it before. Jon faced death. But even as the ray gun hissed, strange round forms hurtled past him, toward the bandits. It was the amoeboids—sixteen of them. They were attacking the bandits, protecting Jon!

  The criminals all fired, horrified at the weird monsters. But every time an amoeboid was hit, it split in two, and both halves continued advancing. They rolled over and overwhelmed the bandits, knocking them flat. Jon gathered their guns and soon had them helpless.

  Later, after a cruising unit of the Space Patrol had come to pick up the captured men, Jon Jarl was ready to continue his census-taking assignment. The amoeboids stood before him in silent hope.

  “All right,” grinned Jon. “You go down in the census report!”

  A telepathic cheer came from the massed amoeboids, from all 32 of them. Or was it 64? And what would it be by the time Jon returned and reported on Earth?

  “And I thought,” Jon murmured, “this census-taking was going to be fun and relaxation!”

  THE WORLD OWNER

  Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol cruised past Jupiter and decided to stop off at Io for refueling. Io was one of the moons of Jupiter, a small but pleasant world. The natives were friendly and hardworking, and the Earth Colony was a thriving place, with a steady export of the famed Ionian Jewels.

  But no sooner did Jon Jarl land at the big spaceport than he saw something was wrong. A uniformed man with a ray gun was herding a group of people—Ionians and Earthmen alike—toward a huge spaceship as if driving them away. But why?

  Jon strode up angrily. “What goes on?” he demanded.

  The uniformed man turned a sneering face. He was large and heavy-set with black brows and thin lips. “Oh, a space cop, eh?” he drawled. “I’m sending these people away from Io because they refuse to pay my tax.”

  “Your tax?” Jon echoed. “But only the Planet Federation collects taxes. You can’t do this.”

  “No?” came the grinning reply. “You can’t stop me, and what’s more, I order you off this world!”

  Jon gasped at the sheer audacity of it. A man daring to tell a member of the Space Patrol, who guarded all worlds, to leave!

  “You must be insane,” Jon snapped. “How can you order me off this world.”

  “Because I own it!” the big man said.

  “You own it?” Jon burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. It was ridiculous for any man to claim he owned a world. “Now I know you’re crazy!”

  “Am I?” The big man hissed slowly. “My name is Robert Kresswood. Ever hear that name—Kresswood? Maybe not, but look at this deed, giving ownership of all Io to the Robert Kresswood of 2044! He was my ancestor.”

  Kresswood carefully took a plastic case out of his coat and drew out a rolled document, handing it to Jon, Jon could see that it was an ancient document. The linen paper was aged and yellow and the edges had crumbled away. The writing on it was dim but legible and Jon read:

  “I hereby grant to Robert Kresswood the sole title and ownership of Io, moon of Jupiter, for the sum of $10,000!”

  It was dated July 15, 2044. And it was signed Jason Jaggard!

  “Jason Jaggard!” said Jon. “I know that name. He was the famous interplanetary explorer of the early days of space travel. He made the first trip to Jupiter!”

  Kresswood nodded. “Yes, and at that time, before the Earth Federation took over all exploration, any man who first landed on a world could claim it by right of discovery. Jason Jaggard first landed on Io, but nobody believed him when he returned. He needed money to finance another trip into space. He came to Robert Kresswood, my ancestor, who as a whim loaned him the money. He took the deed in return, but thought it was worthless and put it away. I just found it among my family’s personal papers. It legally gives me ownership of Io!”

  Jon was not laughing any more. If the document was authentic, Robert Kresswood of 2261 owned this world, because his ancestor had jokingly bought it almost 200 years before.

  “Now do you believe?” Kresswood sneered, sweeping an arm around. “I own this whole world! I can tell the people to get off if I wish. I can collect taxes. I now own all the loan jewel mines!”

  “Wait a minute,” Jon objected. “All worlds today belong to the Federation of Worlds. You can’t withdraw and . . .”

  “Can’t I?” interrupted Kresswood, leering. “I’m withdrawing right now! I intend to run this world my own way, like a king! And the whole Space Patrol can’t stop me!”

  “We’ll see,” Jon snapped back. “First, I’ll send an image of this document to Earth as a check.”

  “Go ahead,” grinned Kresswood. “It’s not a fake!”

  Jon knew that some hours later, after using his ship’s computer to send a copy of the document back to Earth. The reply was—“Document authentic. Robert Kresswood has legal title to Io. The case will go to the Interplanetary Courts.”

  Jon shrugged helplessly. It would take months and months for the Interplanetary Courts to settle the case. Long before the Federation and Space Patrol could take action, Kresswood would have a free hand on Io.

  And Jon found the situation far worse than before. Kresswood had taken over the biggest home in the city, driving out the family there. He had organized a band of men as his personal police and h
ad sent them around to gather all Ionian jewels, to be heaped at his feet.

  When Jon entered, the room was half filled with jewels, and Kresswood sat like a greedy Midas running them through his fingers and gloating. “I’m the richest man of all time! I own a world! It’s all mine!”

  “You greedy human pig!” spat out Jon.

  Kresswood spun around, jerking out his ray gun. “On this world,” he roared, “there’s no law but my law! Get off, I say!”

  Jon half drew his own gun, but stopped. A dozen of Kresswood’s men had come in with drawn guns. In the face of this silent threat, Jon could only leave.

  He rocketed his ship away from Io, feeling sorry for all the people down there at the mercy of such an egomaniac. Jon thought of rounding up a few ships of the Space Patrol and coming back, guns blasting—but no. Such action could be taken only on order from Earth. And Earth would not act till the case had gone through the Interplanetary Courts.

  Yes, Kresswood was crazy—like a fox! He knew that he had time to consolidate his position before the legal machinery moved.

  There had to be a way to prove his claim false...

  He checked the system roster and discovered three other Space Patrol ships in the area. Quickly he arranged a conference call. Maybe they could come up with something if they put their heads together!

  A few hours later a radio call came to Jon from Io. It was from one of Kresswood’s men. “Lieutenant Jon Jarl, come back! Kresswood, our leader, has been kidnapped by bandits!”

  It was Jon’s duty, as a Space Patrolman, to run down any crime in space. He turned back at full speed, grinning a bit. So Kresswood was in trouble himself?

  Kresswood’s man explained further. “A rocketship landed and armed bandits snatched Kresswood, taking him off to the wilds. They left a note. Here—I’m transmitting a copy.”

  Jon read the note—

  “Kresswood dies unless a shipload of Ionian jewels is delivered to the wilds and left there. No tricks! The Space Rover.”