by jeff brown
“Two!” said Control. “Good luck, everybody! One!”
“Pay attention, dear,” Mrs. Lambchop told Stanley.
“Zero!” said Control, and Stanley pressed the “Start” button.
Whrooom! Rockets roaring, the Star Scout rose from its launching pad.
Whroooooom! Whroooooom! Gaining speed, it soared higher and higher, carrying the Lambchops toward the farness where Tyrra lay.
In Space
“I’ll just flip this omelette,” said Mrs. Lambchop, making breakfast in the Star Scout, “and then— Oh, dear!” The omelette hovered like a Frisbee in the air above her.
Mostly, however, after weeks in space, the Lambchops remembered that gravity, the force that held things down, did not exist beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Mr. Lambchop often read now with his hands clasped behind his head, allowing his book to float before him, and Stanley and Arthur greatly enjoyed pushing from their chairs to drift like feathers across the room.
Raising her pan, Mrs. Lambchop brought down the omelette. “After breakfast, what?” she said. “A game of Monopoly?”
“Please, not again.” Arthur sighed. “If I’d known this adventure would be so boring, I’d never have come.”
“The worst part,” Stanley said, “is not knowing how long it will last.”
“The beginning wasn’t boring,” Arthur said as they began their breakfast. “The beginning was fun.”
The first days had in fact been tremendously exciting. They had spent many hours at the Star Scout’s Magnifying Window, watching the bright globe of Earth grow steadily smaller, until it seemed at last only a pale marble in the black of space. And there had been many special sights to see: the starry beauty of the Milky Way, the planets—red Mars, giant Jupiter, cloudy Venus, Saturn with its shining rings.
The third evening they appeared on TV news broadcasts on Earth. Word of their voyage had been released to the press, and all over the world people were eager to learn how this extraordinary adventure was proceeding. Standing before the spaceship’s camera, the Lambchops said they felt fine, looked forward to meeting the Tyrrans, and would report nightly while they remained in TV range.
The fourth evening they floated before the camera, demonstrating weightlessness. This was greatly appreciated on Earth, and they floated again the following day.
By the sixth evening, however, they were hard-pressed to liven their appearances. Mr. Lambchop recited a baseball poem, “Casey at the Bat.” Stanley juggled tennis balls, but the Earth audience, knowing now about weightlessness, saw the balls float when he tossed them up. Arthur did imitations of a rooster, a dog, and a man stuck in a phone booth. After this, while Mrs. Lambchop was singing her college song, he went behind the plastic curtain to undress for a shower and accidentally pulled the curtain down. He was mortified, and she tried later to comfort him.
“We will be remembered, Arthur, for our time in space,” she said. “Nobody will care about a curtain.”
“I will be remembered forever,” Arthur said. “A hundred million people saw me in my underwear.”
The next day was Stanley’s birthday, and just after dinner the screen lit up. There was the President in his shirtsleeves, behind his desk in Washington, D.C.
“Well, here I am working late again,” the President said. “It’s a tough job, believe me. Happy birthday, Stanley Lambchop! I’ve arranged a surprise. First, your friends from school.”
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the clearing of throats, and then, from all the millions of miles away, came the voices of Stanley’s classmates singing, “Happy Birthday, dear Stanley! Happy Birthday to you!”
Stanley was tremendously pleased. “Thanks, everybody!” he said. “You too, Mr. President.”
“That was just the U.S.A. part,” said the President. “Ready over there in London, Queen?”
“We are indeed,” the Queen’s voice said cheerfully. “And now, Master Lambchop, our famous Westminster Boys’ Choir!”
From England, the beautiful voices of the famous choir sang “Happy Birthday, Stanley!” all over again, and then other children sang it from Germany, Spain, and France.
All this attention to Stanley made Arthur jealous, and when the President said, “By the way, Arthur, you entertained us wonderfully the other night,” he was sure this was a tease about his appearance in underwear. But he was wrong.
“Those imitations!” the President said. “Especially the fellow in the phone booth. Darn good!”
“Indeed!” the Queen added from England. “We were greatly amused.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Arthur, cheered. “I—”
The screen had gone blank.
They had traveled too far. There would be no more voices from Earth, no voices but their own until they heard what the Tyrrans had to say.
“Suppose the Tyrrans have forgotten we’re coming?” Stanley said. “We might just sail around in space forever.”
They had finished the breakfast omelette, and were now setting out the Monopoly board because there was nothing more interesting to do.
“They don’t even know our names,” Arthur said. “What will they call us?”
“Earth people!” said a deep voice.
“Very probably,” said Mr. Lambchop. “‘Earth people’ seems—Who said that?”
“Not me,” said both Stanley and Arthur.
“Not I,” said Mrs. Lambchop, correcting. “But who—”
“Earth people!” The voice, louder now, came from the Star Scout’s radio. “Greetings from the great planet Tyrra and its mighty people! Do you hear?”
“Oh, my!” Mr. Lambchop turned up the volume. “It’s them!”
“They,” said Mrs. Lambchop.
“For heaven’s sake, Harriet!” Mr. Lambchop said, and spoke loudly into the microphone. “Hello, Tyrra. Earth people here. Party of four. Peace-loving family.”
“Peace-loving?” said the voice. “Good! So is mighty Tyrra! Where are you, Earth people?”
Stanley checked his star maps. “We’re just where the tail of Ralph’s Comet meets star number three million and forty-seven. Now what?”
“Right,” said the Tyrran voice. “Keep going till you pass a star formation that looks like a foot. You can’t miss it. Then, just past a lopsided little white moon, start down. You’ll see a pointy mountain, then a big field. Land there. See you soon, Earth people!”
“You bet!” Mr. Lambchop said, and turned to his family. “The first contact with another planet! We are making history!”
They passed the foot-shaped star formation, then the lopsided moon, and Stanley piloted the Star Scout down. The darkness of space vanished as it descended, and at last the Lambchops saw clearly the planet it had taken so long to reach.
Tyrra was smallish as planets go, but nicely round and quite pretty, all in shades of brown with markings not unlike the oceans and continents of Earth. A pointy mountain came into sight, and beyond it a big field.
“There!” Stanley pressed the “Landing” button.
Whrooom! went the Star Scout’s rockets. The spaceship hovered, then touched down.
Peering out, the Lambchops saw only a brown field, with tan trees at the far side and brownish hills beyond.
“Curious,” said Mr. Lambchop. “Where are—”
Suddenly a message came, but not the sort they expected.
“Surrender, Earth people!” said the radio. “Your spaceship is trapped by our unbreakable trapping cable! You are prisoners of Tyrra! Surrender!”
The Tyrrans
Unbreakable trapping cable? Prisoners? Surrender? The Lambchops could scarcely believe their ears.
“I don’t call that peaceful,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Our President has been misled.”
“I wish we had gone to the seaside.” Mr. Lambchop shook his head. “But how are we trapped? I don’t—” He pointed to the Magnifying Window. “What’s that?”
A thin blue line, like a thread, had been passed over the Star Sco
ut. Stanley switched on the wiper above the big window and the first flick of its blade parted the blue line.
“Drat!” said the radio.
Other voices rose, startled, and then the deep voice spoke again. “Earth people! We’re sending a messenger! A regular, ordinary Tyrran, just to show what we’re like.”
For long moments, the Lambchops kept their eyes on the tan trees across the field.
“There!” Arthur said suddenly. “Coming toward—Oh! Oh, my …” His voice trailed away.
The Tyrran messenger came slowly forward to stand before the big window, a muscular, scowling young man with a curling mustache, wearing shorts and carrying a club.
The mustache was very large. The messenger was not.
“That man,” Mrs. Lambchop said slowly, “is only three inches tall.”
“At most,” Mr. Lambchop said. “It is a magnifying window.”
The Tyrran seemed to be calling something. Arthur opened the door a crack, and the words came clearly now. “… afraid to let us see you, Earth people? Because I’m so enormous? Hah! All Tyrrans are this big!”
Flinging the door wide, Arthur showed himself. “Well, I’m a small Earth person!” he shouted. “The rest are even bigger than me!”
“I, not me,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “And don’t tease, Arth— Oh! He’s fainted!”
Wetting her handkerchief with cold water, she jumped down from the Star Scout and ran to dab the Tyrran’s tiny brow.
Cries rose again from the spaceship’s radio. “A giant killed Ik! … There’s another, even bigger! … Oh, gross! … Look! Ik’s all right!”
The Tyrran, by grasping Mrs. Lambchop’s handkerchief, had indeed pulled himself up. Furious, he swung his club, but managed only to tap the top of her shoe. “Ouch! Scat!” she said, and he darted back across the field.
“Oh, my!” said the radio. “Never mind about surrendering, Earth people! A truce committee is on the way!”
At first they saw only a tiny flag, fluttering like a white butterfly far across the brown field, but at last the Tyrran committee drew close, and the Lambchops, waiting now outside the Star Scout, could make each little person out.
The flag was carried by the scowling young man with the mustache and the club. The other members of the committee, a bit smaller even than he, were a red-faced man wearing a uniform with medals across the chest, a stout lady in a yellow dress and a hat with flowers on it, and two older men in blue suits, one with wavy white hair, the other thin and bald.
The committee halted, staring bravely up.
“I am General Ap!” shouted the uniformed man. “Commander of all Tyrran forces!”
Stanley stepped forward. “Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop,” he said. “From Earth. These are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. George Lambchop. And my brother, Arthur.”
“President Ot of Tyrra, and Mrs. Ot,” said General Ap, indicating the wavy-haired man and the lady. “The bald chap is Dr. Ep, our Chief Scientist. The grouchy one with the flag is my aide, Captain Ik.”
No one seemed sure what to say next. A few polite remarks were exchanged—“Nice meeting you, Earth people!” … “Such a pretty planet, Tyrra!” … “Thank you. Were you very long in space?”—and Mr. Lambchop realized suddenly that the Tyrrans were uncomfortable talking almost straight up. He got down on his knees, the other Lambchops following his example, and the Tyrrans at once lowered their heads in relief.
“Right!” said General Ap. “All reasonable people here! A truce, eh?”
“I’m for war, frankly,” growled Captain Ik, but Stanley pretended not to hear. “A truce? Good idea,” he said. “We come in peace.”
Mrs. Ot sniffed. “Not very peaceful, frightening poor Captain Ik.” She pointed at Arthur. “That giant shouted at him!”
“My son is not a giant,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “It’s just that you Tyrrans are—how to put it?—unusually petite.”
“Ik’s the biggest we’ve got, actually,” said General Ap. “We hoped he’d scare you.”
President Ot raised his hand. “No harm done! Come! TyrraVille, our capital, is but a stroll away.”
The Lambchops, equipped now with handy magnifying lenses from the Star Scout’s science kit, followed the committee.
TyrraVille lay just across the brown field, behind the tan trees, no larger than an Earth-size tennis court.
TyrraVille
“Gosh!” Stanley said. “It makes me homesick, in a way.”
Except for its size, and the lack of greenness, the Tyrran capital was indeed much like a small village on Earth. A Main Street bustled with Tyrrans shopping and running errands; there were handsome school and public buildings, two churches with spires as high as Mr. Lambchop’s waist, and side streets of pretty houses with lawns like neat brown postage stamps.
Captain Ik, still angry, marched on ahead, but the rest of the committee halted at the head of Main Street.
“We’ll just show you around, eh?” said President Ot. “Safer, I think.”
The Lambchops saw at once the risk of walking streets scarcely wider than their feet. Escorted by the committee, they circled the little capital, bending often to make use of their magnifying lenses. Mrs. Ot took care to indicate points of particular interest, among them Ux Field, a sports center, Admiral Ux Square, Ux Park, and the Ux Science Center Building. (“Mrs. Ot’s grandfather,” whispered General Ap. “Very rich!”)
The tour caused a great stir. Everywhere the tiny citizens of TyrraVille waved from windows and rooftops. At the Science Center, the last stop, journalists took photographs, and the Lambchops were treated to Grape Fizzola, the Tyrran national drink, hundreds of bottles of which were emptied into four tubs to make Earth-size portions.
Refreshed by his Fizzola, Arthur took a little run and hurdled a large part of TyrraVille, landing in Ux Square. “Arthur!” Mrs. Lambchop scolded, and he hurdled back.
“Aren’t kids the dickens?” said a Tyrran mother, looking on. “Mine—Stop tugging, Herbert!” These last words seemed addressed to the ground beside her. “My youngest,” she explained.
Stanley squinted. “I can hardly—He’s just a dot.”
“Dot yourself!” said an angry voice. “Big-a-rooney! You’re the funny-looking one!”
“Herbert!” his mother said. “It is rude to make fun of people for their shape or size!”
“As I said myself, often, when Stanley was flat!” Mrs. Lambchop exclaimed. “If only—”
“Surrender, Earth people!”
The cry had come from Captain Ik, who appeared now from behind the Science Center, staggering beneath the weight of a boxlike machine almost as big as he was, with a tube sticking out of it.
“Surrender!” he shouted. “You cannot resist our Magno-Titanic Paralyzer Ray! Tyrra will yet be saved!”
“There’s a truce, Ik!” barked General Ap. “You can’t—”
“Yes, I can! First—Ooops!” Captain Ik’s knees had buckled, but he recovered himself. “First I’ll paralyze the one who scared me back there in the field!”
Yellow light flickered up at Arthur from the Magno-Titanic Paralyzer.
“Yikes!” said Arthur, as shrieks rose from the crowd.
But it was not on Arthur that the Magno-Titanic beam landed. Stanley had sprung forward to protect his brother, and the light shone now on his chest and shoulders. Mrs. Lambchop almost fainted.
Suddenly her fright was gone.
Stanley was smiling. The yellow rays still flickering upon him, he rolled his head and wiggled his hands to show that he was fine. “It’s nice, actually,” he said. “Like a massage.”
The crowd hooted. “It only works on people Tyrran-size!” someone called. “You’re a ninny, Ik!” Then Captain Ik was marched off by a Tyrran policeman, and the crowd, still laughing, drifted away.
Mrs. Lambchop spoke sternly to the committee. “‘Tyrra will yet be saved’? What did Captain Ik mean? And why, pray tell, did he attempt to paralyze my son?”
The Ots and Gener
al Ap exchanged glances. Dr. Ep stared at the ground.
“Ah!” said President Ot. “Well … The fact is, we’re having a … A crisis, actually. Yes. And Ik, well, he, ah—”
“Oh, tell them!” Mrs. Ot burst suddenly into tears. “About the Super-Gro! Tell, for heaven’s sake!”
Puzzled, the Lambchops stared at her. The sky had darkened, and now a light rain began to fall.
“Wettish, eh?” said General Ap. “Can’t offer shelter, I’m afraid. No place large enough.”
“The Star Scout will do nicely,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Let us return to it for tea.”
President Ot’s Story
“Tea does help. I am quite myself again.” Mrs. Ot nodded to her husband. “Go on, dear. Tell.”
Rain drummed faintly on the Star Scout, making even cozier the scene within. Around the dining table, the Lambchops occupied their usual places. The Tyrrans sat atop the table on thumbtacks pushed down to serve as stools, sipping from tiny cups Mrs. Lambchop had fashioned from aluminum foil, and nibbling crumbs of her homemade ginger snaps.
Now, sighing, President Ot set down his cup.
“You will have observed, Lambchops,” he said, “how greatly we have enjoyed these tasty refreshments. The fact is, Tyrra has for some time been totally without fresh food or water fit to drink. We live now only by what tins and bottles we had in store.”
Mrs. Ot made a face. “Pink meat spreads, and spinach. And that dreadful Fizzola.”
“A bit sweet, yes,” said General Ap. “Gives one gas, too. But—”
“Never mind!” cried Mrs. Ot.
President Ot continued. “The cause of our tragedy, Lambchops, was Super-Gro. An invention of Dr. Ep’s. Super-Gro, Ep promised, would double our crops, make them double size, double delicious as well. A great concept, he said.”
