Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
STOPOVER PLANET
_By Robert E. Gilbert_
Early morning deliveries were part of the Honeychile Bakery Service. But on this particular morning the service was reversed!
At 2:34 a.m., Patrolman Louis Whedbee left the Zip Cab station. Witharch supports squeaking and night stick swinging, Whedbee walked east tothe call box at the corner of Sullivan and Cherokee. The traffic signalsuspended above the intersection blinked a cautionary amber. Not a carmoved on the silent streets.
Whedbee reached for the box. Then he swore softly and stepped off thecurb. "Pardon me," he said, for he believed that a policeman should becourteous at all times, even when arresting a school zone speedster.This, however, was not a speedster. It seemed to be a huge man standingon top of a truck and cutting down the stop light. "What's going onhere?" Whedbee asked.
HONEYCHILE BAKERY was advertised on the side of the truck.Instinctively, Whedbee jammed his whistle in his mouth when he realizedthat the man on the truck wore something like a suit of long underwearmade of improbable black fur sprinkled with tiny red spots.
"What are you doing to the stop light?" Whedbee demanded.
The amber light quit blinking without the expected electrical display.Sinuous as beheaded snakes, the wires and cables supporting the trafficsignal fell into the street. The unusual man pocketed his cuttingtool--a long thin tube--and lowered the stop light to the truck. Helooked at Whedbee. The corner street lamp reacted upon his eyes like aflashlight thrown on a tomcat in an alley. The eyes gleamed green.
Whedbee's whistle arced to the end of the chain and clanked against hismetal buttons. A block away on Center Street, a heavy truck roaredthrough the business section. The bell of a switch engine tolled nearthe freight depot, and a small dog barked suddenly at the obscured sky.
"I am promoting you to captain. You will replace Hanks, whom I amdemoting," the figure on the truck announced.
"Chief Grindstaff?" Whedbee wondered.
The chief of police glared down at the patrolman. He hooked a brightmetal globe to the stop light, lifted it in one hand, and jumped,landing lightly on the pavement. "Put this in the mobile unit," he said."The truck, I evil."
"Huh? Sure, chief," Whedbee said. He tucked his night stick under hisarm and prepared to accept a heavy load. Tensed muscles almost felledhim when the signal proved to weigh not more than one pound.
Chief Grindstaff opened the doors in the rear of the truck, releasing afaint odor of stale bread. The truck was empty. Whedbee deposited thealmost weightless burden. The chief looked him in the eye. "I ampromoting you to captain," he repeated. "You will replace Hanks, whom Iam demoting."
"Thanks, chief!" Whedbee exalted. "You know Hanks didn't treat me fairthat time I--"
"Yes, I know all about that," the chief interposed. "Go bring thepostage box and place it in the truck."
"The which? Oh, you mean the mailbox!" Whedbee walked across the streetto the square green box with the rounded metal top. Another of theglobes had been attached to the mailbox, and the legs had been burnedloose from the concrete sidewalk. Confidently, Whedbee lifted the lightobject, carried it to the truck, and deposited it inside.
"Bleachers there," said Chief Grindstaff.
"What you say, chief?"
"Stands there. No, stand there."
Patrolman Whedbee stood by the back of the truck. Chief Grindstaffplaced a device like an atomizer under Whedbee's nose and released thespray.
* * * * *
Miss Betsy Tapp awoke after not more than one hour of fitful sleep. Thedoor to the garage apartment shook under the tattoo of a heavy fist.Miss Tapp's heart thudded somewhere inside her thirty-eight-inch bosom.She lay rigid in darkness penetrated only by the glimmer of a distantstreet light.
The knocking ceased. Boards creaked on the platform outside the door. Aface appeared at the window, a face in complete shadow except for twoeyes that glowed with greenish light.
Miss Tapp, unaware of the disarray of her nightgown, sat upright. Thealarm clock on the floor by the bed clacked in the stillness. The tap inthe kitchen cubicle dripped. Timbers, contracting in the cool of earlymorning, popped faintly.
"I need to marry you," the face said. "I was wrong tonight. Forgive me."
"Fred?" Miss Tapp gasped in sudden joy.
"Open the portal," Fred said.
Wrenching metal curlers from her permanently waved hair, Miss Tappbounded to the door. She released the catch and threw herself at thefigure on the landing. Fred purred, "I want to marry you. I was wrongtonight. Forgive me."
"Oh, Fred," Miss Tapp sighed. "I knew you'd come back! You just had toomuch to drink! I forgive you, Fred! We'll--"
"Yes. Bring your rayon crepe with tall tucking."
"What, Fred?"
"Bring your garb, your clothing. Hurry."
Miss Tapp skillfully fought a blush. "Oh, Fred! I'm sorry. I'll bedressed in a minute!"
Fred slowly stated, "I want to marry you. I was wrong tonight. Forgiveme." He walked into the apartment and rapidly gathered and rolledtogether the dress and undergarments scattered on and about the chair.He stuffed the spike-heeled shoes into pockets of his black fur suit andlifted Miss Tapp in his arms.
"We're eloping!" Miss Tapp sighed as Fred carried her down the outsidestairs. A _Honeychile Bakery_ truck, with rear doors open, waited in thedriveway. Fred tossed the roll of clothing and the slippers into thetruck, and swiftly sprayed Miss Tapp.
* * * * *
An unearthly glow permeated the bedroom and cast the black shadows ofheavy furniture against the faded papered walls. Within the glow, twodots of green flickered. The Reverend Enos Shackelford dropped oncreaking knees and bowed his grizzled head.
A voice said, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and followme."
"Lord," said Reverend Shackelford, "I have served thee faithfully allthe days of my life. Remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.Remember also--"
"Yes. Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and follow me."
Shackelford stood on tottering old legs. His nightshirt hung below hisknees. Horrified shock blanched his lined face. "Blasphemer!" he cried."False prophet! Get thee behind me, Satan!"
The glow danced and faded. A towering black shape pointed a bent rod.The rod hissed. The Reverend Shackelford staggered against a smalltable, dragging it with him to the floor. He lay still with one gnarledold hand on a large golden-edged book that had fallen from the table.
* * * * *
"You're fired," the man in the dream said over and over.
Calvin C. Kear rolled off the half-bed, struck the floor, and awoke."First time I've fallen out of bed in years," he groaned. His shakinghand fumbled with the switch and succeeded in turning on the lamp.
Mrs. Calvin C. Kear sprawled on her back in the other bed and snored."You and your fifteen-thousand-dollar house," Kear muttered. He combedhis thinning hair with his fingers. "You and your sterling silver. Youand your chosen pattern. Your service for eight. How far do you thinkfifty-four dollars a week will go with 12-gauge shells three and aquarter a box?"
Green eyes glittered beside the frilly dressing table. The man standingthere said, "I'm not igniting you. I'm giving you a bonus for your finework. Enough currency to pay the loan on this house. You'll be makingtwo hundred per week. This fall, I'll take you hunting at my place inthe country."
"Boss?" Kear mumbled. "I mean, Mr. Darmond?"
"Put on your clothing," the boss said. "I'll show you your new office.You may have a secretary, also. I'm not firin
g you. I'm giving you abonus."
Kear sat gasping on the floor. "That's great, boss!" he exclaimed. "Ithought I did an extra special job on the plastics mill design. It'llmean a lot to the company. We--"
"Yes. Dress quickly."
Kear threw off his pajamas and started stuffing arms and legs into hisclothes. Mrs. Kear opened her eyes and squeaked like a dying rabbit.
The bent rod in the boss's hand hissed, and Mrs. Kear stopped squeaking.
With tie flapping, shirt unbuttoned, shoes unlaced, Kear followed theboss through the living room and down the flagstone walk to the street.The boss opened the doors of the _Honeychile Bakery_ truck and