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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31964-h.zip b/31964-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..670f849 --- /dev/null +++ b/31964-h.zip diff --git a/31964-h/31964-h.htm b/31964-h/31964-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae20b62 --- /dev/null +++ b/31964-h/31964-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1005 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Brknk's Bounty, by Jerry Sohl + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.p1 { margin-left: 80%; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brknk's Bounty, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brknk's Bounty + +Author: Gerald Allan Sohl + +Illustrator: Kossin + +Release Date: April 12, 2010 [EBook #31964] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRKNK'S BOUNTY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction January 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="534" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>BRKNK'S BOUNTY</h1> +<p> </p> +<h3>By</h3> +<h2>JERRY SOHL</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by KOSSIN</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>From a feature writer to feature attraction—now there's a +real booze-to-riches success story!</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i2.jpg" alt="I" width="24" height="50" /></div> +<p> never thought I'd like circus life, but a year of it has changed me. +It's in my blood now and I suppose I'll never give it up—even if +they'd let me.</p> + +<p>This job is better than anything I could get in the newspaper racket. +I work all summer, it's true, but I get the winter off, though some of +the offers for winter work are mighty tempting. Maybe if I hadn't been +kicked off the paper, I'd be city editor now, knocking my brains out. +Who knows? But maybe I'd just be a rewrite man, or in the slot, +writing heads, or copyreading. But the thought of newspaper work after +all this appalls me.</p> + +<p>Trlk, the Sybillian, should be thanked for the whole thing, I suppose, +though it would be a grudging thank-you I'd give him, considering all +the trouble he caused. Still....</p> + +<p>I first saw him on a July morning at the beginning of the vacation +schedule, when four of us on the local side were trying to do five +people's work.</p> + +<p>My first inkling anything was wrong came when I returned from the +courthouse beat and stuck a sheet of paper in the typewriter to write +the probate court notes.</p> + +<p>I struck the keys. They wouldn't go all the way down. I opened the +cover plate, looked in to see what was wrong. I saw nothing, so I +tried again. Oscar Phipps, the city editor, was giving me the eye. I +figured maybe he was pulling a trick on me. But then I knew <i>he</i> +hadn't. He wasn't the type.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>he back space, tabular, margin release, shift and shift lock worked +perfectly. But the keys only went down a short way before they +stopped. All except one key. The cap <i>D</i>.</p> + +<p>I hit the <i>D</i>. It worked fine the first time, but not the second. I +tried all the keys again. This time only the <i>i</i> worked. Now I had +<i>Di</i>. I went ahead testing. Pretty soon I had</p> + +<p><i>Dimly</i></p> + +<p>Then came a space. A few letters more and it was</p> + +<p><i>Dimly drouse the dreary droves</i></p> + +<p>Phipps had one eyebrow raised. I lifted the cover plate again. +Quickly.</p> + +<p>There I saw a fuzzy thing. It whisked out of sight. I snapped the +plate down and held it down. The party I had been on the night before +hadn't been that good and I had had at least three hours' sleep.</p> + +<p>I tried typing again. I got nothing until I started a new line. Then +out came</p> + +<p><i>Primly prides the privy prose</i></p> + +<p>I banged up the plate, saw a blur of something slinking down between +the type bar levers again. Whatever it was, it managed to squeeze +itself out of sight in a most amazing way.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I said. "I know you're down there. What's the big idea?"</p> + +<p>Fuzzy squeezed his head up from the levers. The head looked like that +of a mouse, but it had teeth like a chipmunk and bright little black +beads for eyes. They looked right at me.</p> + +<p>"You go right ahead," he said in a shrill voice. "This is going to be +a great poem. Did you get all that alliteration there in those two +lines?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, will you get out of there? I've got work to do!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I've hit it at last. It was that four-stress iambic that +did it. It was iambic, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Go away," I said miserably.</p> + +<p>Fuzzy pulled the rest of himself out of the bars and stood on hind +feet. He crossed his forepaws in front of him, vibrated his long, +furry tail, and said defiantly, "No."</p> + +<p>"Look," I pleaded, "I'm not Don Marquis and you're not Archie and I +have work to do. Now will you <i>please</i> get out of this typewriter?"</p> + +<p>His tiny ears swiveled upward. "Who's Don Marquis? And Archie?"</p> + +<p>"Go to hell," I said. I slammed the cover down and looked up into the +cold eyes of Oscar Phipps who was standing next to my desk.</p> + +<p>"Who, may I ask," he said ominously, "do you think you're talking to?"</p> + +<p>"Take a look." I lifted the plate once again. Fuzzy was there on his +back, his legs crossed, his tail twitching.</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything," Phipps said.</p> + +<p>"You mean you can't see Fuzzy here?" I pointed to him, the end of my +finger an inch from his head. "Ouch!" I drew my hand away. "The little +devil bit me."</p> + +<p>"You're fired, Mr. Weaver," Phipps said in a tired voice. "Fired as of +right now. I'll arrange for two weeks' severance pay. And my advice to +you is to stay off the bottle or see a psychiatrist—or both. Not that +it'll do you any good. You never amounted to anything and you never +will."</p> + +<p>I would have taken a swipe at Fuzzy, but he had slunk out of sight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="38" height="40" /></div> +<p>uring the two erratic years I had been on the newspaper, I had passed +the city park every morning on my way to work, feeling an envy for +those who had nothing better to do than sit on the benches and +contemplate the nature of the Universe. Now I took myself there and +sat as I had seen others do, hoping to feel a kinship with these +unfortunates.</p> + +<p>But all I did was feel alone, frustrated and angry at Phipps. Maybe I +had been too convivial, maybe I had enjoyed night life too much, maybe +I hadn't given the paper my all. But I wasn't ready for the booby +hatch even if I had seen a fuzzy little thing that could talk.</p> + +<p>I drew a copy of <i>Editor and Publisher</i> from my pocket and was +scanning the "Help Wanted: Editorial" columns when out of the corner +of my eye I saw a blob of black moving along the walk.</p> + +<p>Turning handsprings, balancing himself precariously on the end of his +vibrating tail, running and waving his forepaws to get my attention +was Fuzzy.</p> + +<p>I groaned. "Please go away!" I covered my eyes so I wouldn't have to +look at him.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he piped.</p> + +<p>"Because you're a hallucination."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a hallucination," he said indignantly. "I'm real flesh and +blood. See?" He vibrated his tail so fast, I could hardly see it. Then +it stopped and stood straight out. "Lovely, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Look," I said, leaning far off the bench to speak to him, "I can +prove you're a hallucination."</p> + +<p>"You <i>can</i>?" he quavered. "How?"</p> + +<p>"Because Phipps couldn't see you."</p> + +<p>"That square? Hah! He would not have believed it if he had seen me."</p> + +<p>"You mean you—"</p> + +<p>He disappeared and reappeared like a flashing neon sign. "There!" he +said triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you let him see you then?" I asked, a little angry, but +pleased nonetheless with his opinion of Phipps. "Because you didn't, +you cost me my job."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="39" height="40" /></div> +<p>e waved a forepaw deprecatingly. "You didn't want to stay on that +hick sheet anyway."</p> + +<p>"It was a job."</p> + +<p>"Now you've got a better one."</p> + +<p>"Who's kidding whom?"</p> + +<p>"Together we'll write real literature."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about literature. My job is writing the news."</p> + +<p>"You'll be famous. With my help, of course."</p> + +<p>"Not with that 'dimly drouse' stuff."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!"</p> + +<p>"Where did you come from, Fuzzy?"</p> + +<p>"Do I ask you where you come from?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no—"</p> + +<p>"And my name's not Fuzzy. It's Trlk, pronounced Turlick and spelled +T-r-l-k."</p> + +<p>"My name's Larry Weaver, pronounced Lar-ree—"</p> + +<p>"I know. Look, you got a typewriter?"</p> + +<p>"A portable. At the apartment."</p> + +<p>"That will do."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you taking things for granted? I haven't said yet whether I +liked the idea."</p> + +<p>"Do you have any choice?"</p> + +<p>I looked at him, a couple of ounces of harmless-looking fur that had +already cost me my immediate future in the newspaper business.</p> + +<p>"I guess not," I said, hoping I could find a way to get rid of him if +things didn't work out right.</p> + +<p>And so began a strange collaboration, with Trlk perched on my shoulder +dictating stories into my ear while I typed them. He had definite +ideas about writing and I let him have his way. After all, I didn't +know anything about literature.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when he'd get stuck, he'd get down and pace the living room +rug. Other times he'd massage his tail, which was as long as he, +smoothing it with his tongue and meticulously arranging every hair on +it.</p> + +<p>"It's lovely, don't you think?" he often asked.</p> + +<p>And I'd say, "If you spent as much time working on this story as you +do admiring your tail, we'd get something done."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="542" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Sorry," he'd say, hopping on my shoulder again. "Where were we?"</p> + +<p>I'd read the last page and we'd be off again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_o.jpg" alt="O" width="38" height="40" /></div> +<p>ne day, Trlk crawled on a shelf to watch me shave, whiffed the +shaving lotion bottle, became excited and demanded I put a drop of it +in front of him. He lapped it up, sank blissfully back on his tail and +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Wonnerful," he squeaked. "Shimply wonnerful." He hiccupped.</p> + +<p>I let him sleep it off, but was always careful with the lotion after +that.</p> + +<p>Days stretched into weeks, my money was running low and the apartment +superintendent was pressing me for payment of the month's rent. I kept +telling him I'd pay as soon as the first checks came in.</p> + +<p>But only rejection slips came. First one, then two, then half a dozen.</p> + +<p>"They don't even read them!" Trlk wailed.</p> + +<p>"Of course they read them," I said. I showed him the sheets. They were +wrinkled from handling.</p> + +<p>"The post office did that," he countered.</p> + +<p>I showed him coffee spots on one page, cigarette burns on another.</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe—" he said, but I don't think anything would have +convinced him.</p> + +<p>When the last story came back, Trlk was so depressed, I felt sorrier +for him than I did for myself.</p> + +<p>It was time. We had been working hard. I got out a bottle.</p> + +<p>I poured a little lotion for Trlk.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon, we tackled the problem in earnest. We went to the +library, got a book on writing and took it home. After reading it from +cover to cover, I said, "Trlk, I think I've found the trouble with +your stories."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"You don't write about things you know, things that happened to you, +that you have observed." I showed him where it advised this in the +book.</p> + +<p>His eyes brightened. We went right to work.</p> + +<p>This time the stories glowed, but so did my cheeks. The narratives all +involved a man who lived in a hotel room. They recounted the seemingly +endless love affairs with his female visitors.</p> + +<p>"Why, Trlk!" I exclaimed. "How come you know about things like this?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="39" height="40" /></div> +<p>e confessed he had lived with such a man, a freelance writer who +never made the grade with his writing, but who had plenty of girl +friends who paid the freight.</p> + +<p>"He had a way with women," Trlk explained.</p> + +<p>"He certainly had," I said, reading again the last page he had +dictated.</p> + +<p>"He finally married an older woman with money. Then he gave up trying +to write."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame him," I said wistfully.</p> + +<p>"I had to find another writer. This time I decided to try a newspaper. +That's where I ran into you."</p> + +<p>"Don't remind me."</p> + +<p>Things got better after that. We began to get a few checks from +magazines. They were small checks, but they paid a few bills.</p> + +<p>The big blow fell, however, when Mr. Aldenrood, the superintendent, +came roaring upstairs one day clutching a sheaf of papers.</p> + +<p>"This stuff!" he screamed, waving the sheets before me. "The kids +found it in the waste paper. They're selling them a dime a sheet +around the neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"They're worth more than that," I said, regretting that Trlk and I +hadn't burned our rough drafts.</p> + +<p>"You're going to move," Mr. Aldenrood said, "at the earliest possible +instant." His face was apoplectic. "I'm giving you notice right +now—thirty days!" He turned and went out, muttering, "The idea of +anybody committing to paper—" and slammed the door.</p> + +<p>Two days later, I was seated at the typewriter, smoking a cigarette +and waiting for Trlk as he paced back and forth on the rug, tiny paws +clasped behind his back, talking to himself and working out a story +angle at the same time, when suddenly there appeared on the carpet +next to him a whole host of creatures just like him.</p> + +<p>I nearly gulped down my cigarette.</p> + +<p>Trlk let out a high-pitched screech of joy and ran over to them. They +wound their long tails around each other, clasped and unclasped them, +twined them together. It seemed a sort of greeting. Meanwhile, they +kept up a jabber that sounded like a 33-1/3 rpm record being played 78 +rpm.</p> + +<p>Finally, the biggest one detached himself from the group and gave Trlk +a tongue-lashing that would have done justice to a Phipps. Trlk hung +his head. Every time he tried to say something, the big one would +start in again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>t length the leader turned to me. "My name is Brknk, pronounced +burk-neck and spelled b-r-k-n-k."</p> + +<p>"And I'm Larry Weaver," I said, hoping they weren't relatives who were +going to stay. "That's pronounced Lar-ree—"</p> + +<p>"I know. We're from Sybilla III. Tourists. We include Earth in our +itinerary. It has some of the quaintest customs of all the inhabited +planets we visit. We're terribly sorry for all the inconveniences our +wayward Trlk here has caused you."</p> + +<p>"It was nothing," I said with a lightness I didn't feel.</p> + +<p>"Trlk had threatened to run off many times. He has a craze for +self-expression and your literature fascinates him. He has an +insatiable thirst—"</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="39" height="40" /></div> +<p>e turned to Trlk. "It's against the rules of the Galactic Tours to +make yourself visible to any of the inhabitants along the way. You +know that. And it's a prime offense to interfere with their lives. Do +you realize how many rules you have broken, how long we have been +looking for you?"</p> + +<p>"He did the best he could," I said hopefully. "As a matter of fact, we +were having considerable success with his—a literary project."</p> + +<p>"I understand you lost your job because of him. Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I encouraged him." I hoped there was some way I could ease +the sentence.</p> + +<p>"Trlk has committed grievous wrongs, Mr. Weaver. We must make it up to +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" Here was an angle I hadn't expected.</p> + +<p>"What can we do for you?"</p> + +<p>I considered a moment. "You mean a wish or something?"</p> + +<p>Brknk laughed. "Nothing like that. We're not magicians."</p> + +<p>"Well, I could stand a little cash."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," he said, and did look pained. "We can't interfere in +business. We don't have any of your currency and we are forbidden to +duplicate or steal it."</p> + +<p>He frowned and studied me. Suddenly his face brightened. He bawled +orders and several smaller Sybillians rushed forward and started +scampering all over me. One of them nipped a piece of flesh out of my +arm.</p> + +<p>"Ouch!" I yelped, rubbing the spot. "What are you doing?"</p> + +<p>"You humans are a proud race," Brknk explained. "I'll give you reason +to be prouder than the rest. We'll change your metabolism, your +endocrine balance, toughen your muscle fibers a thousandfold. We'll +make you the strongest man on Earth!"</p> + +<p>"Look," I said, "I don't want to be the strongest man on Earth."</p> + +<p>"Well, how about the world's champion boxer? We can speed up your +reflexes at least ten times."</p> + +<p>I shook my head. "I don't want that, either. Sounds too much like +work. Besides, I never liked getting into fights."</p> + +<p>Brknk scowled, called a huddle. They buzzed at each other, their tails +vibrating like mad. One of them finally yipped and everybody spun +around.</p> + +<p>Brknk beamed. "We've got it!"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>A little Sybillian I hadn't noticed jabbed something in my arm. I +winced and he nearly fell off. He retreated with injured pride.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Trlk," Brknk said.</p> + +<p>"What's supposed to happen?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It will be a glorious surprise," Brknk assured me. "You'll never +regret it. The only thing I ask is that you never tell anyone about +us."</p> + +<p>I promised.</p> + +<p>Trlk looked up at me. I noticed the beginning of tears in his eyes. I +reached down and patted him gently on the head.</p> + +<p>"So long, little fellow," I said. "It's been fun."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," he said sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>They vanished.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened for several days, so I bought a copy of <i>Editor and +Publisher</i> and was writing for my first job when I felt a tender spot +on my tail bone. When I examined it, I saw a protuberance there.</p> + +<p>There was no denying it. The Sybillians had given me what they +treasured most.</p> + +<p>I was growing a tail—a long, hairy tail.</p> + +<p>As I say, I have come to like circus life.</p> + +<p>At first I tried to get doctors to cut it off, but they were too +curious for that. Then I thought of jumping in the river or putting a +bullet through my head.</p> + +<p>But after I saw what the scientists were making of it, when I viewed +my picture in all the papers, and when I saw the awe with which I was +regarded by everyone, I changed my mind.</p> + +<p>Now I make a cool twenty-five thousand a year without lifting a +finger.</p> + +<p>Just my tail.</p> + +<p>I've become rather fond of it. I've even learned how to vibrate it.</p> + +<p>But I've never told anyone about the Sybillians. They wouldn't believe +it.</p> + +<p>Not old Phipps, anyway.</p> + +<p>Some day I'll go and vibrate my tail right in his face. I'd never +amount to anything, eh? Let's see <i>him</i> grow a tail!</p> + +<p class="p1">—<b>JERRY SOHL</b></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brknk's Bounty, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRKNK'S BOUNTY *** + +***** This file should be named 31964-h.htm or 31964-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/6/31964/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brknk's Bounty + +Author: Gerald Allan Sohl + +Illustrator: Kossin + +Release Date: April 12, 2010 [EBook #31964] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRKNK'S BOUNTY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction January 1955. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + BRKNK'S BOUNTY + + + By + + JERRY SOHL + + + Illustrated by KOSSIN + + + From a feature writer to feature attraction--now there's a + real booze-to-riches success story! + + * * * * * + + + + +I never thought I'd like circus life, but a year of it has changed me. +It's in my blood now and I suppose I'll never give it up--even if +they'd let me. + +This job is better than anything I could get in the newspaper racket. +I work all summer, it's true, but I get the winter off, though some of +the offers for winter work are mighty tempting. Maybe if I hadn't been +kicked off the paper, I'd be city editor now, knocking my brains out. +Who knows? But maybe I'd just be a rewrite man, or in the slot, +writing heads, or copyreading. But the thought of newspaper work after +all this appalls me. + +Trlk, the Sybillian, should be thanked for the whole thing, I suppose, +though it would be a grudging thank-you I'd give him, considering all +the trouble he caused. Still.... + +I first saw him on a July morning at the beginning of the vacation +schedule, when four of us on the local side were trying to do five +people's work. + +My first inkling anything was wrong came when I returned from the +courthouse beat and stuck a sheet of paper in the typewriter to write +the probate court notes. + +I struck the keys. They wouldn't go all the way down. I opened the +cover plate, looked in to see what was wrong. I saw nothing, so I +tried again. Oscar Phipps, the city editor, was giving me the eye. I +figured maybe he was pulling a trick on me. But then I knew _he_ +hadn't. He wasn't the type. + + * * * * * + +The back space, tabular, margin release, shift and shift lock worked +perfectly. But the keys only went down a short way before they +stopped. All except one key. The cap _D_. + +I hit the _D_. It worked fine the first time, but not the second. I +tried all the keys again. This time only the _i_ worked. Now I had +_Di_. I went ahead testing. Pretty soon I had + +_Dimly_ + +Then came a space. A few letters more and it was + +_Dimly drouse the dreary droves_ + +Phipps had one eyebrow raised. I lifted the cover plate again. +Quickly. + +There I saw a fuzzy thing. It whisked out of sight. I snapped the +plate down and held it down. The party I had been on the night before +hadn't been that good and I had had at least three hours' sleep. + +I tried typing again. I got nothing until I started a new line. Then +out came + +_Primly prides the privy prose_ + +I banged up the plate, saw a blur of something slinking down between +the type bar levers again. Whatever it was, it managed to squeeze +itself out of sight in a most amazing way. + +"Hey!" I said. "I know you're down there. What's the big idea?" + +Fuzzy squeezed his head up from the levers. The head looked like that +of a mouse, but it had teeth like a chipmunk and bright little black +beads for eyes. They looked right at me. + +"You go right ahead," he said in a shrill voice. "This is going to be +a great poem. Did you get all that alliteration there in those two +lines?" + +"Listen, will you get out of there? I've got work to do!" + +"Yes, I think I've hit it at last. It was that four-stress iambic that +did it. It was iambic, wasn't it?" + +"Go away," I said miserably. + +Fuzzy pulled the rest of himself out of the bars and stood on hind +feet. He crossed his forepaws in front of him, vibrated his long, +furry tail, and said defiantly, "No." + +"Look," I pleaded, "I'm not Don Marquis and you're not Archie and I +have work to do. Now will you _please_ get out of this typewriter?" + +His tiny ears swiveled upward. "Who's Don Marquis? And Archie?" + +"Go to hell," I said. I slammed the cover down and looked up into the +cold eyes of Oscar Phipps who was standing next to my desk. + +"Who, may I ask," he said ominously, "do you think you're talking to?" + +"Take a look." I lifted the plate once again. Fuzzy was there on his +back, his legs crossed, his tail twitching. + +"I don't see anything," Phipps said. + +"You mean you can't see Fuzzy here?" I pointed to him, the end of my +finger an inch from his head. "Ouch!" I drew my hand away. "The little +devil bit me." + +"You're fired, Mr. Weaver," Phipps said in a tired voice. "Fired as of +right now. I'll arrange for two weeks' severance pay. And my advice to +you is to stay off the bottle or see a psychiatrist--or both. Not that +it'll do you any good. You never amounted to anything and you never +will." + +I would have taken a swipe at Fuzzy, but he had slunk out of sight. + + * * * * * + +During the two erratic years I had been on the newspaper, I had passed +the city park every morning on my way to work, feeling an envy for +those who had nothing better to do than sit on the benches and +contemplate the nature of the Universe. Now I took myself there and +sat as I had seen others do, hoping to feel a kinship with these +unfortunates. + +But all I did was feel alone, frustrated and angry at Phipps. Maybe I +had been too convivial, maybe I had enjoyed night life too much, maybe +I hadn't given the paper my all. But I wasn't ready for the booby +hatch even if I had seen a fuzzy little thing that could talk. + +I drew a copy of _Editor and Publisher_ from my pocket and was +scanning the "Help Wanted: Editorial" columns when out of the corner +of my eye I saw a blob of black moving along the walk. + +Turning handsprings, balancing himself precariously on the end of his +vibrating tail, running and waving his forepaws to get my attention +was Fuzzy. + +I groaned. "Please go away!" I covered my eyes so I wouldn't have to +look at him. + +"Why?" he piped. + +"Because you're a hallucination." + +"I'm not a hallucination," he said indignantly. "I'm real flesh and +blood. See?" He vibrated his tail so fast, I could hardly see it. Then +it stopped and stood straight out. "Lovely, isn't it?" + +"Look," I said, leaning far off the bench to speak to him, "I can +prove you're a hallucination." + +"You _can_?" he quavered. "How?" + +"Because Phipps couldn't see you." + +"That square? Hah! He would not have believed it if he had seen me." + +"You mean you--" + +He disappeared and reappeared like a flashing neon sign. "There!" he +said triumphantly. + +"Why didn't you let him see you then?" I asked, a little angry, but +pleased nonetheless with his opinion of Phipps. "Because you didn't, +you cost me my job." + + * * * * * + +He waved a forepaw deprecatingly. "You didn't want to stay on that +hick sheet anyway." + +"It was a job." + +"Now you've got a better one." + +"Who's kidding whom?" + +"Together we'll write real literature." + +"I don't know anything about literature. My job is writing the news." + +"You'll be famous. With my help, of course." + +"Not with that 'dimly drouse' stuff." + +"Oh, that!" + +"Where did you come from, Fuzzy?" + +"Do I ask you where you come from?" + +"Well, no--" + +"And my name's not Fuzzy. It's Trlk, pronounced Turlick and spelled +T-r-l-k." + +"My name's Larry Weaver, pronounced Lar-ree--" + +"I know. Look, you got a typewriter?" + +"A portable. At the apartment." + +"That will do." + +"Aren't you taking things for granted? I haven't said yet whether I +liked the idea." + +"Do you have any choice?" + +I looked at him, a couple of ounces of harmless-looking fur that had +already cost me my immediate future in the newspaper business. + +"I guess not," I said, hoping I could find a way to get rid of him if +things didn't work out right. + +And so began a strange collaboration, with Trlk perched on my shoulder +dictating stories into my ear while I typed them. He had definite +ideas about writing and I let him have his way. After all, I didn't +know anything about literature. + +Sometimes, when he'd get stuck, he'd get down and pace the living room +rug. Other times he'd massage his tail, which was as long as he, +smoothing it with his tongue and meticulously arranging every hair on +it. + +"It's lovely, don't you think?" he often asked. + +And I'd say, "If you spent as much time working on this story as you +do admiring your tail, we'd get something done." + +[Illustration: ] + +"Sorry," he'd say, hopping on my shoulder again. "Where were we?" + +I'd read the last page and we'd be off again. + + * * * * * + +One day, Trlk crawled on a shelf to watch me shave, whiffed the +shaving lotion bottle, became excited and demanded I put a drop of it +in front of him. He lapped it up, sank blissfully back on his tail and +sighed. + +"Wonnerful," he squeaked. "Shimply wonnerful." He hiccupped. + +I let him sleep it off, but was always careful with the lotion after +that. + +Days stretched into weeks, my money was running low and the apartment +superintendent was pressing me for payment of the month's rent. I kept +telling him I'd pay as soon as the first checks came in. + +But only rejection slips came. First one, then two, then half a dozen. + +"They don't even read them!" Trlk wailed. + +"Of course they read them," I said. I showed him the sheets. They were +wrinkled from handling. + +"The post office did that," he countered. + +I showed him coffee spots on one page, cigarette burns on another. + +"Well, maybe--" he said, but I don't think anything would have +convinced him. + +When the last story came back, Trlk was so depressed, I felt sorrier +for him than I did for myself. + +It was time. We had been working hard. I got out a bottle. + +I poured a little lotion for Trlk. + +The next afternoon, we tackled the problem in earnest. We went to the +library, got a book on writing and took it home. After reading it from +cover to cover, I said, "Trlk, I think I've found the trouble with +your stories." + +"What is it?" + +"You don't write about things you know, things that happened to you, +that you have observed." I showed him where it advised this in the +book. + +His eyes brightened. We went right to work. + +This time the stories glowed, but so did my cheeks. The narratives all +involved a man who lived in a hotel room. They recounted the seemingly +endless love affairs with his female visitors. + +"Why, Trlk!" I exclaimed. "How come you know about things like this?" + + * * * * * + +He confessed he had lived with such a man, a freelance writer who +never made the grade with his writing, but who had plenty of girl +friends who paid the freight. + +"He had a way with women," Trlk explained. + +"He certainly had," I said, reading again the last page he had +dictated. + +"He finally married an older woman with money. Then he gave up trying +to write." + +"I don't blame him," I said wistfully. + +"I had to find another writer. This time I decided to try a newspaper. +That's where I ran into you." + +"Don't remind me." + +Things got better after that. We began to get a few checks from +magazines. They were small checks, but they paid a few bills. + +The big blow fell, however, when Mr. Aldenrood, the superintendent, +came roaring upstairs one day clutching a sheaf of papers. + +"This stuff!" he screamed, waving the sheets before me. "The kids +found it in the waste paper. They're selling them a dime a sheet +around the neighborhood." + +"They're worth more than that," I said, regretting that Trlk and I +hadn't burned our rough drafts. + +"You're going to move," Mr. Aldenrood said, "at the earliest possible +instant." His face was apoplectic. "I'm giving you notice right +now--thirty days!" He turned and went out, muttering, "The idea of +anybody committing to paper--" and slammed the door. + +Two days later, I was seated at the typewriter, smoking a cigarette +and waiting for Trlk as he paced back and forth on the rug, tiny paws +clasped behind his back, talking to himself and working out a story +angle at the same time, when suddenly there appeared on the carpet +next to him a whole host of creatures just like him. + +I nearly gulped down my cigarette. + +Trlk let out a high-pitched screech of joy and ran over to them. They +wound their long tails around each other, clasped and unclasped them, +twined them together. It seemed a sort of greeting. Meanwhile, they +kept up a jabber that sounded like a 33-1/3 rpm record being played 78 +rpm. + +Finally, the biggest one detached himself from the group and gave Trlk +a tongue-lashing that would have done justice to a Phipps. Trlk hung +his head. Every time he tried to say something, the big one would +start in again. + + * * * * * + +At length the leader turned to me. "My name is Brknk, pronounced +burk-neck and spelled b-r-k-n-k." + +"And I'm Larry Weaver," I said, hoping they weren't relatives who were +going to stay. "That's pronounced Lar-ree--" + +"I know. We're from Sybilla III. Tourists. We include Earth in our +itinerary. It has some of the quaintest customs of all the inhabited +planets we visit. We're terribly sorry for all the inconveniences our +wayward Trlk here has caused you." + +"It was nothing," I said with a lightness I didn't feel. + +"Trlk had threatened to run off many times. He has a craze for +self-expression and your literature fascinates him. He has an +insatiable thirst--" + +"I know." + + * * * * * + +He turned to Trlk. "It's against the rules of the Galactic Tours to +make yourself visible to any of the inhabitants along the way. You +know that. And it's a prime offense to interfere with their lives. Do +you realize how many rules you have broken, how long we have been +looking for you?" + +"He did the best he could," I said hopefully. "As a matter of fact, we +were having considerable success with his--a literary project." + +"I understand you lost your job because of him. Is that right?" + +"Yes, but I encouraged him." I hoped there was some way I could ease +the sentence. + +"Trlk has committed grievous wrongs, Mr. Weaver. We must make it up to +you." + +"Oh?" Here was an angle I hadn't expected. + +"What can we do for you?" + +I considered a moment. "You mean a wish or something?" + +Brknk laughed. "Nothing like that. We're not magicians." + +"Well, I could stand a little cash." + +"I'm sorry," he said, and did look pained. "We can't interfere in +business. We don't have any of your currency and we are forbidden to +duplicate or steal it." + +He frowned and studied me. Suddenly his face brightened. He bawled +orders and several smaller Sybillians rushed forward and started +scampering all over me. One of them nipped a piece of flesh out of my +arm. + +"Ouch!" I yelped, rubbing the spot. "What are you doing?" + +"You humans are a proud race," Brknk explained. "I'll give you reason +to be prouder than the rest. We'll change your metabolism, your +endocrine balance, toughen your muscle fibers a thousandfold. We'll +make you the strongest man on Earth!" + +"Look," I said, "I don't want to be the strongest man on Earth." + +"Well, how about the world's champion boxer? We can speed up your +reflexes at least ten times." + +I shook my head. "I don't want that, either. Sounds too much like +work. Besides, I never liked getting into fights." + +Brknk scowled, called a huddle. They buzzed at each other, their tails +vibrating like mad. One of them finally yipped and everybody spun +around. + +Brknk beamed. "We've got it!" + +"What is it?" + +A little Sybillian I hadn't noticed jabbed something in my arm. I +winced and he nearly fell off. He retreated with injured pride. + +"Come along, Trlk," Brknk said. + +"What's supposed to happen?" I asked. + +"It will be a glorious surprise," Brknk assured me. "You'll never +regret it. The only thing I ask is that you never tell anyone about +us." + +I promised. + +Trlk looked up at me. I noticed the beginning of tears in his eyes. I +reached down and patted him gently on the head. + +"So long, little fellow," I said. "It's been fun." + +"Good-by," he said sorrowfully. + +They vanished. + +Nothing happened for several days, so I bought a copy of _Editor and +Publisher_ and was writing for my first job when I felt a tender spot +on my tail bone. When I examined it, I saw a protuberance there. + +There was no denying it. The Sybillians had given me what they +treasured most. + +I was growing a tail--a long, hairy tail. + +As I say, I have come to like circus life. + +At first I tried to get doctors to cut it off, but they were too +curious for that. Then I thought of jumping in the river or putting a +bullet through my head. + +But after I saw what the scientists were making of it, when I viewed +my picture in all the papers, and when I saw the awe with which I was +regarded by everyone, I changed my mind. + +Now I make a cool twenty-five thousand a year without lifting a +finger. + +Just my tail. + +I've become rather fond of it. I've even learned how to vibrate it. + +But I've never told anyone about the Sybillians. They wouldn't believe +it. + +Not old Phipps, anyway. + +Some day I'll go and vibrate my tail right in his face. I'd never +amount to anything, eh? Let's see _him_ grow a tail! + + --JERRY SOHL + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brknk's Bounty, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRKNK'S BOUNTY *** + +***** This file should be named 31964.txt or 31964.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/6/31964/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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