GOMA'S FOLLICLES
By JOHN and DOROTHY de COURCY
New planets—new conditions ... unforeseeable,
difficult and dangerous to overcome. Granted.
Still, who'd have thought getting a haircut on
Procyon IV could be a matter of life and death?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Franklin was the newest and best ship of the Morgan Interstellar Transportation Corporation. It was plain from the Captain's pouter-pigeon stance that he too was aware of this fact. The only jarring note in Captain Webster's mind was the unscheduled stop at Procyon IV. He glanced again at the yellow blank in his hand, his lips moving slightly as he re-read it.
"Captain Webster, Commanding S. S. Franklin, enroute to earth. Make contact with Procyon IV. Passenger for earth waiting at Iridium City. Necessary time will be allowed on your schedule. Chief Dispatcher."
Captain Webster crumpled the message into a ball and threw it on the floor.
"Whistle stop!" he growled. His anger was motivated by the fact that he had hoped to set a new record with the Franklin and the last thing he desired was time added to his schedule. "If he isn't ready and waiting when we land," the Captain muttered, "he can walk to earth!"
The Franklin came out of sub-space drive. The navigator had no difficulty finding Procyon's fourth planet, but it took much studious peering to find the tiny earth colony. It turned out to be a dot about three miles in diameter, a mining settlement. In a few minutes, the giant ship settled gently into a rickety landing cradle. A spaceman pressed the unlocking studs and the passenger port opened with a hiss. The gangway slid neatly out and made contact with the shaky steps.