Fantastic Stories Present the Galaxy Science Fiction Super Pack #1. Edgar Pangborn
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held up the largest and most expensive diamond I have ever seen.
I was just going to claim credit for this little gift when another appeared, and another, and a long line marching over the carpet like an ant trail. They came floating in under the door.
Now love is for vacations, and between my own sweet Florence and a diamond mine there is no comparison. I put on my dicyanin glasses and saw the baby diver was back and at work teleporting. I said so, but this time there were no hysterics from Florence.
“I was just thinking of him,” she said, “and wishing you had brought me a Jupiter diamond instead.”
“Well, honey, it looks as if you’ve got both.”
I watched her scrambling on the carpet, gathering handfuls of diamonds and not in the least interested in me.
On Antimony IX, the little divers switched from one space-time point to another simultaneously, and the baby diver had come back from the Solar Party Convention the same way. I thought of it and it came; Florence had just thought of it and here it was. But now it seemed to be flitting lightly from Earth to Jupiter and back with diamonds, so perhaps there was no interplanetary distance to a mind.
This had a future. I could see myself with a winter and a summer planet of my own, even happily paying Earth, Solar and Galactic taxes.
“Well, honey, don’t you worry,” I said. “You don’t like divers, so I’ll take it back and give you something else. Just leave it to Sol.”
“Take your foot off that diamond, Sol Jones! You gave me this dear little diver and he’s mine!”
*
She sat back on her heels and thought. The evidence of her thinking immediately came trickling through the door—Venusian opals set in a gold bracelet half a pound heavy, Martian sleeze furs, spider-web stockings, platinum belts. The room was beginning to look like a video fashion center, a Galactic merchandise mart. And after Florence put on a coat and opened the door, her ideas began to get bigger.
“This is fun!” she cried, teleporting like mad. “Why, I can have anything in the Galaxy just by thinking about it!”
“Now, honey, think of the benefits to humanity! This is too big to be used for personal gain. This should be dedicated—”
“This is dedicated to me, Sol Jones, so just you keep your fingers off it. Why, the cute little thing—look, he’s been out to Saturn for me!”
I made a decision. Think wide and grand, Sol Jones, I said. Sacrifice yourself for the greater good.
“Florence, honey, you know I love you. Will you marry me?”
That stopped her. “You mean it, Sol?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not just because of this diver?”
“Why, honey, how could you think such a thing? If I’d never brought it in for you, I’d still want to marry you.”
“You never said so before,” she said. “But okay. If you do it now. Right now, Sol Jones.”
So the merchandise stopped coming in while we plugged into the video and participated in a moving and legal ceremony. The marriage service was expensive, but after all we could teleport in a few thousand credit blanks from the Solar Treasury. Immediately after we had switched off, we did so.
“Are you sure you married me for myself, Sol?”
“I swear it, honey. No other thought entered my head. Just you.”
I made a few notes while Florence planned the house we would have, furnished with rare materials from anywhere. I thought one of the medium asteroids would do for a base for Sol Jones Intragalactic Transport. I could see it all, vast warehouses and immediate delivery of anything from anywhere. I wondered if there was a limit to the diver’s capacity, so Florence desired an encyclopedia and in it came, floating through the doorway.
“It says,” she read, “not much is known about Antimony IX divers because none have ever been known to leave their planet.”
“They probably need the stimulus of an educated mind,” I said. “Anyway, this one can get diamonds from Jupiter and so on, and that’s what matters.”
*
I kissed the wife of the President of Sol Jones Intragalactic and was interrupted by discreet tapping on the door. The manager of the Asteroid-Central beamed at us.
“Excuse,” he said. “But we understand you have just been married, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”
“Irrevocably,” I said.
“Felicitations. The Asteroid-Central will be sending up complimentary euphorics. There is just a small point, Mr. Jones. We notice you have a large selection of valuable gifts for the bride.”
He looked round the room and smiled at the piles of stuff Florence had thought of.
“Of course,” he went on, “we trust your stay will be pleasant and perhaps you will let us know if you will be wanting anything else.”
“I expect we will, but we’ll let you know,” I said.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones. It is merely that we noticed you had emptied every showcase on the ground floor and, a few moments ago, teleported the credit contents of the bar up here. Not of importance, really; it is all charged on your bill.”
“You saw it and didn’t stop it?” I yelled.
“Oh, no, Mr. Jones. We always make an exception for Antimony IX divers. Limited creatures, really, but good for our business. We get about one a month—smuggled in, you know. But the upkeep proves too expensive. Some women do shop without more than a passing thought, don’t they?”
I saw what he meant, but Mrs. Sol Jones took it very philosophically.
“Never mind, Sol—you have me.”
“Or vice versa, honey,” I said.
The Ignoble Savages
By Evelyn E. Smith
Snaddra had but one choice in its fight to afford to live belowground— underhandedly pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!
*
“Go Away from me, Skkiru,” Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm. “A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.”
“But the Earthmen aren’t due for another fifteen minutes,” Skkiru protested.
“Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity!” she exclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. “You don’t seem to realize, Skkiru, that this isn’t just a matter of minutes or hours. It’s forever.”
“Forever!” He looked at her incredulously. “You mean we’re going to keep this up as a permanent thing? You’re joking!”
Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn’t care about that. The sad, sweet way Larhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and when she said, “No, Skkiru, I am not joking,” a tiny pang of doubt and apprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.
“This is, in effect, good-by,” she continued. “We shall see each other again, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps you may be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.”
Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber. “Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!”
There was regret on the Dilettante’s thin face—an obviously insincere regret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas had always felt about the girl.
“I am sorry, Skkiru,” Bbulas intoned.