THE VIOLATORS
By EANDO BINDER
Some wonderful odds and ends of Mother Earth
had escaped the fiery incinerator of Time. And
the most significant of all—metallic, angular
and ancient—Lem Starglitter Blake carried
proudly in his dirty old prospector's bag.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He was excited, the little man with the big find.
He drove his battered old space tub down at the world which lay frozenover and lifeless since long ago. But not completely abandoned. Farfrom it.
He joined the long line of ships making the pilgrimage to the ancient,original home of the human race. Below lay a transparent dome, thelargest Z-model of 100,000 capacity, into whose ample entry locks theships filed down, one by one. Some had to circle, waiting their turn.He licked his lips impatiently. At times he grinned and savored thedelay, in view of what lay ahead.
At last he chugged in and parked his grimy little tub beside shinyyachts and towering spaceliners and spacebuses. The canned air of thedome was fresh to his lungs, compared to the reek of his cabin. He duga tip out of his frayed jeans for the parking attendant, not quitedaring to snub him. He winced at the sneer over the small coin.
But no more sneers like that, soon. And plenty more money, with what hehad in his bag. He smiled and mumbled as he walked away, swinging theleather bag at his side, bulging with something angular.
He filed his way among others toward the turnstiles leading to the mainexhibit area. Tourists, vacationers, families with kids, school groups,newsmen, galactic trotters, earnest scholars. You could find all typeshere, from every walk of life and from any distant planet, drawn likea magnet to this "must" for all travelers. It was the sight to seearound the Milky Way.
Certainly nothing could beat its appeal as the birthplace of mankind.Nothing, that is, except the gay and fabulous Carnival of Castor,whose attendance record could never be topped.
He tried to rush through the turnstile but was halted by the green-cladguard.
"I'm in a hurry, mister," he mumbled in his wispy voice, from anoxygen-burned throat. He began opening his bag. "Look what I found—"
The guard heard not a word. "We keep a register of all visitors toMother Earth. Name? Home World? Occupation?"
It was odd how even the guard's routine voice lowered a tone on thewords "Mother Earth."
"Lem Starglitter Blake," said the little old man in unkempt jeans andpatched boots.
The guard's lip twitched slightly. Lem Blake wished he had left out themiddle name. Why had parents of that generation taken to such frothynames? Red-faced, Blake went on with a rush. "Born on Antares IV.Prospector for ore strikes. But listen, I made the biggest strike ofall. Not ore but—"
"Next," said the guard.
Lem Blake swallowed the rest and moved on. People wouldn't treat himthat way later, he consoled himself in secret gloating, clutching hisbag. He could take it for a short time more without bitterness.
Another guard eyed the bag sternly. "I must warn you, sir, there is nosouvenir hunting allowed here. Understand, sir?"
"I'm not going to take anything," Blake tried to protest. "I'm bringingsomething—"
"Your bag will be emptied and examined when you leave," dismissed theguard.
They were all so big and important in their flashy uniforms. But justwait, thought Blake, ju