A PLANET FOR YOUR THOUGHTS
By JAMES NORMAN
With the grape-headed Uvans acting as the
brains of the Universe, Mankind no longer
needed to think for itself. So when a freebooter
like Bill Petrie began getting original ideas, he
caused a crisis that threatened the cosmos.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The first of the things to pass below him had round yellow eyesin the top of its head. The next one had an eye on each side, justbelow the ears. Soon they came in droves, crowding into the fantasticmarket-place, staring up at Bill with quizzical curiosity. There seemedto be no regularity at all about where they wore the eyes on theirheads.
Bill Petrie didn't attempt to move. He couldn't. His chafed neck andwrists were firmly clamped within the slots of a medieval pillory. Ashe hung there, sweltering in the heat, he wondered how long he hadbeen unconscious and how long in the pillory. Somehow, it was hard tobelieve he actually was where he was.
"Uva, north-ecliptic tangent, electric buzzer," he muttered fuzzily.
The Uva part of it made sense all right, but that was all. In thefast-paced life of 2451 A.D., Uva, or Planetoid eighty-one in theSirius north-ecliptic tangent, held a unique position in the universe.It was the most respected, yet least visited, body in the skies. Peoplecalled it the brain-register of the universe just as a certain dimlystoried Wall Street had once been the cash register of the Earth.
It was generally known that there were natives on Uva whose headsresembled strange clusters of grapes and whose eyes had a disconcertinghabit of never being in one regular place on their heads. Some yearsafter the discovery of Uva by the Gonzales "space-shot" it was foundthat the Uvans had a peculiarly facile brain. They could take anyproblem, no matter how tough, and crack it down into simple formula.You gave them a problem and an equals sign—they gave you the answer.It was a wonderful discovery.
Brains were no longer at a premium. Uvans did all the thinking,technicians did the work and the Interworld Government did theadministering. It was administrators that counted now.
Bill Petrie wasn't an administrator. He was a freebooter, one of thatrare, declassed group who still clung to the idea that they could dotheir own thinking instead of having it done for them.
He squinted hard at the Uvans who crowded beneath the pillory andshuddered. Something was wrong. The Uvans were supposed to be very mildand not at all addicted to the use of ancient tortures. This time heshut his eyes and held them that way, cutting out sight while he triedto think back.
He recalled the first scene: shooting upward to the top offices of theInterworld Fuel Monopoly....
Bill worked for the Monopoly as a kind of glorified errand boy.Everyone worked for monopolies in this day and age, freebooter or not.As he rode upward, he had an inkling that something important wasdisturbing the smoothly regulated mechanism of the world. The entireIWFM building buzzed with feverish activity.
"Another fuel crisis," Bill murmured thoughtfully. He stepped fromthe elevator and hurried down a hall to a door marked—CommissionerCastlebottom, Fuel. Bill rapped.
"Come in," said a voice. It was a smooth feminine voice, notCastlebottom's.
Bill entered and was stared at from behind a desk. The