A BAD DAY FOR VERMIN
BY KEITH LAUMER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction February 1964.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They came In friendship and love.
They couldn't help the way they looked!
Judge Carter Gates of the Third Circuit Court finished his chickensalad on whole wheat, thoughtfully crumpled the waxed paper bag andturned to drop it in the waste basket behind his chair—and sattransfixed.
Through his second-floor office window, he saw a forty-footflower-petal shape of pale turquoise settling gently between thewell-tended petunia beds on the courthouse lawn. On the upper, or stemend of the vessel, a translucent pink panel popped up and a slender,graceful form not unlike a large violet caterpillar undulated intoview.
Judge Gates whirled to the telephone. Half an hour later, he put it tothe officials gathered with him in a tight group on the lawn.
"Boys, this thing is intelligent; any fool can see that. It's puttingtogether what my boy assures me is some kind of talking machine, andany minute now it's going to start communicating. It's been twentyminutes since I notified Washington on this thing. It won't be longbefore somebody back there decides this is top secret and slaps afreeze on us here that will make the Manhattan Project look like apublicity campaign. Now, I say this is the biggest thing that everhappened to Plum County—but if we don't aim to be put right out of thepicture, we'd better move fast."
"What you got in mind, Jedge?"
"I propose we hold an open hearing right here in the courthouse,the minute that thing gets its gear to working. We'll put it on theair—Tom Clembers from the radio station's already stringing wires,I see. Too bad we've got no TV equipment, but Jody Hurd has a moviecamera. We'll put Willow Grove on the map bigger'n Cape Canaveral everwas."
"We're with you on that, Carter!"
Ten minutes after the melodious voice of the Fianna's translator hadrequested escort to the village headman, the visitor was looking overthe crowded courtroom with an expression reminiscent of a St. Bernardpuppy hoping for a romp. The rustle of feet and throat-clearingsubsided and the speaker began:
"People of the Green World, happy the cycle—"
Heads turned at the clump of feet coming down the side aisle; aheavy-torsoed man of middle age, bald, wearing a khaki shirt andtrousers and rimless glasses and with a dark leather holster slappinghis hip at each step, cleared the end of the front row of seats,planted himself, feet apart, yanked a heavy nickel-plated .44 revolverfrom the holster, took aim and fired five shots into the body of theFianna at a range of ten feet.
The violet form whipped convulsively, writhed from the bench to thefloor with a sound like a wet fire hose being dropped, uttered agasping twitter, and lay still. The gunman turned, dropped the pistol,threw up his hands, and called:
"Sheriff Hoskins, I'm puttin' myself in yer pertective custody."
There was a moment of stunned silence; then a rush of spectators forthe alien. The sheriff's three-hundred-and-nine-pound bulk belliedthrough the shouting mob to take up a stand before the khaki-clad man.
"I always knew you was a mean one, Cecil Stump," he said, unlimberinghandcuffs, "ever since I seen you makin' up them ground-glass baits forJoe Potter's dog. But I never thought I'd see you turn to cold-blo