g, missing his
foothold, pulling himself up with clutching hands. He threw himself
through the airlock and slammed the massive door behind him.

He ran through the metal corridors to the control room. They must be on
the ladder, he thought, prying at the airlock with their metal swords.
He pressed switches, slammed down on the throttle, and the sweet music
of the rockets came and pressed him into his seat.

He looked down at the planet dwindling into space below him and he
laughed hysterically, thinking of the narrow escape he'd had. No more
planets for him, no more trying to skin anyone.

* * * * *

"There it goes," the Space Patrolman said, watching the rocket rise.

Harding trembled with helpless rage. "That blasted fool Sheckly'll lead
you right to the money, too," he complained.

"That's the way we planned it," the Patrolman smiled. "I must compliment
our native friends on their fine acting. Your pal took off like a scared
rabbit."

"Yeah," Harding grimaced, clenching his fists as though wishing he had
someone's neck in them.

"Don't blame your friend too much," the Patrolman advised. "Whether you
realize it or not, the fact that you were consciously avoiding our
schedules caused you to follow a pattern in your visits to these
outerspace planets; we just figured a bit ahead of you and posted hidden
patrols on all the inhabited planets in this sector, knowing that sooner
or later you'd land on one of them. We spotted your ship last night and
hurried over by 'copter so we wouldn't be seen."

"Forget the synopsis," Harding growled. "You walked in when these
blasted lizards were making believe they were going to skin me alive.
They didn't have to act so realistic about it."

"You're wrong about one thing," the Patrolman said. "The act didn't
start until after we arrived to direct it."

Harding looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

"We arrived, as the books say, just in time," the Patrolman told him.
"They _weren't_ making believe." He offered a bowl of fruit to his
prisoner. "We'll be here for another hour yet. Eat something."

Weakly, Harding shook his head no. He sat down, suddenly pale at what
the officer had said.

He didn't feel very hungry.

... THE END

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _If: Worlds of Science Fiction_ May
1954. Extensive research did not unco