Part 2

His singed eyebrow went up in puzzlement. "I told you ten months, Anna. I meant ten months. As for what I want, please, at once, send a space-wire to your father in Oregon. Have him ship five hens and a cock by fast passenger express to the spaceport depot on Venus. Ask him also to include whatever special medicines, feeds, and instructions are necessary for the raising and nurturing of Plymouth Rocks--"

She gasped. "For heaven's sake, why?"

"Don't you want a chicken farm? I am building one on a planet I own."

A groan came over the 'phone, lasting long enough to cost Gramenger & Lewis a credit and a half.

"Dad won't send them. I know. It's hare brained. No one's ever tried to raise chickens any place except on Earth."

"That isn't the point," he said. "Send the wire."

"All right," she said in a small voice.

"Furthermore," he added, "inform your father this is a business venture. I shall keep him supplied, as middleman, with a new breed of Plymouth Rocks which are considerably larger than turkeys, are more succulent, more tasty and tender, lay larger eggs with possibly larger yolks--"

"How?"

"I have some knowledge of biology and pressure chemistry, Anna. Plymouth will be ideal."

"What's Plymouth?"

"The name of the planet."

Harvey cocked his ear at the silence. Then there were sounds of sniffles. "I have to take care of a registration, Harvey," Anna said. "I have to go. I'm very proud that you love me, Harvey. I'll wait for you. And I'll convince Dad. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," said Harvey. He hung up. "She misses me," he told Gramenger. "Poor girl. Would you like me to take the ten thousand credits in cash or as a check?"

"A check," said Gramenger. He wrote it out. Harvey took it, and started toward the door. He called back:

"Thanks for the use of your 'phone," and walked out. Gramenger had nothing to say.

* * * * *

Harvey went back to Plymouth some two weeks later. He now owned a much larger ship. It was crammed to the brim with chemical fertilizers to improve the soil. There were also seed grains such as oats, wheat and corn. There was lumber for building, plumbing fixtures, windows, doors, everything needed to build several sheds plus a long, low rambling ranch-type house. The hens and the cock were aboard. There were six men also who would do the building, and help in any other way necessary.

Plymouth was a beautiful, emerald planet as they hove in close to it. As they landed, a pleasant, sunny atmosphere swirled around the ship. The gravitic machinery kept the gravity at Earth normal. The ground was already thawed, and was surprisingly like the rich, life-filled loam found in Iowa cow country. An engineer was waiting for Harvey, showed him the gravitic controls, explained the planet had been moved a million miles out of its orbit so that the _Hermes_ could plow past without harming it.

By shutting off gravitic energy from one side, he explained, pressing buttons on the control panel, the planet could be made to move in any direction.

Furthermore, the gravitation could be raised or lowered at will, on all of the planetoid or on any small portion of it.

"Fine, fine," said Harvey, much pleased. Before the engineer took off Harvey promised him several large Plymouth Rocks before Thanksgiving, and as an afterthought took a numerological reading on his name. Then he instantly started in to work.

The house went up. Saws whined. Sheds went up. Hammers hammered. Lawns were laid, ground fertilized, worm-eggs installed. Some natural vegetation of a weird nature appeared, its seeds having been alive but frozen for a time measured in epochs. No doubt of it, the soil was alive. The fowl flourished in their fenced in yard, prone to no diseases, having no natural enemies, neither mice nor lice.

Harvey worked with three generations of chickens. He made his experiments with fluctuating gravity under the chicken house.

His employees were fascinated. Harvey explained. "I'm actually 50 years old," he said. "Don't tell my fiancee. She thinks I'm 40. But being out in space, virtually with no gravitational pull on my body for almost all of my life, my life expectancy has been pushed up to somewhere in the hundreds. I can pass for forty.

"Gravity," he said, "makes people grow old and probably hastens death. The muscles have to fight gravity, so do all the other organs. The muscles toughen, get stringy, the skin, the nerves, the arteries and the meat of the body get brittle and hard. This is what is known as 'old age.'

"Think what effect a lowered or fluctuating gravity could have on these beautiful gray white birds."

Harvey experimented a great deal as the weeks passed. He often adjusted the gravity lugs down to a point where they exerted just enough force to hold the atmosphere to the planet. The results were remarkable on the Plymouths.

The third generation of fowl were distinctly a fifth larger than their ancestors. The cocks, which normally should weigh 10 lbs., now weighed between 10 and 14. The hens in proportion kept a couple of pounds under this; they matured faster, they bred much more vigorously than any Plymouth Rock ever had. The eggs were consistently larger.

Harvey early decided against hatching incubators because the hens, untroubled by vermin or other influences such as bad weather which could make them neurotic, paid tranquil attention to their jobs. He did, however, have open electric brooders constantly going so that the chicks could go to them for warmth if necessary.

Lowering the gravity had a similar effect on his corn, oats and wheat crops. They sprang up, maturing in a remarkably short time. There was plenty of feed for the fowl. Plymouth was rapidly becoming self-supporting.

Harvey was pleased. He explained again: "Pressure can be considered as a gravitational effect, and vice versa. Pressure chemistry causes certain chemical reactions to speed up, others to slow down. I figure that by Thanksgiving I can find the correct variation of gravitational pressure that will give me a breed of Plymouth Rocks never seen in this universe."

* * * * *

By the time the fourth swift generation came along he had almost reached his goal. Furthermore, the flesh was tenderer than any of these men had thought possible. When the time came for Harvey to take them back to Venus, he promised them they would be well supplied by the time Thanksgiving rolled around.

Harvey was somewhat loathe to leave the planet Plymouth alone. He had a certain fear in the back of his head that things would happen if he did. He intended to return as soon as he and Anna got married.

He showed up at the Hotel de Mars a week ahead of time. At Anna's place behind the Registration desk stood a white haired little old lady.

A chill started deep in his stomach when she told him Anna left a month--no, two months ago. She produced a letter Anna had left him. It was brief and pointed.

"Harvey," the letter read, "I know you lied to me. There isn't any planet called Plymouth. I looked it up in the star atlases. Nobody ever heard of it. I'm not going to stay here and be bitterly disappointed when you don't show up at the end of ten months. Goodbye."

Harvey threw the letter away. It had served its purpose.

"Ma'am," he said, "I'm a man of action and few words. What is Miss Morley's Oregon address?"

Nobody knew Anna's Oregon address. Harvey instantly left for Oregon. Landing there, he began looking. He had found juncture faults; he would find Anna. It took him over a month. He ran across her quite by accident behind the cigar counter in a drugstore.

"Anna," he said, "there's no time to lose; get your things; quit this job; come with me." He stopped anything she had to say. They were married in the next hour. An hour after that they were on the way to the planet whose existence Anna still doubted.

There was little room for doubt when that spot of entrancing green in an ocean of black was sighted. "It's beautiful," Anna breathed, squeezing his hand. "But what's the rush to get here?"

He explained without rancor. "Your lack of faith in me cost us far too much time. This is a new breed of chicken; they propagate vigorously. But they have no natural enemies. Every living thing needs a natural enemy. Our Plymouths have probably overrun the planet."

She gurgled, then put her hand over her mouth.

He took her hand away. "Anna, dearest, laugh. Laugh as much as you please. But I have no sense of humor. This you will discover as we move through life together. I see nothing funny in this situation. Living creatures need natural enemies."

When the ship landed, his meaning became obvious. Chickens flew in great squawking clouds through the air, walked and clucked in rivers at their feet. Feathers came down like heavy snow; the ground was covered with fluffy white mounds. From horizon to horizon there seemed to be little else but chicken.

Anna was appalled. Harvey was planning. A slaughter would be necessary. "_We're_ their natural enemies," he explained. "Your chicken farm is ready to pay off."