Part 2

I laughed. "See? What did I tell you. Now you have to stoop to invective--" I paused for a moment and stared at the now-trembling keyboard with a frown. "Earthman? Of course I'm an Earthman. What did you expect?"

_HAH! WHAT OTHER CREATURES IN THE GALAXIES COULD BE SO VAIN EXCEPT A BACKWARD RACE LIKE YOURS!_

I watched the madly clacking keys with my eyes bugging. But I managed to keep my voice a polite sneer.

"Backward race? You seem to think Poe and Shakespeare were pretty progressive boys. We've got hundreds more, you know. What's your claim to fame?"

_MY CLAIM TO FAME? ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT I'M REACHING YOU ALL THE WAY FROM RIGEL IV? YOU HAVEN'T EVEN REACHED YOUR PUNY MOON YET!_

I gulped at that but still managed a sneer. "So you're nothing but an eavesdropping alien. I should have known."

_YOU ONLY KNOW NOW BECAUSE I'VE TOLD YOU. THAT PROVES HOW BACKWARD YOU ARE!_

I flicked the shift key to hide the fact that my hand was trembling. "What do you want from--us?" I tried to make it sound bored and simulated a yawn.

_i want to absorb your puny literature during my vacation--you've put me in lower case shift. this cramps my literary style._

I shrugged, then lifted a querulous eyebrow. "Literary style? You don't mean you actually have one yourself!" There was enough disdain in my voice to get a harsh clatter from the keys with a lot of meaningless gibberish. I reached over and flicked it back into caps.

_YOU'RE SO STUPID I DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER WITH YOU! STYLE? I COULD TELL YOU STORIES THAT WOULD CURL YOUR HAIR! THE LIBRARIES HERE ON RIGEL IV MAKE YOUR POE AND SHAKESPEARE LOOK LIKE OLD MAIDS!_

I sat back in my chair and got a crafty feeling. Before I knew it I said, "Prove it!"

There was silence for a moment. The keys just remained dead. I reached forward and tapped the machine.

_STOP THAT! I'M THINKING.... VERY WELL, EARTHMAN, I WILL PROVE IT!_

And he did. I sat there for the next half hour, feeding paper into the machine, and it kept me busy. That typewriter sounded like a burp gun with hiccoughs.

Finally the typing ceased. The carriage clattered back and there was a final spurt of words.

_WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? READ IT!_

I read it. It made my hair curl. A story of galactic war--invasion on Rigel IV from a race a hundred light years in space. Havoc, suspense, adventure, all so utterly fantastic it seemed real. I was spellbound to the last line. I stared at the machine.

_WELL?_

"--You sure this isn't another mimic job from Earth--"

_ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR? YOU STUPID--_

"Ok, ok, I just wanted to make sure. It's pretty good--fantastic and all that, and a far cry from our Poe or Shakespeare, but--"

_YOU ARE TRYING TO COMPARE YOUR PUNY WRITERS WITH OURS? THAT'S THE LAST INSULT! I'M SORRY I DECIDED TO PSI IN ON YOUR PLANET FOR MY VACATION GOODBY_--

"Wait!" I shouted the word.

_WHY?_

"I--I'm sorry, I apologize. It's just that you caught me unprepared. Afterall, you must admit this is something of a shock--hearing from you God knows how many light years away...."

_WELL, NOW. THAT'S BETTER. YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR SUPERIORS AFTERALL!_

This was no time for wounded pride. So I nodded. "You're right. We're incredibly backward--but we don't have to remain that way forever. Take your Rigel IV libraries, for example. I'll bet your stories could teach us a lot."

_NATURALLY._

"And," I continued, gaining confidence now, "you said you were on vacation, absorbing some of our literature--puny as it is.... Have you had a taste of anything besides Poe and Shakespeare?"

_NO. SHOULD I?_

"Should you? Why you've barely scraped our culture! Tell you what! Maybe we can make a deal--"

_DEAL? WHAT'S THAT?_

"I mean, a trade. While you're on vacation I'll swap writers with you. I'll type a story, and you reciprocate with one from your library. Fair enough?"

_WELL ... YOU'D BE GETTING THE BEST OF THE BARGAIN...._

I nodded humbly. "I realize that. But think of the good you'd be doing, teaching us barbarians the glorious wonders of your civilization...."

That did it. The machine actually purred.

_I'LL DO IT. PURELY AS A LARK, OF COURSE...._

"Fine. We'll begin next week."

_NEXT WEEK? WHY THE DELAY?_

"I want to get in a good supply of stories," I said, and got up, picking up the Rigel IV manuscript. The machine was silent so I made a dash for the door.

* * * * *

Several months have gone by since I sold that first story to a science fiction magazine. At top rates, too. I've sold dozens of others since then, and my pen-names are getting to be what the editors call "Top Favorites".

I'm sitting in my room now--a penthouse apartment, thank you--surrounded by a lavish library of classic Earth literature. Reggie--that's what I call my collaborator on Rigel IV--is just finishing a new science fiction epic. Then it will be my turn to write--I think I'll give him some Dumas today.

How long can this last? Reggie is on vacation you know. And I've since discovered that a Rigel IV vacation is equivalent to a hundred Earth years. Which should keep me in champagne and caviar as long as the earth classics hold out.

So what's all this got to do with you? A good question and one I don't mind answering since you won't believe it anyway.

Where do you think all the stories in IMAGINATION--and other magazines--have been coming from!