Evan Hunter

“ I mumbled. "Thanks. I've got to talk to the machine."
I left him and went back to my own room. I put a sheet of paper into the typewriter, and said, "Why'd you do it? Why?"
DON'T GET MELODRAMATIC, the machine typed. THE STORY WAS A HUNDRED TIMES BETTER THAN THAT DRIVEL YOU WROTE LAST NIGHT.
"Yes, but it's not mine! Can't you understand that? Poe wrote it."
AND YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN POE? HOW RIDICULOUS!
"I think nothing of the sort! Besides, that has nothing at all to do with it. I simply can't go around writing stories another man has already written." ”

“ Take it. Keep it. Keep the machine. You'll get used to Poe."
"And Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare, too. They're nice writers."
I banged my fist on the counter. "I won't! I'll break that damned habit if it's the last thing I do!"
"That's the spirit," the old man said unenthusiastically.
"It's only a typewriter," I said. "If it learned a habit, it can learn to break the habit."
"Certainly," the old man said, smiling.
"Damn right. No goddamned typewriter is going to make a fool of me."
"Of course not. Go to it. Teach it." He glanced at his watch. "It's time for lunch. Good luck, young man." ”

“ Let's spend that money for a project that's worthwhile. For once, forget the profit and think of the meaning to mankind." He paused and his voice grew lower. "We've been ravaged by too many wars, gentleman. Can't we stop this useless butchery and devote our time and energy to something constructive? Can't we? I know my rocket will work. It's scientifically sound. I know, too, that I can get a crew of scientists and technicians to take it to the Moon and back. All I need is the money and a little time. Just a little time."
"There's a war going on, Saunders," Bragg reminded him. ”

“ Cal interrupted. "You don't understand at all. Those aren't our...."
"Four years in space," the mayor continued, "four years among the stars. To Earth and back, fellow citizens, for the glory of Mars."
"You've got that twisted," Cal said. "We didn't...."
The mayor took Cal's elbow and turned him toward the cameras.
"You were in space for four years, weren't you Captain Galus?"
"Yes, we were. But it wasn't...."
"Space!" the mayor gushed. "Limitless space. The first men to land on Earth." ”

“ Perry stared at me curiously. "It's not a very well known story," he said, "but I still don't think you will get away with it—no matter how much innocence you profess."
"What in the name of God are you talking about?" I asked.
He slapped the back of his hand onto the manuscript. "This. The Facts In The Case of M. Valdemar. That's what."
"That's not the title I gave it," I said indignantly.
"No, but it's the title Poe gave it."
My mouth fell open. "Who? Who?"
"Stop sounding like an owl. Poe. Edgar Allan...."
"No," I said.
"Yes. Poe. Carrying this a bit far, aren't you, old boy?" ”

“ Dave suddenly stood erect, waved at Cal, and started lumbering back toward the ship. Cal left the guns and went to the airlock. He stepped into the chamber closed the toggles on the hatch behind him, and twirled the wheel on the outer hatch. He was ready to move back into the ship again when Dave stepped through the outer hatch, his helmet under his arm.
"It's okay, Cal. Breathable atmosphere. And the pressure is all right, too."
Cal let out a sigh of relief. "Come on," he said. "Get out of that monkey suit. Then we'll claim the planet for Earth." ”

“ The typewriter didn't seem to care much. It didn't form a single word. I threw the carriage all the way to the right, stalked to the closet and slammed my rainy-day hat onto my head, even though it wasn't raining.
At the door, I shot a hot glance at the machine, and then walked out, slamming the flimsy wood behind me.
I went straight to the pawn shop. I slammed the glass door behind me, hard enough so that I thought it'd shatter, and then I stalked over to the counter. The old man was nowhere in sight. I banged my fist on the wooden counter top. ”

“ An attractive blonde in a smart suit stepped into the room and walked to the President's desk. She kept her eyes glued to the two Earthmen, dropped two large photographs on the desk, and turned. She stared over her shoulder at Cal and Dave until she was gone.
The President smiled knowingly. "The women are falling all over you two, I imagine."
"We're both married," Cal said drily. "We don't care for all this...."
"Married?" The President was shocked. "I thought we'd distinctly chosen unmarried men for the job. Strange."
"We've got wives on Earth," Dave said. ”

“ 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? ”

“ Children danced on the outskirts of the group, hopping up and down, screaming in glee. Women waved banners, sang along with the band. And the music shouted out across the sand, a triumphal march with a lively beat.
A fat man led the procession. ”

“ You agree that my proposed rocket couldn't possibly reach the Moon?"
"It might," the man in blue serge admitted, "but we can't speculate on a thing of this nature. After all, Dr. Saunders, there'll be money involved and...."
"Money!" Saunders snorted in disgust. "Is that all you're worried about? You're one of the richest men on Earth, Mr. Peterson. How can you let money stand in the way of what may well be man's greatest achievement?"
Bragg spoke again, peering from behind the thick lenses of his eyeglasses. "Peterson is right ”

“ In the window."
"You're mistaken," he said.
"I'm not mistaken. Don't be foolish. I came in here this afternoon and bought a typewriter. A Remington Noiseless portable. It cost me five dollars, and...."
He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no. You're mistaken."
"Oh hell, there's no sense talking to you. When will your boss be back?"
"I have no boss," he said indignantly. "I am my own boss. I own this shop."
"Oh," I said, "I see. Well, this fat guy probably works for you then. Is he out to supper?"
His eyes narrowed. "There is no fat guy working for me. There is nobody working for me. ”

“ We may attempt another flight in fifty years, sixty perhaps, maybe more. But you've already proved space travel, Capt. Galus. The achievement is ours. All we need now is money to...."
"Damn it, I'm not Capt. Galus," Cal shouted. "And we've got to get back to Earth. I've got a kid, Mr. President. He's six years old and...." Cal stopped abruptly. "Oh, this is all nonsense. Why am I arguing with you? Can't you understand that we are Earthmen? What do we have to do to prove it?"
The President sighed and turned over the photographs on the desk. ”

“ All I needed was money, he thought, money and a little time. A year or two at the most. A year or two.
Slowly he rose and brushed a thin hand over his wet eyes. There was work to be done, and tomorrow was another day. He walked to the door leading to his inner laboratory and paused. It was past midnight, and being a punctilious person, Saunders ripped the day's page from the calendar, exposing the new day to view. The new day was September 21st, the year 3951. ”

“ 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 stabbed out at the shift key, and locked it in place.
DON'T THANK ME. I'M JUST TRYING TO ESTABLISH SOME SORT OF RAPPORT BETWEEN US.
"Well, I certainly do appreciate your efforts. You are real, aren't you? I mean, it's not the salami or anything."
NO, IT'S NOT THE SALAMI OR ANYTHING. GOD, YOU ARE AN IDIOT, AREN'T YOU?
I shrugged. "Not really. I'm not quite used to holding conversations with typewriters, though. I usually ... well, that is to say typewriters haven't usually answered me back."
ARE YOU A WRITER? ”

“ STOP SHOUTING!
"I'm not shouting. Besides, with your damned upper case, you always look as if you're shouting."
IT WAS YOU WHO SUGGESTED UPPER CASE.
"You won't get away with this," I said, shaking my finger at the machine. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and when I do I'll have you licked. You wait and see."
I'LL WAIT, the machine typed.
I nodded my head emphatically. It was almost noon, and I had a lot to do. I tossed one more fiery glance at the typewriter, and then left it alone on the table.
I went into twelve pawn shops before I found the fat old man. ”

“ RELAX. IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT STORY, I KNOW A LOT OF OTHERS.
"Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just go back where you came from?"
WHY AM I DOING WHAT TO YOU? I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU IDIOT.
"I don't want your help. I want to muddle along on my own. I want to...." ”

“ 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. ”