Charles E. Fritch

Charles E. Fritch

Summary

Portrait of Charles E. Fritch Charles E. Fritch Skin Game

Unconvinced, Sheckly stared glumly through the open doorway of the hut into the warm humid night, where a fire flared in the darkness and long shadows danced and slithered around it.
"It's not the Space Patrol I'm worried about," he said, after a while. "I don't mind fleecing humanoids—" he shivered, grimacing—"but lizards!"
Harding laughed. "Their riches are as good as anybody else's. The trouble with you, Sheckly, you're too chicken-hearted. If it weren't for me, you'd still be small-timing back on Earth. It takes imagination to get along these days."
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles E. Fritch Charles E. Fritch Skin Game

Sheckly felt his blood turn to ice.
"—so we helped him."
"You what?"
"We helped him out of his skin," the serpentman went on calmly. "We try to help those who are friends with us. Your friend had trouble getting his skin off, but with our help—"
"No!" the Earthling cried, trying to reject the thought.
The full realization of what had happened struck him at once. Despite himself, he could picture Harding struggling, trying to convince these creatures that Earthlings don't shed their skins. His struggles must have convinced them only that he was having trouble shedding, so they "helped him."
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Charles E. Fritch Charles E. Fritch Skin Game

These people appeared friendly to the Earthlings, but so did the Earthlings give the appearance of friendliness to the natives; that was proof in itself that you couldn't trust actions to indicate purpose. But even more than that, their basic alienness troubled Sheckly more than he dared admit aloud. Differences in skin color and modified body shapes were one thing, but when a race was on a completely different evolutionary track it was a time for caution. These were a different people, on a different planet under a different star.
Source: Gutenberg

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