EARTHSMITH
By Milton Lesser
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories ofScience and Fantasy January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Someone in the crowd tittered when the big ungainly creature reached thehead of the line.
"Name?"
The creature swayed back and forth foolishly, supporting the bulk of hisweight first on one extremity and then on the other. His face which hada slight rosy tint anyway got redder.
"Come, come. Planet? Name?" The registrar was only a machine, but theregistrar could assume an air of feminine petulance. "We want to keepthe line moving, so if you will please—"
The creature drew a deep breath and let the two words come out in arush. "Earth, Smith," he said. Being nervous, he could not modulate hisvoice. Unable to modulate his voice, he heard the words come out toodeep, too loud.
"Did you hear that voice?" demanded the man who had tittered. "On a coldwet night they say the karami of Caulo boom like that. And look atEarthsmith. Just look at him. I ask you, what can they accept at theschool and still call it a school? Hey you, Earthsmith, what courseswill you take?"
"I don't know," the creature confessed. "That's what I'm here for. Idon't even know what they teach at the school."
"He doesn't know." More tittering.
The registrar took all this in impassively, said: "What planet,Earthsmith?"
The creature was still uncomfortable. "Earth. Only my name is notEarthsmith. Smith—"
The titterer broke into a loud guffaw. "Earthsmith doesn't even knowwhat planet he's from. Good old Earthsmith." He was a small thin man,this titterer, with too-bright eyes, vaguely purple skin, and awell-greased shock of stiff green hair.
Smith squared his wide shoulders and looked into the colored lights ofthe registrar. "It's a mistake. My name is Smith."
"What planet, Smith?"
"Earth. The planet Earth." Smith had a rosy, glistening bald head and ahairless face. A little bead of sweat rolled into his left eye and madehim blink. He rubbed his eye.
"Age?" The machine had a way of asking questions suddenly, and Smithjust stared.
"Tell me your age. Age. How old are you?"
Smith wanted to sit down, only there were no chairs. Just the room withits long line of people behind him, and the machine up front. Theregistrar.
"I'm twenty-seven."
"Twenty-seven what?"
"You asked me my age. I'm twenty-seven years old, and three months."
Except for the clicking of the machine, there was a silence. The voiceof the machine, feminine again, seemed confused when it spoke. "I cannotcorrelate years, Smith of Earth. How old are you?"
It wasn't an ordeal, really, but Smith felt more uncomfortable everymoment. Was the machine making fun of him? If it were, then it had anally in the crowd, because the man who had tittered was laughing again,the green shock of hair on his head bobbing up and down.
"Earthsmith doesn't even know how old he is. Imagine."
The machine, which was more feminine than not, asked Smith how far theplanet Earth was from its primary, and what the orbital speed of theplanet was. Smith told her, but again the terminology was not capable ofcorrelation.
"Unclassified as to age, Smith. It's not important. I wonder, are youdominant or receptive?"
"I'm a man. Male. Dom