BAD MEMORY
BY PATRICK FAHY
illustrated by MARTIN
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine December 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Channing wanted a planet.
Had they sold him a pup?
Ex-vector Commander Jim Channing strode purposefully to the receptiondesk of Planet Enterprises, Inc.
"I want," he told the well-built blonde who was making an interestedsurvey of his lean features, "to buy a planet."
"Yes, sir." Her interest evaporated. She took a card from a filingcabinet and handed it to him. "If you will just fill this out."
It was a simple questionnaire—type, location, size—and Channing'sstylo moved rapidly over it. He hesitated only at the last, starkquestion, "How much are you prepared to pay?" Then he wrote neatlyin the space provided "One hundred thousand credits." That wasexactly the amount of his signing-off bonus. It also represented histotal finances. The unimaginative minds that calculated the pay of ared-blooded space officer didn't take into account all the attractiveways of spending it that a rumbustious pioneer Vector provided.
He gave the blonde the card and she wrote a name on it. The smile shegave him was altogether impersonal. She liked the look of the big,gangling fellow with "Space" written all over his bronzed face andcrinkled blue eyes, but....
She said, "Will you come this way, please?"
The name on the desk identified him as "Mr. Folan" and he was a tall,affable man.
"I think we can suit you, Commander—er—Mr. Channing," he said,"though what we have in mind mightn't be quite as large as you wish.Earth-type planets come rather high, you know. Now if you were tochoose a Sirius- or a Vega-type—"
"Thank you, no," Jim said firmly. He had heard too much about thehazards of alien-type planets.
"In that case," Mr. Folan said busily, "let's see what we haveavailable."
A month later the doors of the automatic shuttle slid across andadmitted Jim Channing to the third planet of Phylox Beta. It alsodisgorged one spaceboat, a clutter of machinery, a thousand tons ofstrawberry plants and a fully equipped house. While he was still takingin the first glimpse of his future home, the massive doors slammed shutand the giant ship took off smoothly and silently. A moment later itwinked into sub-space. He was in business.
The planet possessed only one sizable island—it could hardly bedignified by the name of continent.
The rest was covered by a vast ocean. Still, as Folan had explained,he couldn't really expect anything more—not in the line of anEarth-type, anyway—for the money.
He spent a week figuring out the remote controls that operated theplanting machinery. Once it clanked into operation, it worked entirelyon its own. He had only to push a few buttons to send it lumbering innew directions and the big island steadily took on a resemblance to ahuge strawberry patch while Channing fished and lounged in the sun.
When the galactic trade agent came, the strawberries were waiting forhim, neatly piled into a mountain of gleaming cans. He was a friendly,talkative little man, glad to exercise his tongue again after thelonely months in space.
"What are you growing here?" he as