NOT FIT FOR CHILDREN
By EVELYN E. SMITH
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction May 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Trading with the natives was like taking candy
from a kid—but which were the natives?
Ppon lowered himself hastily to the orlop and ran toward me. "Hurryup, Qan!" he projected on a sub-level, trying to escape my mother'sconsciousness. "They're coming! All the others are up already."
"Who's coming?" my mother wanted to know, but her full interest wasabsorbed by her work, and she gave us only the side of her mind. "Youyoungsters really must learn to think clearly."
"Yes'm." Ppon projected suitable youthful embarrassment, but on a lowerlevel he was giggling. Later I must give him another warning; we youngones could not yet separate the thought channels efficiently, so it wasmore expedient not to try.
"The zkuchi are coming," I lied glibly, knowing that the old onesaccept inanity as merely a sign of immaturity, "on hundreds of goldenwings that beat faster than light."
Grandfather removed a part of his mind from his beloved work. "Thezkuchi are purely mythological creatures," he thought crossly."You're old enough to know better than that.... Qana," he appealed tomy mother, "why do you let him believe in such nonsense?"
"The zkuchi are part of our cultural heritage, Father," sheprojected gently. "We must not let the young ones forget our heritage.Particularly if we are to be here for some time."
"It seems to me you're unnecessarily pessimistic," he complained. "Youknow I've never failed you yet. We shall get back, I promise you. It'sjust that the transmutation takes time."
"But it's taken such a long time already," she thought sadly."Sometimes I begin to have doubts." Then she apparently remembered thatserious matters should not be discussed before us young ones. As ifwe didn't know what was going on. "Run along and play, children," sheadvised, "but don't forget to check the atmosphere first."
Grandfather started to excogitate something about how it would bebetter if Ppon went and helped his father while I stayed and didmy lessons—you never seem to escape from lessons anywhere in theUniverse—but we got away before he could finish.
Topside, the others were jumping up and down in their excitement.Ztul, the half-wit, was so upset he actually spoke: "Hurry, Qan, thetourists are coming!"
"Ztul, you must never, never make words aloud!" I thought fiercely."The old ones might hear and find out about the game."
"It's a harmless game," Ppon contributed. "And useful, too. Yourgrandfather needs the stuff."
"Yes," I agreed, "but perhaps the old ones wouldn't see it that way.They might even stop the game. Adults have funny ideas, and there's nouse asking for trouble."
There was a chorus of assenting thought from the others. All of us hadour family troubles.
We got to work. Quickly we arranged the interiors of the shelters whichwe had cleverly built out of materials borrowed from below when the oldones' perceptions were directed elsewhere. The essential structureof the materials had not been changed and could easily be replacedwhen the time came, but there was no use having to give involvedexplanations. The old ones never seemed to understand anything.
At first we had just built the shelters a