GOMA'S FOLLICLES

                     By JOHN and DOROTHY de COURCY

            New planets--new conditions ... unforeseeable,
             difficult and dangerous to overcome. Granted.
            Still, who'd have thought getting a haircut on
            Procyon IV could be a matter of life and death?

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Summer 1948.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The _Franklin_ was the newest and best ship of the Morgan Interstellar
Transportation Corporation. It was plain from the Captain's
pouter-pigeon stance that he too was aware of this fact. The only
jarring note in Captain Webster's mind was the unscheduled stop at
Procyon IV. He glanced again at the yellow blank in his hand, his lips
moving slightly as he re-read it.

"Captain Webster, Commanding _S. S. Franklin_, enroute to earth. Make
contact with Procyon IV. Passenger for earth waiting at Iridium City.
Necessary time will be allowed on your schedule. Chief Dispatcher."

Captain Webster crumpled the message into a ball and threw it on the
floor.

"Whistle stop!" he growled. His anger was motivated by the fact that he
had hoped to set a new record with the _Franklin_ and the last thing he
desired was time added to his schedule. "If he isn't ready and waiting
when we land," the Captain muttered, "he can walk to earth!"

The _Franklin_ came out of sub-space drive. The navigator had no
difficulty finding Procyon's fourth planet, but it took much studious
peering to find the tiny earth colony. It turned out to be a dot about
three miles in diameter, a mining settlement. In a few minutes, the
giant ship settled gently into a rickety landing cradle. A spaceman
pressed the unlocking studs and the passenger port opened with a hiss.
The gangway slid neatly out and made contact with the shaky steps.

With obvious distaste, Captain Webster gathered his dignity about him
like a cloak and started across the gangway. His feet had no more than
touched the plastic tread when he stopped abruptly. A wild apparition
came charging up the stairway, long, unkempt hair streaming in the
wind. Down the gangway it ran and propelled the Captain violently
backward into his ship.

Puffing and gasping for air, the Captain half lay in the arms of two
spacemen who had caught him just before he reached the decking. Nothing
of what the Captain said was understandable except the word "outrage"
which he repeated often and vigorously.

"Now, now, now, please Captain," the long haired apparition pleaded.
"Compose yourself. Don't get excited. I can explain everything. I'm Mr.
Thurwinker of the Office of Colonial Development."

"Oh, oh," the Captain grunted. "The OCD, huh?" His anger evaporated and
he struggled to his feet trying to look dignified again. "Well--I'm
sure--ah--that is--no doubt you have a good reason for your actions,
sir--ah--"

"Oh yes, indeed," Mr. Thurwinker replied, hastily, "but I can't stop
now. I must impress on you, Captain, the urgency of your ship leaving
as soon as possible. Yes, yes it's imperative! And you must remain out
of sight. Don't show yourselves under any circumstances! I'll get your
passenger now." Without another word, Mr. Thurwinker scurried out of
the ship. He turned at the end of the gangway. "Remember Captain, don't
let anyone see you. Keep out of sight. Yes indeed, out of sight!"

The open-mouthed Captain watched the OCD man scramble down the steps
and reappear a moment later carrying a suitcase. He was followed by
another man whose hair was also streaming down over his shoulders. The
Captain's mouth sagged open an additional half-inch as the strange
looking pair entered the ship.

Mr. Thurwinker set the bag down and shook hands with his companion.
"Good-bye, Mr. Purcell. Have a nice trip home. We all regret seeing you
go, yes indeed, regret it very much." He darted out of the ship for the
second time. At the end of the gangway, he turned to face the Captain.
"Oh yes, Captain. I must tell you! It's imperative--"

"I know!" the Captain roared. "And don't worry, Mr. Thurwinker! We're
leaving this asylum immediately!"

Mr. Thurwinker jumped off the gangway as it began to roll into the big
ship. He waved cheerily to his friend just before the port closed. The
_Franklin_ began to lift almost at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sam Purcell brushed his hair out of his face and extended a friendly
hand to the Captain. "How do you do, Captain. I'm Sam Purcell, your new
passenger."

Captain Webster stared at the outstretched hand as though it were a
specimen from an anatomical laboratory. "Procyon IV's gain is my loss!"
he snarled.

As the Captain stomped away, Sam turned his hand over to see if
anything was wrong with it. "Unfriendly cuss," he observed to the
spaceman beside him.

The spaceman smiled. "Just be thankful he isn't your boss."

Sam nodded. "I see what you mean," he replied.

"Shall I take your bag to your stateroom?" the spaceman asked.

"I'd be much obliged," Sam answered. "Is there a barber on this tub? I
want to get rid of this mop as soon as I can."

"Yes sir," the spaceman said. "But wouldn't you like to go to your
cabin first?"

Sam smiled. "No. I've been dreaming about this haircut for ages. Just
tell me where my cabin is and take me to the barber shop!"

The spaceman nodded and picked up Sam's bag. Sam followed him down the
companionway to the barber shop.

"Your stateroom is L-14, sir," the spaceman said. "It's the last cabin
on the left at the end of this companionway."

"Thank you," Sam replied as he stepped into the shop.

The barber closed the book he was reading and jumped up. "Yes sir. What
can--" He broke off in mid-sentence and gawked stupidly.

"I don't want a manicure," Sam chuckled as he slid into the chair.

The barber smiled sickly. "Ah--no, of course not," he agreed. He busied
himself bundling Sam up in a transparent apron and then stepped back to
view his client artistically. "Shall--I take--a little off the top?" he
asked, hesitantly.

"Cut it off!" Sam snorted. "I want to look human again!"

The barber set to work chopping off great chunks of hair. Several times
he opened his mouth to say something but the situation seemed to him
beyond the range of normal conversation.

"I bet you're wondering how I got like this," Sam chuckled.

"Why--yes," the barber murmured. "That thought did occur to me. Ah--I
don't suppose--ah--there are many barbers where you come from."

"That's the funny part of it," Sam replied. "We used to have a barber,
a darn good one, too. Yup, he was one of the best in the business. I
guess that was Roy's trouble. He was too good."

"But--but--how?" the barber interrupted.

"The hair?" Sam asked. "I was coming to that. It all started three
years ago when we first landed on Procyon IV. A meteorite had plowed
in there some time in the past and that was what we were after. The
original survey had found fragments of nearly pure iridium in a crater
and you know how hard that stuff is to get. The survey figured that the
whole meteorite was composed of iridium and, as it turned out, they
were right."

"Mr. Thurwinker, the government agent," Sam continued, "started out
right away dickering with the natives. It wasn't too hard to do cause
they look a lot like us, considering what most of the inhabitants of
other planets look like. Anyway, Thurwinker traded off half a ship load
of gew-gaws and we got the crater.

"Our supplies started coming in and on the first ship was Roy, the
barber. We built up a little town, the typical mining settlement, and
got things pretty much underway. It took us about two months to get our
soundings all lined up and then we found that the meteorite had struck
the planet at quite an angle. It hadn't gone too far down but it had
gone so far to one side that the thing was completely outside the
crater. Mr. Thurwinker tried to bargain with the natives for the ground
directly over the meteorite, but he didn't get very far. They didn't
like him much and I can't say as I blame them. The natives let him know
that they wanted to be left alone so we stayed in our little town.

"Well, there wasn't much of anything to do, so most of us just sat
around, waiting for Thurwinker to make some kind of a bargain. He
finally persuaded the Chief of the natives to talk the situation over
with him."

       *       *       *       *       *

Goma growled deeply in his barrel chest. "You have land. Why want you
more?"

Thurwinker hesitated, trying to phrase the proper answer in Goma's
language. "This land not good," he said, pointing to the crater. Then
turning, "this land, good. We want good land."

"You cannot have land," Goma replied with classic simplicity.

"I gave you many things for bad land," Thurwinker answered. "I will
give you more for good land."

"I not want things," Goma stated. "I keep land."

Thurwinker reverted to English. "My stars! How does the government
expect me to bargain with creatures like this! Sometimes I think I was
better off in the office. Yes indeed, much better off."

Goma regarded him with an unwinking stare. "You make noise like infant."

Thurwinker's lips compressed a little. "You give us land. We make you
Big Chief. Chief of all you see."

"I am now Chief of all I see," Goma said.

Thurwinker made several more suggestions without any sign of success.

Goma stood up. "I go now," he announced.

"But, Chief!" Thurwinker protested.

Goma brushed him aside and strode out of the hut. He was joined by his
retinue which closed in about him, rudely shoving Thurwinker to one
side. In silence, the procession marched up the street, apparently
ignoring everything. They were nearly past Roy's barber shop when one
of the natives let out a screech and froze with one foot slightly off
the ground. The others turned to look through the barber shop window
and, as they did, emitted groans, yelps and gasps.

Roy stopped his cutting and looked at the natives. He studied them for
a moment and then went back to snipping his customer's hair. As the
scissors closed on a lock of hair, a simultaneous groan went up from
the assembled natives. The expressions of horror became more and more
intense as the man's hair fell to the floor in little tufts. A tall,
muscular native quietly fainted. None of the others paid any attention
to him. Their eyes were riveted in terrible fascination on the gleaming
shears.

Soon the man stepped out of the barber chair and smiled at Roy as he
slipped on his jacket. He stopped at the door and stared at the natives
curiously. They fell back as he approached and a low mutter ran through
the group.

Thurwinker had drifted up sometime during the performance and stood
scratching his head. The man looked at Thurwinker with a puzzled frown.
"What are they doing here?" he asked.

Thurwinker shrugged. "I don't know."

Low mumbling ran through the group of natives.

"What are they saying?" the man asked.

"They say you are very brave," Thurwinker replied. "They seem to think
you're a big hero."

The man shook his head and walked away bewildered.

Thurwinker turned back to the natives and all of them were looking at
Goma. Goma glanced from face to face, fingering his shoulder length
hair. He shuddered and looked pleadingly at the others. Faint lines of
what Thurwinker thought was disgust began to appear on the group of
faces.

Thurwinker smiled suddenly. "I think I know what they want," he mumbled
to himself. "Chief," he called. "You want--" He paused trying to find
the words. Then taking a piece of his own hair, he made cutting motions
with his fingers.

Goma's beady eyes dilated and he shook visibly.

"Come," Thurwinker urged, opening the barber shop door.

Hesitantly, Goma took a step forward.

"Come," Thurwinker urged again. "It won't hurt." He pointed to himself
and asked, "I go first?"

"No!" Goma roared. He thrust Thurwinker aside and galloped to the
barber chair. Roy looked questioningly at Thurwinker.

"It's all right," Thurwinker grinned. "Go ahead. This will put them at
ease. Maybe this is just the thing we've been looking for. Yes indeed,
just the thing. But be careful, Roy. Yes, yes, very careful."

       *       *       *       *       *

Roy nodded and tried to run a comb through the Chief's matted hair.
Each time Goma was touched, he shivered. The other natives watched
through the window and shook whenever Goma did. Roy isolated a small
section of hair and placing his scissors against the comb, he snipped
it off. With a scream of terrible agony, Goma's body convulsed in the
chair. He leaped upright, holding his head with one hand while he
looked wildly about.

[Illustration: _Goma gave a scream of terrible agony._]

Roy started over to Goma to remove the apron but Goma backed away
holding his hands before him as if to ward off a blow. Then he burst
through the door and out into the street, running as though the hounds
of hell were nipping at his heels. He didn't stop until he reached the
brush at the edge of the crater.

The other natives watched him go with disgust. Two of them picked up
rocks and threw them after the retreating figure. When Goma was at last
out of sight, they assembled themselves in a group again and marched
out of town.

Thurwinker watched the procession diminish in the distance. "Well,
that's that," he muttered. He turned on Roy. "I told you to be careful!"

"I _was_ careful!" Roy protested.

"Apparently you weren't careful enough!" Thurwinker snapped. "I don't
know what you did to him, but you sure fixed our chances for getting
any land."

"But I tell you I didn't do anything, Mr. Thurwinker," Roy answered
hotly. "I hardly even touched him!"

"Well, if I were you, I'd cultivate a lighter touch!" Thurwinker
cracked and, without waiting for Roy to reply, he turned and walked out
of the shop.

During the next hour, Thurwinker composed twenty-six messages to send
back home explaining his failure. Twenty-six messages had been thrown
in the wastebasket as unsatisfactory. There really wasn't anything
to say. He knew that none of his excuses would be accepted. He was
a failure and so he wrote out his resignation. It was a foregone
conclusion that the Colonial Office would want it. Thurwinker groaned.
He could see himself being held up before the students in the OCD
schools as the horrible example.

He was halfway through with what was to be message number twenty-seven
when the door opened quietly. Goma stepped in and walked unheard over
to Thurwinker's desk.

"I Goma," he mumbled.

"Yaaaaaaaah!" Thurwinker let out a whoop and leaped to the top of his
desk, quite convinced that Goma had come to destroy him. "Now, now,
now, Chief. Ah--you and I are friends!"

Goma looked at him. "I am not Chief. I am called old female." He looked
away from the amazed Thurwinker and sagged into a chair.

"What's the matter, Chief?" Thurwinker asked, climbing down off his
desk.

"I am not Chief," Goma replied. "I will be Chief again soon when I...."
Goma paused and made cutting motions with his fingers.

"You mean, when you get a haircut?" Thurwinker asked.

Goma shivered and said in a small voice, "Yes."

A crafty light came into Thurwinker's eyes. They bargained for half
an hour at the end of which time Goma agreed to give up a very small
plot of ground in addition to the crater. It wasn't much, but it was
something and Thurwinker accepted.

They arose and walked silently out of the hut. The miners gave the pair
curious glances as they strolled up the street. When they reached the
barber shop, they found a crowd of natives numbering about one hundred,
men, women and children. Goma drew up in front of them imperiously.
He stared at them for a full minute and then struck his shoulder with
a closed fist in a gesture of bravado. The crowd watched him as he
marched up to the barber chair and sat down.

Goma turned to Roy and held up his hand making the cutting motion.

Roy looked at Thurwinker. "Is it all right?"

"Yes, yes indeed! The Chief isn't afraid any more. Go ahead, Roy, but
be careful. Yes indeed, very careful!"

Roy cautiously combed out a few strands of hair and holding them
gingerly in his hand, he snipped. A groan escaped from between Goma's
clenched teeth. Roy hesitated but Goma held up his hand again, making
cutting motions. Roy selected a few more strands of hair. As he cut,
Goma's breath hissed in sharply and his hands clutched the sides of the
chair. On the third cut, Goma's body relaxed and his eyes closed.

Thurwinker rushed to his side. He looked at him for a minute and then
ran to the door. "Quick," he said to one of the miners. "Get Dr. Bowen!"

The natives outside began to mutter angrily. Thurwinker dashed back to
the barber chair. "Go ahead," he hissed. "Keep cutting! Don't let the
natives think anything's gone wrong!"

By the time Dr. Bowen arrived, Goma's hair was neatly trimmed. The
Chief was still apparently unconscious and breathing heavily. Dr. Bowen
made a hasty examination and then straightened smiling. "It's all
right," he said to Thurwinker. "He's only fainted."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thurwinker heaved a sigh. In a few minutes, Dr. Bowen brought Goma back
to consciousness. The Chief stood up but his legs were a little shaky.
Shoving away the helping hands, he reeled toward the open doorway.
The native stepped back with looks of awe and reverence. With pride,
Goma strode away, the natives following at his heels like obedient and
worshipful dogs.

"Now, Thurwinker," Dr. Bowen said, "what's this all about?"

Thurwinker explained the situation while Dr. Bowen listened intently.

"That's funny," the doctor muttered. "He didn't look like much of a
coward to me."

"Well, you have to watch these natives carefully," Thurwinker babbled.
"You never know what they're going to do next. Goma insisted on getting
a haircut and I thought it was a good opportunity to get the land we
need."

The doctor stirred a tuft of Goma's hair with the toe of his boot.
"Just the same, Thurwinker, you may get into trouble over this. We want
that land, but not if there's a war. You know what the Colonial Office
would say if trouble started." The doctor bent over and picked up the
bit of hair. "Hmmm. I wonder if this could be the reason."

"Reason for what?" Thurwinker asked.

"I don't know," Dr. Bowen replied, "but I'll make some tests." He
dropped the hair into his bag. "If I find out anything, I'll let
you know," he called as he started for the door, "and I advise you,
Thurwinker, to stay out of trouble."

Thurwinker nearly wore a groove in the floor with his pacing. He was
a nervous wreck by the time Dr. Bowen arrived. He practically jumped
on him as he came in the door. "Now, doctor! What have you been doing?
What kind of tests were you talking about and why all this mystery?"

"Calm down, Thurwinker," Dr. Bowen soothed. "There isn't any
mystery--at least, not any more."

"What do you mean?" Thurwinker demanded.

"I mean, you've been misled by the appearance of the natives. They look
like us except for that light orange color, but they've got at least
one fundamental difference. That stuff on their heads isn't exactly
hair."

"What!" Thurwinker exploded. "What is it, then? It looks like hair!"

"Under the microscope, there's quite a difference," Dr. Bowen
explained. "It has a hard covering just like our hair, the center is
hollow and contains a little fluid, but floating in this fluid is a
nerve."

"A what!"

"A nerve," the doctor answered, "just like in our teeth. I rather
imagine their hair is some kind of a sensory organ. I don't know what
kind, but I'm sending a sample back home and maybe they can find out."

Thurwinker was stunned. "You mean--it hurts--to have their hair cut?"

"It's just like pulling teeth," Bowen chuckled, "without an anesthetic!"

"Oh, no!" Thurwinker groaned. "What have I done!" He paced the floor
again and stopped suddenly. "Still, we've got some land to work with.
Yes, maybe it'll be all right after all."

But it wasn't all right. The engineers informed Thurwinker that they
had to have more shafts. "You just can't drill through iridium!" they
complained.

Thurwinker shrugged his shoulders and resolutely set off to find
Goma, but Goma had disappeared and none of the natives knew where he
had gone. It was useless to try to bargain with them. Because of his
haircut, Goma was absolute Chief now. Thurwinker came back to the
crater after fruitlessly searching the surrounding country for six
days. He opened the door of his hut and plunked himself resignedly down
at his desk.

At that moment there came a thump on the door. Thurwinker arose and
opened it. There stood Goma looking more down in the mouth than the
last time he had visited Thurwinker. Thurwinker stuffed the resignation
into his pocket and guided Goma into the hut. "I am glad to see you,
Goma!" Thurwinker exploded. "Yes indeed, very glad."

Goma didn't understand the words, but he knew from the expression on
Thurwinker's face that he was welcome.

"I want to see you," Thurwinker began in Goma's tongue. "I want more
land."

Goma stared at him sadly. "I keep land. You bad man."

"Huh?" Thurwinker asked, incredulously.

"Look." Goma pointed to his hair. "It grow. When the people see it grow
they will not let me be Chief any more."

"You mean--you want another--"

"No!" Goma roared. He shuddered. "Not want haircut!"

"Well, what _do_ you want, Chief?" Thurwinker asked, puzzled.

"I am Chief. I am brave. Bad man hurt me. People say I am not brave. I
am not Chief any more. I am brave. I let bad man torture me. I am Big
Chief." Again he pointed to his hair. "It grow. People soon see it grow
and I will not be Chief unless I get haircut again."

"Oh," Thurwinker nodded. "When your hairs grows out you'll have to get
another haircut or you won't be Chief. Is that it?"

"Yes," Goma mumbled. There was a silence. Then Goma asked,
"Other--people--cut hair?"

"No," Thurwinker informed. "Just barber."

"Bar-ber." Goma turned the unfamiliar word around on his tongue.
"Bar-ber. I will fix," he grunted. "I kill bar-ber." He arose and
started for the door.

"No, no, no! Wait, wait!!" Thurwinker jumped to block Goma's way. After
much persuasion, he got Goma back into his chair again. "Big Chief," he
said, slowly. "You are right. Bar-ber is very bad man."

It was obvious that Goma agreed. "I kill?" he suggested, hopefully.

"No, no," Thurwinker replied, craftily. "You can not kill."

This puzzled Goma. "I can not kill?" he asked.

"No. Bar-ber would cut hair."

Goma closed his eyes and shook. "I can not kill," he agreed.

"Maybe bar-ber go away?" Thurwinker suggested. "Far away?"

Goma's eyes brightened. "You can make bar-ber go away?"

"Yes," Thurwinker said, triumphantly. "If you give land, I make bar-ber
go away."

"Other bar-ber come?" Goma asked.

"No."

"Bar-ber go away. No more cut hair. I will still be Big Chief, but will
not have hair cut. I will give land." Goma arose and marched out of the
hut. He was his old, imperial self again.

       *       *       *       *       *

The ship's barber whipped the apron off Sam Purcell. "There, I cut
hair. I mean, it's all done."

Sam glanced in a mirror. "Yup, and a good job too." He stood up and
reached for his jacket. "Well, that's about all there was to the
affair," Sam continued. "Thurwinker let the word leak out to the
natives that Goma had captured Roy. This made Goma a bigger hero than
ever. We marched Roy down to the first transport that came in as if
he was a prisoner and kept our guns ready until they took off just to
impress the natives. Of course, we had to let our hair grow but we got
the iridium and that's what we were after. Just as long as the natives
don't see anyone with a haircut, everything will be fine."

The barber laughed. "I wouldn't have believed your story if I hadn't
seen your hair."

As Sam prepared to go, Captain Webster entered the barber shop and
stared at Sam. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he asked.

"Maybe," Sam admitted with a hostile stare. "I'm one of your
passengers, if that'll help you any."

"Of course," Captain Webster chuckled. "I don't believe I got your
name, though."

"Purcell," Sam replied. "Sam Purcell."

"Well, well!" Captain Webster replied, jovially. "I'm certainly glad to
meet you, Mr. Purcell. Webster's the name." He extended a plump hand to
Sam.

Sam looked at the hand as though it were slightly decayed and walked
out.