NO-RISK PLANET

By Milton Lesser

Sam had sold life insurance to every race
in the galaxy. But on Halcyon he found a people
who not only didn't want it--but didn't need it!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
March 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Interstellar Hotel

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Mr. Herman Spottsworth

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Boss:

The natives got a big kick out of it when I told them what the name of
their planet means in English. It means peaceful. From what I could
gather, the first Terran to land here fifty years ago was so impressed
with the balmy climate and pleasant rolling terrain and almost tideless
oceans that he named the planet Halcyon. The only catch is, the natives
have all the food they want and all the natural resources and just
about everything. So, they have nothing to keep them occupied except
fighting wars. They haven't been able to string three peaceful years
together since the beginning of recorded history here, two thousand
years ago. It's kind of like a game with them.

That being the case, I ought to establish a new record for the
Interstellar Division. I've got to sign off now because the air-raid
bell just rang. Regards to Joanie.


Cordially,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Mr. Sammy Trumple

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Dear Sammy:

Glad to see you've arrived O.K. and are so impressed with the sales
potential there. Remember the motto of the Interstellar Division: IF
YOU CAN PLANET-FALL, YOU CAN SELL....

Yours in sales,

Herman Spottsworth


P.S. Regards from Joanie.

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Hotel

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Mr. Herman Spottsworth

Etc.


Dear Boss:

That air-raid was murder! You'd better double my own life insurance
policy. Take the premiums out of my salary, please. Incidentally, your
letter almost got lost because you forgot to include "Interstellar
Hotel" in the address. It's a fifty-room fleabag, boss, but they got
pride. Please take good care of Joanie.


Cordially,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

You've been on Halcyon three weeks now. How come you wrote up no
policies yet? You aren't taking the sights in like a tourist, are
you--on a Terran expense account?


Yours in sales,

Herman Spottsworth.

       *       *       *       *       *

143-1/4 East Scjulak Street

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

Please note the new address. The Interstellar Hotel was blown to bits
in the last air-raid. I'm scared, boss. There are air-raids around the
clock, with Halcyonians dropping off like flies.

And that answers your question, incidentally. There are no tourists on
Halcyon. It's too dangerous. Better quadruple my own life insurance
policy. And tell Joan I love her.


Frantically,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

I've quadrupled your policy. I'm taking care of Joanie. I'm awaiting
your first sale.


Spottsworth

       *       *       *       *       *

143-1/4 East Scjulak Street

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

I'm trying. I'm trying my head off. With those big premiums to pay,
don't you think I could use the commission?

There's something fishy going on here on Halcyon, but I can't figure
it out yet. The way they get killed off in these wars, the Halcyonians
ought to snap up insurance policies. In fact, I don't even know how
much profit the Company could expect to make from them, but that's
your department. It's funny, though. The Halcyonians don't want life
insurance. They don't even know what life insurance is!

To give you an idea of what I mean, I'll quote verbatim a conversation
I had with a couple of Halcyonians right after this morning's air-raid,
which leveled every building on their block except their own.

ME: Good morning, folks. You're mighty lucky people, yes siree.

FIRST HALCYONIAN: Why are we lucky?

ME: You're the only survivors on your whole block.

SECOND HALCYONIAN (shrugging): So what?

ME: So what? So you could have been killed in that air-raid, that's
what.

SECOND HALCYONIAN (shrugging again): So what?

ME: (tuning my language translator to its most cheerful pitch): I'm
from the planet Earth. Did you ever hear of the planet Earth?

FIRST AND SECOND HALCYONIAN: No.

ME (hopefully): It's also called Terra. Near Sirius?

FIRST AND SECOND HALCYONIAN: No.

ME: Well, anyhow, I represent the Terran Insurance Company,
Interstellar Division. I'm here on Halcyon to offer your loved ones
financial protection from the ravages of war, via life insurance.

FIRST HALCYONIAN: Which insurance?

ME: Life insurance. The special, triple indemnity war and disaster
policy of the Terran Insurance Company.

FIRST HALCYONIAN: I never heard of life insurance. What does it do?

ME: I have here in my hand (this required some explanation, boss,
because the Halcyonians do not have hands) a blank policy for you to
look at. Life insurance, you see, pays a stipulated sum to a party of
your designation in the event of your death. All you do is pay small
yearly premiums, and....

SECOND HALCYONIAN: Oh, like the fellow from Fomalhaut.

ME (gasping): What? There's another insurance salesman in my territory?
Someone's poaching?

SECOND HALCYONIAN: He's been here some time now, but we couldn't
possibly be interested.

ME: The Fomalhautian's policy offers you more?

FIRST HALCYONIAN: Really, we couldn't be less interested. But the
answer to your question is no.

ME: Is he still here in Halcyon City?

SECOND HALCYONIAN: Who?

ME: The insurance salesman from Fomalhaut.

SECOND HALCYONIAN: I think so. His name, I believe, is Lar Luk. You
could look him up in the city register.

ME: I sure will. And thank you, folks.

FIRST HALCYONIAN: You're wasting your time, Mr. Terra.

ME: No, that's my planet. My name is Trumple.

FIRST HALCYONIAN: Well, Terra or whatever your name is, you won't sell
any of those dohinkuses here.

Well, that's the conversation, boss. Half an hour later, the two
Halcyonians got their breathing vents ruptured in the air-raid and
died of strangulation. I'll bet you're glad I didn't sell _those_ two
policies!


Yours still hopefully,

Sammy Trumple


P.S. I intend to look up this guy from Fomalhaut.

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Company

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

Six weeks now without a sale. What's the matter with you? Getting soft?
Homesick? Joanie is all right, I assure you. Hell's bells, man, IF YOU
CAN PLANET-FALL, YOU CAN SELL. And by the way, you go right ahead and
sell 'em. Let the boys in the actuary department worry about having to
pay off immediately. We're sales, Sammy. Sales.

Why don't you go out into the grass roots somewhere, where this bird
from Fomalhaut hasn't tried his hand? Maybe he's soured all the
Halcyonians on life insurance with the wrong approach. Over-aggressive
or something.

Buck up, Sammy. I've still got a little faith in you. Explore.
Consider. Sweat. Sell.


Yours in sales,

Herman Spottsworth

       *       *       *       *       *

Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

I'm out here in Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle trying your suggestion
about the grass roots. It's a small town, population under two
thousand, without an important war industry. You'd think it would
be safe from air-raids, but it's not. As I told you when I first
reached Halcyon, they have no real reason for war. War is like a game
with them. Their best bombers are sent out after hospital ships, I
understand. 'Tennyrate, tomorrow I'm going to try my luck here in
Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle.

Meanwhile, I have something of interest to report. Remember that guy I
mentioned, Lar Luk, the insurance salesman from Fomalhaut? I met him in
Halcyon City before I took the monorail to Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle,
and we had a long talk.

I said, "I hope you don't think I'm poaching on your territory, Mr.
Luk." I then turned down the translator to soft obsequious. "I assure
you, that's not the way Terran Insurance operates. We didn't know you
were here."

"That's quite all right," Lar Luk told me. "You can have the whole
planet for all I care."

"Are you going back to Fomalhaut?" I asked hopefully.

"Goodness, no. I had my savings shipped here to Halcyon and started a
munitions plant. I'm making a fortune."

I next asked Lar Luk (translator on shocked voice) about his Company
Loyalty. He said, "That's a lot of (CENSORED BY MY TRANSLATOR)! When in
Rome, heh-heh...." It seems every civilized planet has an author who
said something like "when in Rome, etc."

"You didn't happen to try the grass roots, did you?" I asked with my
translator in indifferent because I didn't want Lar Luk to get the idea
I was eager and maybe try it himself.

"Friend," admitted Lar Luk, "I tried everything. Without any success.
Say, why don't you come into munitions with me? There's a whole colony
of extra-halcyonian insurance salesmen going into munitions here. I
could use a partner."

That ended our conversation. I'm going to cold-canvas
Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle in the morning. I'll keep in touch.


Pessimistically,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

XXX--SUBSPACEGRAM--XXX FROM HERMAN SPOTTSWORTH INTERSTELLAR
DIVISION TERRAN INSURANCE COMPANY BALTIMEARTH XXX TO SAMMY TRUMPLE
RMPLDECROIDESANSPERTXKLE HALCYON XXX DON'T GO GETTING ANY IDEAS FROM
THIS LAR LUK FELLOW XXX REMEMBER YOUR COMPANY LOYALTY XXX REMEMBER OUR
MOTTO XXX REMEMBER ALL THOSE PREMIUMS YOU HAVE TO PAY XXX THE CHIEF
OF SALES WANTS RESULTS SOON XXX. I WANT RESULTS SOON XXX OTHERWISE
HE'LL HAVE MY HEAD XXX I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD SPOTTSWORTH XXX TRANSMITTED
VIA ALPHA CENTAURI SUBSPACE STATION XXX SEND FLOWERS BY SUBSPACE TO
ANY PART OF MILKYWAY GALAXY AT NO EXTRA COST XXX QUARTERLY SPECIAL:
ARCHENAR III DRAGON BLOSSOMS XXX ALPHACENT XXX

       *       *       *       *       *

Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

You don't have to worry about _my_ company loyalty. But still, no
sales. Unfortunately, half of Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle was wiped
out yesterday in an air-raid. I'm lucky I came through it with a
whole skin. I went through the hospitals and first aid stations to
canvas what was left of the population. They're just not buying. They
can't--or refuse to--grasp the meaning of life insurance. The following
conversation is typical:

ME: But in a devastating war like this, you _need_ protection.
Most other insurance companies wouldn't issue policies under the
circumstances. You can consider it an interstellar public service by
Terran Insurance.

IT: What do I need life insurance for?

ME: Don't you have a family? Loved ones? People you'd like to see cared
for after your--uh--that is, if you're suddenly not around to take care
of the bills and things, if you....

IT: You mean if I drop dead?

ME: Yes, sir.

IT: What the hell for?

ME: One never knows when he is going to, uh, drop dead.

IT: No. I mean what the hell do I want an insurance policy for?

ME: Statistics demonstrate that everyone wants the security of a life
insurance policy.

IT: I don't.

So, that's the way it goes. I've had another idea, though. How does
this strike you, boss? The local Army commander has his headquarters
not far from Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle. Since the whole planet is under
military rule because of the constant warfare, I figure if I can sell
a policy to General Multacni, I could then sell every dogfoot in his
command. How does the idea strike you?


With a glimmer of hope,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

Now you're firing away on all jets, boy! Now you're good Terran
Insurance material. You're darned tooting, sell the general. We'll have
it made after that.


Enthusiastically,

Hermie

P.S. I take back everything I may have said about you in haste, dear
boy. You're A-1 Terran Insurance all the way. P.P.S. Joanie is
languishing, she misses you so much. Make a couple of dozen sales to
cover your expense account and we'll think about getting you home on
the next ship.

       *       *       *       *       *

MILITARY TWX FROM SUPREME COMMANDER HALCYON SUBDIVISION THREE CMM
OFFICE OF MILITARY JUSTICE CMM TO CLN MR H SPOTTSWORTH CMM INTERSTELLAR
DIVISION CMM TERRAN INSURANCE CMM BALTIMEARTH DASH PENDING TRIAL OR
APPEAL OF YOUR STATE DEPARTMENT CMM WHICHEVER COMES FIRST CMM WE ARE
HOLDING TERRAN CITIZEN S TRUMPLE UNDER PROVISIONS OF ARTICLE SEVEN CMM
HALCYON CODE OF MILITARY JUSTICE PD PARA ARTICLE SEVEN READS CLN QUOTE
ANY INDIVIDUAL ATTEMPTING SUBVERSION OF MORAL WELFARE OF OFFICERS OR
ENLISTED MEN CMM THIS COMMAND CMM IS SUBJECT TO IMPRISONMENT FOR NOT
MORE THAN TWENTY FIVE HALCYONIAN YEARS PD ENDQUOTE PARA PLEASE ADVISE
PD PARA FOR THE COMMANDING GENERAL CMM LIEUT DASH MAJ ROG GO FURL CMM
HALCYON SUBDIVISION THREE CMM OFFICE OF MILITARY JUSTICE PD END TWX

       *       *       *       *       *

Subdivision Three Stockade

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

Lar Luk of Fomalhaut is forwarding this letter for me. Help!!!


Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Commanding General

Subdivision Three

Halcyon


Dear Sir:

With Terran State Department approval, I am writing you in regard to
the case of our employee, Mr. S. Trumple of Earth. With full State
Department backing we insist that you permit Mr. Trumple to tell us,
uncensored and in his own words, what has happened, in order that we
may take steps to defend him as a citizen of Earth.


Very truly yours,

Herman Spottsworth

       *       *       *       *       *

Subdivision Three Stockade

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

Lieutenant Major Roggo Furl informs me that I'm permitted to write you
an uncensored letter. Boss, I'm in the dregs of despair. Please take
good care of Joanie.

It's cold here in the stockade. The food stinks. The other prisoners
are all Halcyonian military deserters. Get me out of here!

But I better calm down and try to tell you what happened from the
beginning. As I already told you, I decided to try and sell General
Multacni a life insurance policy. It took me two hours working my
way through the chain of command before I could even get to see the
General. When I finally did, I found myself facing a huge figure in
military uniform--huge even by Halcyonian standards. General Multacni
is probably nine feet tall.

At first he was courteous. He listened politely, taking time out every
now and then to direct a bombing raid by radio, while I explained to
him exactly what life insurance was and what he could expect from the
Terran policy. Like everyone else on Halcyon, he said he didn't need
life insurance.

"See here, sir," I said, translator polite but not obsequious. "War is
dangerous business. You never know when your number is going to be up."

The General's office rumbled with laughter as he said, "Mr. Terran--"
they all call me that "--I'm indestructible." As you probably know,
that's a typical military career man's attitude. They all think they
are indestructible. The other fellow will die in the trenches or the
raids, not them. Even on Earth we have trouble selling our policies to
the military.

I tried a different tack, the one approved for military customers on
Earth. "Well, General," I said, "someday this war is going to be over.
Someday you're going to retire to a farm somewhere in the good rich
land around Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle. You'll raise chickens--" which
the translator translated to the Halcyonian equivalent, of course
"--and bounce your little grandchildren on your knee. And then, way off
in the dim future, General, years and years from now after you've lived
a rich, full life, you're going to succumb to natural causes. And, if
not sooner--and we certainly hope it won't be sooner--that's when your
family will need this insurance policy I have for you."

"The war isn't going to end," General Multacni told me.

"But someday, when your side is victorious, and--"

"Victorious?" His translator buzzed, repeating the word syllable for
syllable.

"What is that?"

"When you win the war."

"Win it? But we're not going to win it, Mr. Terran."

"Things can't be that bad," I consoled the General giving him my best
you're-down-in-the-dumps-now-but-wait-till-later smile. "Maybe the
enemy has you on the run just now, but you'll emerge victorious--you'll
win--in the end." Of course, I would have told the same thing to
General Multacni's opposite number in the opposing camp. I'm no
authority on Halcyonian military matters, but under the circumstances
it seemed the correct thing to say.

General Multacni stood up. "I must consider this interview at an
end, Mr. Terran," he said frostily. "And I advise you to keep such
subversive thoughts to yourself in the future. I'm a broad-minded
Halcyonian, but--" And the General let his voice trail off ominously.

I figured he had battle fatigue, boss. Nobody could talk like that in
his right mind, not even a general on a planet which is engaging in
warfare almost constantly. Anyhow, I had to find out. Wandering through
the military reservation on my way back to Rmpl, I chanced upon a
non-commissioned officer's club. Here was the place to find out once
and for all! I would speak to the NCO's who probably had families and
probably were in danger of shipping out to the warfronts at any time.

I went inside and I spoke. Maybe I made too much like a soap box
orator, I don't know. I don't know. I told them they would need
insurance during the war, and after the war. I told them our policies
would give them solace in these trying times, mitigating some of their
worries during the necessary horrors of their struggle for existence.
When finished, there wasn't a sound in the whole vast room. Boss, I
thought we had them. I brought out a pad of policies and was ready to
start scribbling names.

Then the military police came in and arrested me.

You know the rest. How I was taken to the subdivision stockades, given
a medical exam (for some reason, a small slice of flesh was taken from
my rump. I won't miss it, but I couldn't sit down for two days), told
that I was being held under the provisions of article seven of some
kind of code of military justice. Me, subversive. When all I want to do
is sell insurance policies. Boss, please get me the heck off this nutty
planet.


Tragically,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Terran Consulate

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Department of State

Halcyon Subdivision Three


Sirs:

Please explain the charges under which Terran citizen Samuel Trumple is
being held in military prison.


Walter M. Foggarty

Asst. Consul

       *       *       *       *       *

Department of State

Halcyon Subdivision Three


Mr. Walter M. Foggarty

Terran Consulate

Halcyon City


Dear Mr. Foggarty:

We hasten to respond to your note of yesterday and wish to thank you
for the diplomacy, tact and patience you have displayed in this matter.
We of Halcyon are firm believers in reincarnation of the individual
after death, as you may know if you've read Stoy's ANTHROPOLOGICALLY
SPEAKING: A Study of Sixty Seven Galactic Societies, or attended any of
our religious services.

Now, since we believe in reincarnation (off the record, I'm a
free-thinker, myself) and since every individual certainly can't be
born with the proverbial silver feeder in his mandibles, death is an
adventure eagerly anticipated by most Halcyonians, who have hopes that
their station in life will be improved in their next incarnation,
although they believe, of course, that they will maintain their
individuality, their _elan vital_, if you wish, in the subsequent
incarnation.

Terran Citizen Trumple was guilty of the worst sort of subversion when
he spoke of an end to warfare. Naturally, there are some atheistic
pacifists on Halcyon who would like to see war abolished and more
people live out their current incarnations, but this dangerous
minority is constantly hunted down. However, we recognize extenuating
circumstances in the case of Terran citizen Trumple. He is, of
course, unfamiliar with our way of life. That being the case, I have
recommended to the military authorities that he be pardoned without
trial. I will keep you informed.


Most sincerely,

Aleg Trogonommo

Sec'y for resident extra-Halcyonians

       *       *       *       *       *

Terran Consulate

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Mr. Herman Spottsworth

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Company

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Mr. Spottsworth:

The enclosed communication from Trogonommo is self-evident. Feel better?


Foggarty

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

Keep your chin up, boy. It's only a matter of time now. Joanie's fine.


Hermie

       *       *       *       *       *

MEMO:

TO: The Commanding General

FROM: Lieut-Major Roggo Furl, Office of Military Justice

SUBJECT: The Terran Sammy Trumple


1. Trogonommo of State wants us to go easy on the prisoner, Trumple.

2. It is my feeling, though, that in the best interests of Halcyon, an
example should be made of the Terran Trumple. The General realizes, I'm
sure, that the colony of extra-halcyonians on Halcyon is growing. They
must learn to consider Halcyonian culture as inviolate.

3. Accordingly, I recommend we go ahead with trial of Terran Trumple.


Signed

Roggo Furl

Lieut-Major

       *       *       *       *       *

MEMO:

TO: Lieut-Major Roggo Furl, Office of Military Justice

FROM: The Commanding General

SUBJECT: The Terran Sammy Trumple


1. Sorry, Furl. Trogonommo has more political friends than a Veterans'
Legion Commander.

2. However, I quite agree with you. An example must be made of Trumple.

3. But not through a military court of justice. That's political
dynamite.

4. I'd like to suggest that Trumple be allowed to make an attempted
escape. He can be killed while fleeing. That should teach everyone a
lesson, Trumple included.

5. The details of this attempted escape are in your hands. I suggest
you use Lar Luk of Fomalhaut as a go-between, however. And make sure
Trumple is killed!

6. After you read it, burn this letter.


Unsigned

       *       *       *       *       *

143-1/4 East Scjulak Street

Halcyon City

Halcyon


Dear Boss:

Have I got news for you!

A few days ago, Lar Luk--the ex-insurance salesman from
Fomalhaut--visited me at the stockade. You could tell something was
going on because Luk, usually a loud extrovert, spoke in conspiratorial
whispers.

"They are going ahead with your trial," he said.

"How do you know?"

"I am in a position to know. I think you're being treated unjustly,
Sammy. I came here to do something about it."

Boss, I was desperate. Despite your encouraging note, I didn't know
which way to turn. I said, "Like what?"

And Luk leaned forward to whisper: "Like helping you escape."

He clamped a flipper over my mouth before I could blurt out something
which would give us away. I calmed down and said: "Can we do it?"

"We can try. We have to try."

"When?" I asked.

"Tonight, after I leave, after it's dark. I had to get special
dispensation to visit you. They won't let me visit you again."

"But what ... how...." I'm no intriguer, boss. I felt like a pawn in
this game--but a pawn who was about to be checkmated unless he did
something about it.

"Here," said Lar Luk, thrusting something into my hand. "This is a
Fomalhautian freezer, Sammy. You'll stop anybody dead in his tracks
with it. When they come to your cell tonight and bring your meal...."
Lar Luk didn't finish the sentence.

"You'll be waiting for me outside?"

"Yes. With a jetcopter, my friend. It won't be long now."

And Lar Luk was gone. I examined the weapon he had given me. It looked
deadly, all right, with a dull metal finish and a wicked, funnel-like
snout. I was ready, but I didn't see how I would get through the
afternoon.

I tried to sleep. I couldn't. I tried to think of you and Joanie and
what it would be like back on Earth. I couldn't concentrate. It grew
dark slowly, the way it does on Halcyon. I thought they never would
come with my supper. I thought they were starving me before the trial
so I would confess readily. Then I began to think that maybe someone
had seen Lar Luk give me the weapon. Perhaps the cell was wired and
every word we said was heard in the stockade commander's office.

Then I heard footsteps in the corridor. It always sounds like more
than one person, the Halcyonians having more legs than we do. I stood
there at the door of my cell, waiting. I could feel my heart fluttering
around inside me, like a bird.

The cell door opened.

At first I was going to use Lar Luk's weapon, but I didn't know what
kind of noise it would make. He hadn't told me. Instead, I used the
butt of the gun, banging it down across the guard's head. He slumped
at my feet. I hoped I hadn't hurt him too badly. I even hoped Lar
Luk's weapon was effective but not lethal. I had nothing against the
Halcyonians. I just wanted to escape.

Out into the corridor I ran, passing three cross-corridors before I
reached the stockade quadrangle. In the halls, I met no one. So far, I
was lucky. But then....

"Halt! Who goes there?"

A guard in the quadrangle challenging me!

I was trembling so much I had to hold Lar Luk's weapon in both hands to
fire it. It made a noise like a siren.

The guard didn't fall. He kept coming.

I fired again.

It was a siren.

Lar Luk had tricked me.

You can imagine the pickle I was in, boss. The siren summoned more
guards, who came at me from all directions. I tried to get away,
pounding across the pavement of the quadrangle. From somewhere, a
searchlight cut a bright yellow swath across the quadrangle. It found
me and held me.

One of the guards fired a blaster, hitting me in the base of the skull
and killing me instantly.

Cordially,

Sammy Trumple

       *       *       *       *       *

Interstellar Division

Terran Insurance Co.

Baltimore, Md., Earth


Dear Sammy:

I'm glad you managed to get away, but quit pulling my leg, will you?
So the guard killed you--and then you sat down and wrote me a letter.
Please tell me what really happened.

By the way, I have great news for you. Joanie had a litter of four
pups, all spotted brown and white and cute as the dickens. I'm sending
two of them to you by Subspace Express.

And let me know what happened, will you?


Yours in sales,

Hermie

       *       *       *       *       *

Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle

Halcyon


Dear Hermie:

This letter is being smuggled out to you by a friend because it never
would pass the Halcyonian censor. They have a good thing and they want
to keep it to themselves as much as possible and I can't blame them.

Thanks for sending along the pups. I'll be waiting for them. Give
Joanie a pat on the head for me.

Incidentally, cancel all my insurance policies. And I quit the
company, effective immediately. I'm staying here on Halcyon.

I wasn't pulling your leg, Hermie. You remember I told you a slice
of flesh was taken from my rump at the stockade. That's how the
Halcyonians have developed their reincarnation process. They've learned
a way to duplicate an individual artificially using a sample of his
hereditary genes from the slice of flesh. Every Halcyonian has his
slice on file of course. The new embryo is then grown rapidly, in a
matter of a few days.

Lar Luk and I figured it's about time heavy industry came to
Rmpldecroidesanspertxkle. We're opening a new munitions factory here,
which suits the Halcyonians fine. Most of them are in favor of war
because they'd like to better their position in life and might do it
next time around on the new incarnation.

This reincarnation sure as hell beats life insurance, doesn't it?


With fond regards,

Sammy