"Jean Marie Stine - Lost Stars Forgotten Sci-Fi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stine Jean Marie)

(wherein editors of various magazines selected their personal favorite from among
the publication's stories).
Because of the huge volume of stories in these anthologies, and the age of some,
which have been out of print for more than a half century, many of these gems of
science fiction have been forgotten. This anthology hopes to correct that tragedy, at
least in part, by restoring to print a generous helping. We are certain you will enjoy
these tales as much as we did while rereading them forLost Stars .
Jean Marie Stine
07/15/2003


TEETHING RING
JAMES CAUSEY
(Selected fromThe Second Galaxy Reader of Science Fiction , 1954)
Half an hour before, while she had been engrossed in the current soap opera and
Harry junior was screaming in his crib, Melinda would naturally have slammed the
front door in the little man's face. However, when the bell rang, she was wearing her
new Chinese red housecoat, had just lustered her nails to a blinding scarlet, and
Harry junior was sleeping like an angel.
Yawning, Melinda answered the door and the little man said, beaming, "Excellent
day. I have geegaws for information."
Melinda did not quite recoil. He was perhaps five feet tall, with a gleaming hairless
scalp and a young-old face. He wore a plain gray tunic, and a peddler's tray hung
from his thin shoulders.
"Don't want any," Melinda stated flatly.
"Please." He had great, beseeching amber eyes. "They all say that. I haven't much
time. I must be back at the University by noon."
"You working your way through college?"
He brightened. "Yes. I suppose you could call it that. Alien anthropology major."
Melinda softened. The initiations those frats pulled nowadays–shaving the poor guy's
head, eating goldfish–it was criminal.
"Well?" she asked grudgingly. "What's in the tray?"
"Flanglers," said the little man eagerly. "Oscilloscopes. Portable force-field
generators. A neural distorter." Melinda's face was blank. The little man frowned.
"You use them, of course? This is a Class IV culture?" Melinda essayed a weak
shrug and the little man sighed with relief. His eyes fled past her to the blank screen
of the TV set. "Ah, a monitor." He smiled. "For a moment I was afraid–May 1 come
in?"
Melinda shrugged, opened the door. This might be interesting, like a vacuum-cleaner
salesman who had cleaned her drapes last week for free. And Kitty Kyle Battles Life
wouldn't be on for almost an hour.
"My name is Porteous," said the little man with an eager smile. "I'm doing a thematic
on Class IV cultures." He whipped out a stylus, began jotting down notes. The TV
set fascinated him.
"It's turned off right now," Melinda said.
Porteous' eyes widened impossibly. "You mean," he whispered in horror, "that
you're exercising Class V privileges? This is terribly confusing. I get doors slammed
in my face, when Class Fours are supposed to have a splendid gregarian quotient–
you do have atomic power, don't you?"
"Oh, sure," said Melinda uncomfortably. This wasn't going to be much fun.