Hop O' My Thumb

No name in human speech was black enough for the man who was surrendering Earth to the aliens ... but Everson knew that the only way to keep his world from slavery was to link it to the invaders--with a cosmic ball and chain!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Super Science Stories May 1950. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

George Everson descended hastily from the air liner, and the flying steps of a street escalator carried him up into the Star Building, but not before the crowd surging behind the fence a hundred yards away had caught sight of him. How they recognized him in the growing dusk he didn't know. His gray hair and mustache, the sensitive lines of his face were unobtrusive, anonymous--but recognize him they did. Probably hate had sharpened their vision, for the chorus of yells that overtook him was fierce. It was clear enough that they didn't like traitors.

He smiled wearily, knowing, without pausing to make sure, that his hand-picked guards were keeping them in check, and dropped wearily into a convenient desk chair. As it headed for his office, he switched on the visor, and his secretary's anxious face met his eyes. "We've been expecting you, Mr. Everson."

"Any messages?"

"A great many of them, sir."

"What do they say about the surrender?" he asked.

"Most of them are protests, sir. Official resignations--"

"The resignees have been replaced, according to plan?"

"Naturally, Mr. Everson."

"And they are proceeding to carry out the surrender, as ordered?"

"Well, not quite. A few said they couldn't stomach it, Mr. Everson. They resigned too."

"See that they are replaced with names selected from List C. The surrender must go through."

"Yes, Mr. Everson."

His secretary--herself a replacement of the man who had been with him for ten years--seemed to wait for him to go on, but he only nodded curtly and switched off. There were other people to see and talk to, but suddenly he felt it impossible to face them, to stare into their eyes. He let the chair carry him silently, and once in his office, he turned on the door lock to insure privacy. Then he stared out through the transparent wall at the spectacle the heavens offered.

Off the right, not far above the horizon, hung the Hop planet-fortress, from which he had just come. A bit smaller than the moon in apparent diameter, it was actually larger than Jupiter, and had several times that planet's mass.

From an anti-grav chamber, he had seen only one tiny corner of its vast surface, but that single vision had been enough to convince him that he had been correct. The Hops, in their countless numbers, were unconquerable, and the human race, despite all its weapons, had no choice but to surrender unconditionally.

The Hop Supreme Three had observed all the customary formalities. They had signed the agreement for humane treatment of the surrendering race, and given their most solemn promises to live up to the agreement in every detail; although from what he had seen of them, Everson knew that their idea of what was humane differed from his. He knew also that they signed agreements merely to break them, as they had broken the one on Neptune, and that when they broke this one the human race might very well be exterminated. But, as he had been telling himself time and again these last five days, he had no choice.

He had, by dint of superhuman effort, managed to persuade the majority of his Council of that, and only two members had resigned. Public opposition had been more violent and outspoken, with here and there some firebrand calling for a war of defense to the death. But he had pointed out as coolly as he could, in one System-wide speech after another, that the war would be to their death. Resistance was one thing, suicide another. The opposition had been disorganized, if not overcome, and the surrender was now going on. His present task was to speed it up as much as he could, and for that he would have to see and talk to the numerous individuals whose calls were waiting.

But the effort of pressing a button which would bring their faces opposite his own was more than he could manage. And then, to his relief, he found an excuse for putting off the painful task. A bell tinkled musically, and his secretary's voice said softly, "Mr. Arthur Everson, sir."