Robert Sheckley - Off-Limits Planet

It was unbelievable—but true. These bipeds had never been able to develop space travel. Nor had their neighbors given it to them.

Olg checked the list of biped worlds, and found the answer.

This was no biped world. These bipeds had spawned on the Game Preserve!

"That's it," Loom said. "The original four didn't go to a biped world. Instead they landed on a Game Preserve, where no one would look for them. Their descendants reverted to savagery, and spawned—"

"And spawned," Olg broke in. " How they spawned!"

"What a pity," Loom said. "Every one of these bipeds is a descendant of the original four."

"They've certainly done a job on the Game Preserve," Olg said. "Temporarily, we'll have to re-classify it. What do the natives call this place?"

Loom illed the answer. "They call it Earth," he said.

"Call the repair crew," Olg said "And hurry, before they blow the planet to pieces."

"At least," Loom said, "The didn't infect any of the normal biped worlds."

"SO that's it," the little worker said.

"That's it," Gik said. "And of course, we're left with all the repair work on this butchered planet."

The worker picked up his tools. Then he turned back to Gik.

"Where are the inhabitants now?" he asked.

"Well, naturally they couldn't be left here " Gik said carelessly. "Psychotics belong in padded cells, in the Asylum." He paused. "The inhabitants were quite upset about it, naturally. I believe the psychiatrists had to send for three billion strait jackets.

" Now will you kindly get to work?"

The little worker nodded. With exquisite delicacy he began to rebuild a shattered granite mountain.

THE END