HELPFULLY YOURS
By EVELYN E. SMITH
Illustrated by EMSH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionFebruary 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Tarb Morfatch had read all the information on Terrestrial customs thatwas available in the Times morgue before she'd left Fizbus. And allthrough the journey she'd studied her Brief Introduction to TerrestrialManners and Mores avidly. Perhaps it was a bit overinspirational inspots, but it had facts in it, too.
So she knew that, since the natives were non-alate, she was not to takewing on Earth. She had, however, forgotten to correlate the knowledge oftheir winglessness with her own vertical habits. As a result, on leavingthe tender that had ferried her down from the Moon, she looked upinstead of right and narrowly escaped death at the jaws of a raginggroundcar that swerved out onto the field.
She recognized it as a taxi from one of the pictures in the handbook.It was a pity, she thought sadly as she was knocked off her feet, thatall those lessons she had so carefully learned were to go to waste.
But it was only the wind of the car's passage that had thrown her down.As she struggled to get up, hampered by her awkward native skirts, thedoor of the taxi flew open. A tall young man—a Fizbian—burst out, thesoft yellowish-green down on his handsome face bristling with frightuntil each feather stood out separately.
"Miss Morfatch! Are you all right?"
"Just—just a little shaky," she murmured, brushing dirt from her rosyleg feathers. Too young to be Drosmig; too good-looking to be anyoneimportant, she thought glumly. Must be the office boy.
To her surprise, he didn't help her up. Probably it would violate somenative taboo if he did, she deduced. The handbook hadn't mentionedanything that seemed to apply, but, after all, a little book like thatcouldn't cover everything.
She could see the young man was embarrassed—his emerald crest waswaving to and fro.
"I'm Stet Zarnon," he introduced himself awkwardly.
The Managing Editor! The handsome young employer of her girlish dreams!But perhaps he had a wife on Fizbus—no, the Grand Editor made a pointof hiring people without families to use as a pretext for expensivevacations on the Home Planet.
As she opened her mouth to say something brilliantly witty, to show shewas no ordinary female but a creature of spirit and fire andintelligence, a sudden cacophony of shrill cries and explosions arose,accompanied by bursts of light. Her feathers stood erect and she clungto her employer with both feathered legs.
"If these are the friendly diplomatic relations Earth and Fizbus aresupposed to be enjoying," she said, "I'm not enjoying them one bit!"
"They're only taking pictures of you with native equipment," heexplained, pulling away from her. What was the matter with him? "You'rethe first Fizbian woman ever to come to Terra, you know."
She certainly did know—and, what was more, she had made the semi-finalsfor Miss Fizbus only the year before. Perhaps he had some Terrestrialmalady he didn't want her to catch. Or could it be that in the fouryears he had spent in voluntary exile on this planet, he had