Accept No Substitutes
By ROBERT SHECKLEY
Illustrated by ED EMSH
The Sexual Morality Act was fierce
to buck, but the Algolian sex surrogate
was ... er ... even fiercer!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity March 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ralph Garvey's private space yacht was in the sling at BostonSpaceport, ready for takeoff. He was on yellow standby, waiting for thegreen, when his radio crackled.
"Tower to G43221," the radio buzzed. "Please await customs inspection."
"Righto," said Garvey, with a calmness he did not feel. Within him,something rolled over and died.
Customs inspection! Of all the black, accursed, triple-distilled badluck! There was no regular inspection of small private yachts. TheDepartment had its hands full with the big interstellar liners fromCassiopeia, Algol, Deneb, and a thousand other places. Private shipsjust weren't worth the time and money. But to keep them in line,Customs held occasional spot checks. No one knew when the mobilecustoms team would descend upon any particular spaceport. But chancesof being inspected at any one time were less than fifty to one.
Garvey had been counting on that factor. And he had paid eight hundreddollars to know for certain that the East coast team was in Georgia.Otherwise, he would never have risked a twenty-year jail sentence forviolation of the Sexual Morality Act.
There was a loud rap on his port. "Open for inspection, please."
"Righto," Garvey called out. He locked the door to the after cabin. Ifthe inspector wanted to look there, he was sunk. There was no placein the ship where he could successfully conceal a packing case ten feethigh, and no way he could dispose of its illegal contents.
"I'm coming," Garvey shouted. Beads of perspiration stood out on hishigh, pale forehead. He thought wildly of blasting off anyhow, runningfor it, to Mars, Venus.... But the patrol ships would get him before hehad covered a million miles. There was nothing he could do but try tobluff it.
He touched a button. The hatch slid back and a tall, thin uniformed manentered.
"Thought you'd get away with it, eh, Garvey?" the inspector barked."You rich guys never learn!"
Somehow, they had found out! Garvey thought of the packing crate in theafter cabin, and its human-shaped, not-yet-living contents. Damning,absolutely damning. What a fool he'd been!
He turned back to the control panel. Hanging from a corner of it, ina cracked leather holster, was his revolver. Rather than face twentyyears breaking pumice on Lunar, he would shoot, then try—
"The Sexual Morality Act isn't a blue law, Garvey," the inspectorcontinued, in a voice like steel against flint. "Violations can havea catastrophic effect upon the individual, to say nothing of the race.That's why we're going to make an example of you, Garvey. Now let's seethe evidence."
"I don't know what in hell you're talking about," Garvey said.Surreptitiously his hand began to creep toward the revolver.
"Wake up, boy!" said the inspector. "You mean you still don'trecognize me?"
Garvey stared at the inspector's tanned, humorous face. He said, "EddieStarbuck?"
"About time! How long's it been, Ralph? Ten ye