WELCOME TO PARADISE
By Allyn Donnelson
A civilian like me has no business getting
mixed up in top secret government projects. But
this one I got into—and you should be as lucky!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
President of the United States
The White House
Washington, D.C.
Dear Mr. President:
I don't know who else to appeal to about the fix I'm in, because I'mafraid I would be revealing top secret material to someone who isn'tentitled to hear it. That's why I wouldn't tell the FBI anything andthat's why I told them I don't want a lawyer.
I know you've got lots on your mind, Mr. President, and I hope hearingabout my blunder doesn't throw you off your game this weekend oranything like that, but I sure would appreciate it if you could findtime to help me out.
You see, I'm not a spy, and I sure didn't stumble into this stuff of myown accord, but how was I to know I was setting off a spark that hadsomething to do with space travel? After all, when you stop to thinkabout it, I only did what the foreman told me to, but he didn't knowany better either, so I wouldn't want to get him in Dutch.
You see, I work at the Diversified Metal Products Co. up here inChicago. I'm a spot welder and one job I had to do about every sixweeks was make six welds on a geedunk we called a "manhole cover." Wedidn't know what they were, except that they were something special forthe Signal Corps, and they looked about as much like manhole covers asanything else.
Well, the way the work is supposed to be scheduled, my welding job isthe first thing after it comes off the presses, just before the littlecoils are put in. So the foreman comes over to me one night—it wasOctober 10, the last day of the World Series—and shows me one of thecovers after it's been wired up. One of the welds has come loose—maybebecause the material was dirty or something like that—and it lookslike the whole thing will have to be scrapped.
So he says to me "Tuck" (my name is Joe Peters, but they call me Tuckfor Kentucky where I come from)—he says, "Tuck, do you suppose youcan save this piece by welding it again, right there between those twocoils?"
I look the geedunk over, and there isn't much room to play around, butI decide it's not near enough the coils to melt the wires. So if Ispoil it, so what? It'd be scrap anyhow. How was I to know the pointsof the welder would establish an electrical contact?
So I take the piece and tell him I'll try it after I finish thetruckload of stuff I'm working on. But along about coffee time, I goand burn my hand kind of bad on the welder, and have to get the nurseto bandage it up for me, and that slows me up a good bit.
Everybody else in the department had left for washup by the time I putthe gismo in the machine. I kicked the pedal just like I always do, andwhoosh! I was out like a rookie the first time he faces Allie Reynolds.Seems like I saw a flash of bluish-greenish light, but I don't know forsure.
Next thing I knew, a squatty guy with broad shoulders and bushyeyebrows was standing over me. He said, "Well, did the Yankees win theSeries?" and his accent sounded like he should be following the Dodgersinstead.
I looked around. It was kinda dark, like just after the sun goes down.I was sitting on a big strip of limestone, and I could see a few t