The Cosmic Jackpot
By GEORGE O. SMITH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories October 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Zintal, the Martian physicist, turned from his Martian companions andcrossed the room toward a large, ornate machine. From his pocket Zintaltook a couple of shiny Martian coins and dropped them in the slot andpressed a number of buttons in sequence.
He waited. The machine clicked faintly and made a noise similar to aCompur shutter set to one second. Then a small door became illuminatedbelow the keyboard.
Zintal opened the door in a semi-absent-minded way and reached infor his purchase. His absent-mindedness disappeared. It would haveremained, of course, had he received what he paid for. But instead ofthe desired purchase, he held in his large greenish hand a small redcylinder.
Zintal grunted angrily and said: "Ve komacil weezro!"[1]
[1] This expression is high grade Martian and theexpostulation of a Martian physicist, therefore its translation intogood English is near-impossible. However, a very rough transliterationof the phrase is—
Ve—Personal pronoun—I
Komacil—Verb past-indicative—was
Weezro—Verb Transitive—Gypped!
No doubt such phrases will become more and more familiar to all Terransnow that contact with Martians has been made. (G.O.S.)
Whereupon Zintal hurled the small cylinder back into the deliveryreceptacle and slammed the door. He had no idea of what "LoveprufLipstick" could have been, and as for its cosmetic value, even themost wanton of Martian wantons had not fallen to the bizarre idea ofusing red makeup on their normally healthy green complexions. Thefact is, Zintal had punched the "Reject" button before he realizedthat the lettering on the cylinder was profoundly dissimilar to anytype of lettering he had ever seen. This included a horde of Martianmathematical symbols and ideographs representing physical identitiesand, naturally, the cursive and printed forms of Martian cryptology.
He reached for the little door but he was too late. Back out of thereturn-chute there came two silvery coins that Zintal picked up idly.
Again his indolent air died a-borning, and again he swore: "Vekomacil weezro!"
For all Zintal could tell at this moment, they might have been a goodgrade of platinum or pure iridium, or any other silvery metal. But as amedium of exchange on Mars they were worth exactly nothing.
Zintal could not even tell that the letters on the obverse sidereferred to: (1) a condition of freedom, (2) faith in a familiar deity,and (3) the date of coinage. On the reverse side the lettering wasequally desolate of meaning to the Martian. There was: (1) the countryof coinage, (2) a statement of value, and (3) a phrase in—Well,that itself would have stopped Zintal right in his tracks. Zintal,the Martian physicist, could no more conceive of a planet where morethan one language existed than he could, at the time of reading, havedeciphered the statement, "E pluribus unum."
Zintal aimed a kick at the offending machine, then beat upon its sidewith a massive green fist. He probed into the delivery receptacleangrily until the communications grille came to life and a coldofficial voice demanded that he cease trying to make the slot machinedeliver without the proper deposit. Zintal snarled and, mutteringMartian imprecations,