Adolescents Only

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  ADOLESCENTS ONLY

  By Irving Cox, Jr.

  [Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories ofScience and Fantasy January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  [Sidenote: Elvin wasn't sure how it had started--maybe it was theSchermerhorn twins--or the mysterious "meteorite"--or else the world hadgone crazy....]

  He tried to convince himself he had no right to gripe. It was a pleasantplace to live; he had privacy and a bath of his own. And theSchermerhorns were reasonably broadminded people. They never objected tohis smoking or an occasional glass of beer. Last year at theNeuhavens'--Gary Elvin cringed inwardly at the recollection.

  Just the same, this was going too far. It was enough to endure theirkids all day long, five days of the week, without the addition of thesejuvenile parties. This one had started an hour after dinner and it wasstill going strong when Elvin returned from the late show at the Fox.

  Naturally the Schermerhorn twins were popular tenth graders--husky,blond Greek Gods who had everything, including a red Convertible and aswimming pool Pop Schermerhorn had built for them at the ranch. GaryElvin had expected a certain number of parties when he decided to boardand room with the Schermerhorns, but hardly one every weekend.

  He fled through the cluttered hall where a buxom lass was organizingsomething called a bubble gum contest and took refuge on the damp anddeserted patio. He flung himself on a wet, canvas lounge, and looked upat the bright night sky.

  Bitterly he counted off the weeks. It was still early in November. Hehad eight more months to endure before June came with its temporaryillusion of escape. As he always did, Elvin resolved to find a betterjob next year. He had been teaching for five years now. He knew all thetricks of classroom control and smooth community relations. Surely if hestarted looking early enough, he ought to be able to get something at asmall college....

  Suddenly he was jerked back to reality by a curious spot of red thatappeared in the sky. It moved closer and he saw that it was a fallingobject followed by a long plume of red flame. It flashed momentarilyoverhead and Elvin heard a dull thud as it fell into a field beyond theranch house.

  He sprang up from the couch and moved off in the darkness. It had been ameteorite, of course; if it had survived the friction of the atmosphereit would make an interesting exhibit for the science classroom. MissGerken would be glassy-eyed with pleasure.

  There was no moon. As soon as he crossed the driveway, Elvin stumbledover the damp furrows of a newly ploughed field. He was sweating when hereached the row of palms that lined the irrigation ditch. He paused towipe his face.

  And he heard a weird, shrill, rhythmic sound. It might have been calledmusic, but there was no definable melody or beat. It was faint at first,but as he moved to the right, paralleling the ditch, the sound camelouder.

  As he cautiously approached the alien object, it seemedas if a soft melody were being wafted on the night breeze. The soundmade him nervous and instilled fear....]

  Then, beyond the trees, in a glow of blue light emanating from the thingitself, he saw the rocket. It was not quite five feet long, a slimprojectile of glowing metal nosed deeply into the soft earth. The fourfins were rotating slowly.

  * * * * *

  Gary Elvin might, quite properly, have been frightened, but he wastotally unacquainted with modern fiction dealing with the probablepotentials of science and the universes beyond the earth. Such materialhe classified, along with comic books and television, as the pap ofmediocre minds.

  Now, when he first saw the rocket, he came to the somewhat prosaicconclusion that it had strayed from the government experimental site atMuroc. He walked closer. The glow of the metal brightened; the slowrotation of the fins and the weird music became hypnotic. For a momentElvin felt a surge of fear. He tried to turn away, but he could not.

  Instead, moving against his will, he took two of the fins in his handsand pulled on them. The rotation and the music stopped as the tailpieceof the rocket fell open. Elvin's mind cleared as he looked into a tinychamber capped by a small rectangular sheet of metal which was dottedwith tiny globes of a translucent material. Gingerly he picked up theseal.

  As he touched the metal, a strange sensation, like a flood of jumbledwords, tumbled through his mind. The feeling was neither unpleasant norfrightening. He was tempted to relax and enjoy it; and he would have, ifhe had not been distracted by a second object in the chamber. He thrustthe strip of metal into the pocket of his coat.

  Elvin's second find was a small, transparent cylinder, filled with tiny,multi-colored spheres, exactly like a jar of hard candy. There wasnothing else in the rocket, except for the motor built into thetailpiece. The blue glow of the rocket began to fade.

  Vaguely Elvin became aware that something was amiss. He began to suspectthat he had stumbled upon something more than a stray rocket from Muroc.He wanted to tell somebody about it. Clutching the cylinder of coloredballs he ran back to the house.

  The party had reached one of its numerous climaxes. The hall was jammedwith chattering high school students. They swirled in a flood aroundMrs. Schermerhorn, who seemed to be enjoying herself as much as theywere.

  Gary Elvin grabbed her arm. "I've found a rocket!" he cried.

  "Rocket?" she frowned for a moment, and then smiled brightly. "Oh, theracket. Yes, but they do have so much energy, don't they?"

  He held up the cylinder. "This was in it!"

  "Oh, you found it, Mr. Elvin. We looked high and low; now we--"

  "It was in the rocket."

  "... now we can have our contest."

  Desperately a new idea occurred to him. "Can you get these kids quiet? Iwant to 'phone."

  "But it's so early, Mr. Elvin. We can't expect them to go home yet."

  "No, Mrs. Schermerhorn. 'Phone. I want to telephone!"

  "Oh. Yes; of course. We'll have our contest in the living room."

  * * * * *

  Gary Elvin wormed his way toward the closet under the stairway. It was avery small telephone alcove, not designed for utility. Yet he found hecould shut out some of the din if he jackknifed himself against theslanting wall and held the door partly shut.

  But it required the use of both his hands. He set the cylinder on abookcase in the hall and squeezed into the closet. With the telephone inhis hand, he hesitated. It had seemed a good idea a moment ago--to callin the Authorities. But, to bring the generalization down to specifics,just who would that be?

  In a big city he would have telephoned the police. But San Benedicto wasa California valley town, small, sleepy, and contented. The four-manpolice force was more or less capable of handling minor trafficviolations, but certainly nothing else. The State Police? Elvin doubtedthey would have jurisdiction. His last, feeble resort seemed to be the_San Benedicto News_, a daily, four-page advertising circular thatpassed, locally, for a newspaper. Elvin called the editor-reporter athis home.

  After he had told his story, Elvin had to suffer a certain standardizedbanter concerning the advisability of changing his brand of bourbon. Itwas entirely meaningless, a form of humor enjoyed by the valley people.Matt Henderson eventually agreed that the strange rocket might bearinvestigation.

  "I'll be out first thing in the morning," he promised.

  "In the morning! Listen, Matt, this thing may be--it might--" He wasunable to crystalize his reasons for urgency. He finished lamely, "It'simportant, I think."

  "It ain't going to run away, is it?"

  "No, but--"

>   "Then we can both get a good night's sleep."

  Gary Elvin turned away from the telephone, vaguely dissatisfied. He feltthat something ought to be done immediately. What, he didn't know, orwhy. He went to get his cylinder of colored spheres from the bookcasewhere he had left it. The jar was gone.

  He heard a burst of talk in the living room and he was suddenlyfrightened. From the archway he looked in on the guests, some thirtyyoungsters, all of the tenth grade of San Benedicto High School. Theysprawled over chairs and couches, or they sat, Indian fashion, on thefloor. Mrs. Schermerhorn stood in the center of the room, like a judge,smiling patiently. All thirty of the guests were chewing industriously.On the floor stood Elvin's jar of colored spheres, open and more thanhalf-empty.

  "Oh, dear," Mrs. Schermerhorn protested, turning to Elvin. "Somethingseems wrong with their gum. They've tried and tried, but I haven't seena single bubble.