Store of the Worlds: The Stories of Robert Sheckley by Robert Sheckley Page A

Detector!”
    â€œThat’s true,” Ger said. “But it doesn’t help. I always wanted to be a Hunter.”
    Pid shook his entire body in annoyance. “You can’t,” he said, very slowly, as one would explain to a Glomling. “The Hunter Shape is forbidden to you.”
    â€œNot here it isn’t,” Ger said, still wagging his tail.
    â€œLet’s have no more of this.” Pid said angrily. “Get into that installation and set up your Displacer. I’ll try to overlook this heresy.”
    â€œI won’t,” Ger said. “I don’t want the Glom here. They’d ruin it for the rest of us.”
    â€œHe’s right,” an oak tree said.
    â€œIlg!” Pid gasped. “Where are you?”
    Branches stirred. “I’m right here,” Ilg said. “I’ve been Thinking.”
    â€œBut—your caste—”
    â€œPilot,” Ger said sadly, “Why don’t you wake up? Most of the people on Glom are miserable. Only custom makes us take the caste-shape of our ancestors.”
    â€œPilot,” Ilg said, “All Glom are born Shapeless!”
    â€œAnd being born Shapeless, all Glom should have Freedom of Shape,” Ger said.
    â€œExactly,” Ilg said. “But he’ll never understand. Now excuse me. I want to Think.” And the oak tree was silent.
    Pid laughed humorlessly. “The Men will kill you off,” he said. “Just as they killed off the rest of the expeditions.”
    â€œNo one from Glom has been killed,” Ger told him. “The other expeditions are right here.”
    â€œAlive?”
    â€œCertainly. The Men don’t even know we exist. That Dog I was hunting with is a Glom from the nineteenth expedition. There are hundreds of us here, Pilot. We like it.”
    Pid tried to absorb it all. He had always known that the lower castes were lax in caste-consciousness. But this—this was preposterous!
    This planet’s secret menace was—freedom!
    â€œJoin us, Pilot,” Ger said. “We’ve got a paradise here. Do you know how many species there are on this planet? An uncountable number! There’s a shape to suit every need!”
    Pid shook his head. There was no shape to suit his need. He was a Pilot.
    But Men were unaware of the presence of the Glom. Getting near the reactor would be simple!
    â€œThe Glom Supreme Council will take care of all of you,” he snarled, and shaped himself into a Dog. “I’m going to set up the Displacer myself.”
    He studied himself for a moment, bared his teeth at Ger, and loped toward the gate.
    The Men at the gate didn’t even look at him. He slipped through the main door of the building behind a man, and loped down a corridor.
    The Displacer in his body pouch pulsed and tugged, leading him toward the reactor room.
    He sprinted up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. There were footsteps around the bend, and Pid knew instinctively that Dogs were not allowed inside the building.
    He looked around desperately for a hiding place, but the corridor was bare. However, there were several overhead lights in the ceiling.
    Pid leaped, and glued himself to the ceiling. He shaped himself into a lighting fixture, and hoped that the Men wouldn’t try to find out why he wasn’t shining.
    Men passed, running.
    Pid changed himself into a facsimile of a Man, and hurried on.
    He had to get closer.
    Another Man came down the corridor. He looked sharply at Pid, started to speak, and then sprinted away.
    Pid didn’t know what was wrong, but he broke into a full sprint. The Displacer in his body pouch throbbed and pulsed, telling him he had almost reached the critical distance.
    Suddenly a terrible doubt assailed his mind. All the expeditions had deserted! Every single Glom!
    He slowed slightly.
    Freedom of Shape ... that was a strange notion. A disturbing notion.
    And obviously a device of The Shapeless One, he