Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. The attribution is not a part of the original book. Four-Day Planet by H. Beam Piper SF ace books A Division of Charter Communications Inc. A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY 360 Park Avenue South New York, New York 10010 Copyright © 1961 by H. Beam Piper _Cover art by Michael Whelan_ * * * * * DEDICATION For Betty and Vall, with loving remembrance * * * * * CONTENTS 1. The Ship from Terra 2. Reporter Working 3. Bottom Level 4. Main City Level 5. Meeting Out of Order 6. Elementary, My Dear Kivelson 7. Aboard the _Javelin_ 8. Practice, 50-MM Gun 9. Monster Killing 10. Mayday, Mayday 11. Darkness and Cold 12. Castaways Working 13. The Beacon Light 14. The Rescue 15. Vigilantes 16. Civil War Postponed 17. Tallow-Wax Fire 18. The Treason of Bish Ware 19. Masks Off 20. Finale * * * * * Four-Day Planet 1 THE SHIP FROM TERRA I went through the gateway, towing my equipment in a contragravity hamper over my head. As usual, I was wondering what it would take, short of a revolution, to get the city of Port Sandor as clean and tidy and well lighted as the spaceport area. I knew Dad's editorials and my sarcastic news stories wouldn't do it. We'd been trying long enough. The two girls in bikinis in front of me pushed on, still gabbling about the fight one of them had had with her boy friend, and I closed up behind the half dozen monster-hunters in long trousers, ankle boots and short boat-jackets, with big knives on their belts. They must have all been from the same crew, because they weren't arguing about whose ship was fastest, had the toughest skipper, and made the most money. They were talking about the price of tallow-wax, and they seemed to have picked up a rumor that it was going to be cut another ten centisols a pound. I eavesdropped shamelessly, but it was the same rumor I'd picked up, myself, a little earlier. "Hi, Walt," somebody behind me called out. "Looking for some news that's fit to print?" I turned my head. It was a man of about thirty-five with curly brown hair and a wide grin. Adolf Lautier, the entertainment promoter. He and Dad each owned a share in the Port Sandor telecast station, and split their time between his music and drama-films and Dad's newscasts.