WE'RE OFF TO MARS! By Carlton Furth The strange little robot machine would create anything Joe Linger wanted. The catch was, that he was being told what to create--and didn't know it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy September 1951 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Joe Linger raised up on one elbow and stared at the door, frowning. "Who is it?" he called out. A muffled voice answered from beyond the cracked, peeling wood. "Package for Mr. Joseph Linger!" "Just a minute!" Joe laid his magazine aside, rolled to the edge of the bed, and pulled on his trousers. Rising, he poked his feet into frayed slippers and, walking to the door, swung it open. "Sign here, please!" A little, old man stood in the doorway. He held a large square package under one arm and extended the other, holding out a clipboard and pencil to Joe. He had a thatch of white hair and a red, wrinkled face with blue eyes and a scowl. He wore a loose, blue uniform with a cloth badge on his shallow chest, reading: _Time Deliveries, Inc._ Joe took the clipboard and pencil, scrawled his name and frowned with sudden surprise. The name on the clipboard list above his was: _Pontius Pilate, Rome, 12 A.D._ And when he looked up at the scowling little man who was now holding the package out to him and extending a hand to receive back his clipboard and pencil, Joe saw that he was holding the package out with two right arms and reaching for the clipboard with two left arms! Joe fell back a step. "Who in blazes _are_ you?" "Time Deliveries, Incorporated," the little man chanted. "We guarantee deliveries to anyone, anywhere, any time. Here's your package, Mr. Linger." "B-but," Joe stammered, "where'd you _come_ from?" The little man lifted his lower left hand and fingered his pointed chin. A gleam entered his blue eyes. "Originally, I came from Ursula Major," he said. "That's 3428 A.D., by the present calendar. Now, do you accept this package or--" "I--I accept!" Joe blurted, grabbing for the package. In his haste, he dropped the clipboard and pencil, but four hands deftly snatched them up before they hit the floor. "Very well," said the little man. "Good day, Mr. Linger!" He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Joe stood frozen with the large square package clutched to his chest. Then he lunged forward, wrenched at the doorknob, jerked the door open, and leaped out into the hall. "Hey-y-y-y!" his shout wavered off into weak dismay. The hallway was empty. * * * * *