Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 47: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE WAITABITS > 45 He solved the problem of reclaiming official dignity by simple process of stepping into the cab. That wasn’t much better, though. He had avoided the limping procession but now had the choice of standing half-bent or kneeling on the floor. Now the driver’s head was right round, his eyes looking straight at the visitor. The knob had projected to its limit. Something that made hissing noises under the floor went silent and the train’s progress was only that of its forward momentum against the brakes. A creep measurable in inches or fractions of an inch. | ‘Hello!’ repeated Leigh, feeling that he had never voiced a sillier word. The driver’s mouth opened to a pink oval, revealed long, narrow teeth but no tongue. He shaped the mouth and by the time he’d got it to his satisfaction the listener could have smoked half a cigarette. Leigh perked his ears for the expected greeting. Nothing came out, not a sound, a note, a decibel. He waited a while, hoping that the first word might emerge before next Thursday. The mouth made a couple of slight changes in form while pink palps at the back of it writhed like nearly dead worms. And that was all. Walterson ceased ultraslow mooching on the tangled clover and called, “It has stopped, commodore.” Stepping backward from the cab, Leigh shoved hands deep into pockets and gazed defeatedly at the driver whose formerly blank face was now acquiring an expression of surprised interest. He could watch the features registering with all the lackadaisical air of a chameleon changing color and at about the same rate. “This is a hell of a note,’ complained Pascoe, nudging Leigh. He pointed at the row of door handles projecting from the four cars. Most of them had tilted out of the horizontal and were moving a degree at a time toward the vertical. ““They’re falling over themselves to get out.” “Open up for them,”’ Leigh suggested. Hoffnagle, who happened to be standing right by an exit, obligingly twisted a handle and lugged the door. Out it swung complete with a clinging passenger who hadn’t been able to let go. Dropping his contact charts, Hoffnagle dexterously caught the victim, planted him on his feet. It took forty-eight seconds by Romero’s watch for this one ‘to register facial reaction which was that of bafflement. After this, doors had to be opened with all the caution of a tax collector coping with a mysterious parcel that ticks. Pascoe, impatient as usual, hastened the dismounting process by lifting aliens from open doorways and standing them on the green sward. The quickest witted one among the lot required a mere twenty-eight seconds to start mulling the problem of how he had passed from one point to another without crossing intervening space. He would solve that problem—given time. With the train empty there were twenty-three Waitabits hanging around. None exceeded four feet in height or sixty pounds Eterna-weight. All were well-clothed in manner that gave no clue to sex. Presumably all were adults, there being no tiny specimens among them. Not one bore anything remotely resembling a weapon. : Ccommiclbooks.conn