by CARL SELWYN
_He saw the huge ball that
was Neptune circle below,
like a weak green light bulb._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Comet May 41.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"If it's going to happen," thought Bill Ricker, "it's got to be
quick." Lounging deep in his red-leather chair, he peered out of the
port as the sleek space ship streamed through the darkness. He could
see nothing outside but a big, humorous-eyed young man who was his own
reflection and the pale green globe that was Neptune. The great planet
hung like a ghostly emerald in the void, sinister in its loneliness.
But bleak, desolate, a snowball of frozen gases, it was hardly the
place for an ambush....
"Pretty, ain't she?" said the whiskery old fellow across the aisle.
"Neptune?" Ricker glanced at the sourdough, then followed his gaze down
the narrow aisle. "Oh--_her_!"
There were twelve seats but only five passengers. Further down was a
tubercular-looking Martian and near the pilot room sat a fat man with a
woman. The fat man chewed sleepily on a dead cigar and the woman stared
out of the window. They were handcuffed together.
"Ever seen the orchids on Amor?" said Ricker. "Well, she's just as
beautiful--and just as dangerous...." She was obviously Venusian but
her skin wasn't exactly yellow, he decided. It was golden brown, little
different from a deeply-tanned Earth girl.
"They say she shot his head plumb off," said the old codger.
"Yep, she certainly mowed him down."
The sourdough lifted a bony finger toward Ricker's brief case. "I
noticed th' tag on yer kit there," he ventured. "Says th' _Planetary
Times_. Be you one o' them telenews fellows?"
Ricker grinned. "Shore am, podner," he said.
"Gonna write about this here murderess arriving on Pluto?"