Ron Barnard had stuck his nose into one news
story too many. It had started with a lovely
girl, a wily Chinese and a drug ring that
circled the System. Now it was ending for
him in a rogue spaceship--his epitaph a
rocket's red stream across the starways.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ron Barnard leaned unhappily on Quong Kee's bar and looked over the
worst dive on Mars. This hell hole of Quong Kee's was no fit place
even for a newspaperman looking for a story on the dope ring that was
haunting the outer planets. The habitues were cut-throats, fugitives
from Earth and the space police. To say nothing of the _neoin_ fiends.
The two unshaven men hunched at a corner table, for instance. He eyed
them in contempt. They were far gone in their addiction to the drug,
and he would put no crime past them. They probably would murder their
grandmothers for a gram of _neoin_.
The two persons in question straightened as if a gun had been fired.
They faced the bar, and their questing eyes found Barnard. One of them,
teeth bared and hands bent into claws, started to move toward the
reporter.
"What did you think?" the man demanded.
Barnard dropped a coin on the bar and tried to walk carelessly to the
door. He wanted no fights with a _neoin_-filled madman. Silently he
cursed himself for forgetting the extra sensory powers imparted by the
drug. But the men had seemed too far gone to use their ESP.
The man charged across the room. Barnard saw that escape was out and
resigned himself to a fight. He waited for the wild lunge, sidestepped
and shot in a right that sent the addict reeling back. A few customers
watched with mild interest. But this was routine at Quong Kee's--nobody
would interfere.
Sullenly, the man glared at him, as if gathering courage for another
charge. Barnard knew that actually the irresponsible creature was
working himself up to a murderous pitch. Now he felt the waves of fury
beating at his mind.
He waited, tense and ready. From the corner of his vision he saw the
drapes that cut off the back room come apart, and a figure hurrying
out. A slender figure in faded coveralls. Then he looked again.
It was a woman--a slender pale girl who clicked somehow in his memory.
He had seen her around Kainor, this port city of Mars, several times in
the past few days.
Watching her, he almost missed the onslaught of the _neoin_ fiend. The
fury of the charge backed him to the wall and he lashed out desperately
against the claws and knees of the man. His head jammed against the
wall and crimson streaks exploded before him. He jabbed with aching
arms, trying to push the madman off. Dimly, he saw the girl trying to
whisper something in the fiend's ear.
The man broke off clawing suddenly, a look of surprise on his twisted
face. Barnard watched weakly as he backed off a few steps to listen to
what the girl was whispering. Then the man glared with sullen respect
at Barnard for a few seconds and went back to his friend.
The girl turned swiftly and started back for the drapes. Barnard caught
her arm.
"Miss--" He stared at her. It was his first good look, and he wondered
where she had found the courage to interfere with a raging _neoin_
fiend. If that man had turned on her--!
She wasn't beautiful--she looked as if she hadn't slept much lately.
If somebody could put a few pounds on her in the right places--and a
smile on her face--
"Thanks," he said, puffing. "I was in a spot--you can't hurt those lads
when they're hopped. What did you tell him, anyway?"
She shrank back a little. Strangely, he felt that the fear in her
eyes was more of him than of the cut-throats in Quong Kee's. Her face
acquired a faint touch of color.
"I told him," she said, "that I'd take away his _neoin_ ration card."
She pulled loose and disappeared into the other room.
* * * * *
Barnard stared at the drapes and grinned a little at the evasive
answer. What had she told the fiend? If he knew, it might help him to
get some news. And what was she doing here in this dive--he'd swear she
wasn't the type!
He thought of the boss back on Earth thundering through the news
room as Barnard's meager despatches dribbled through. But Hell! He'd
done all any human could possibly do! He'd spoken with officials and
spacemen and scientists, poked his skinny nose into dens like this
where a man risked his life if he so much as _thought_ out of line.
He'd even bought some of the drug from the peddlers who operated almost
openly, and he'd cultivated them, but they were only tools.
The higher-ups might have been invisible for all anybody knew about
them. Nobody even knew where the drug came from. But wherever it
originated, it was swiftly corrupting Mars and Venus, as well as the
Jovian system and the asteroid belt.
When small quantities appeared on Earth, the powers-that-be of the
System News Service smelled news. Ron Barnard, star reporter who had
unveiled many a scandal in gay twenty-third century New York, was sent
to investigate. And Ron Barnard stood in Mars' wildest dive, scratching
his head and staring after a frightened, pretty girl.
"That's my sister," said a childish voice beside him.
Barnard stared at the big man beside him. The man was a splendid
physical specimen, but his face--
It was the face of a mindless idiot.
Barnard felt repelled. The man's features were not idiotic; they
should have been those of an intelligent person. But the eyes changed
everything. They were blank and somehow--soulless. Barnard shrank
automatically away from the apelike creature.
Then he understood what the idiot had said.
"Your sister!" He stared unbelievingly.