A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

RACKETEERS IN THE SKY 111 traitor struck? Until the Valiant landed, with her thousands of thé Iron preter Or Bntil— Dr. Bull refused to think of that most ghastly possibility. | Sy AARING with unseeing eyes at the dead man, he suddenly remembered his scarlet-and-silver. The full burden was on him, now. His plump shoulders squared manfully to bear it. “Take your places,” he told the rifle- men. ‘‘Watch the hospital—your lieuten- ant was shot from there. Hold out, men. TAU is the key to the whole situation. Defending it, you are defending your jobs and your homes and your families, Taurus and Earth, everything that matters.” Two men with auto-rifles began snip- ing at the hospital windows. Dr. Bull brought a rug out of his office and spread it over Carstairs. He tried not to flinch when a bullet sang by his ear. Fighting courage was good, but only a fool took needless risks. The Audacity of his slogan had never been physical. Sweat made him clammy. His brain ran in aimless circles, like a trapped thing. It was already impossible to reach his yacht at the port—even if he had been willing to abandon the reward of a lifetime of Imagi- nation, Audacity, and Victory. But the tower was a prison, as well as a citadel. His pink hands came up, to fight off a smothering claustrophobia. That sense of buried isolation was broken, to his im- mense relief, by the sudden buzz of the telephone, back in his office. “Dr. Bull?” It was General Berg. The formal courtesy in the flat rasping voice was infuriating. ‘I’m calling you, sir, by Commander Scarr’s order.” ‘“‘Damn Judas!’’ he gasped. ‘‘What do you want?” “The commander is giving you an op- portunity to surrender, sir. March your men out of the tower, unarmed. Leave the telecast equipment undamaged. Scarr will let you leave Taurus with your yacht, as many people as you want to take, and a million dollars.” Dr. Bull tried to swallow his anger. “Berg,” he said hoarsely, “1’ll make you another proposition. Go back to your duty. Open fire on the cruiser. And I'll give you and every man with you a million dollars a head—” The flat voice cut in grimly: What’ S your answer, sir?” “Scarr will have it,” the little doctor shouted, “inside of two minutes.’ He slammed the telephone down vio- lently. He was trembling, ill with fear. But Taurus was his private paradise. He couldn’t give it up. Audacity, he breathed. Still he had a card to play. Crouching out of view from the hos- pital, he climbed the steps to the observa- tory. His pulse was hammering. His fin- gers were numb and awkward, so that he could scarcely manipulate in controls. But he found the Valiant again, a black and deadly monster creeping down across the silver web of space. His stiff fingers hastily slid open a con- cealed panel in the mount, to reveal an- other set of controls. For the instrument in the observatory was more than a tele- scope. The big lens and the oculars swung out of the way. Motors hummed quietly. A long thick cylinder of shining metal rose smoothly from under the floor, slipped into the empty tube. If the Valiant had been the patrol’s an- swer to Dr. Bull’s twin forts, this was his secret answer to the Valiant. The tele- scope could be innocently pointed at any approaching space craft, but this cylin- der was a torpedo. A unique torpedo. It had cost as much as a warship. A robot-pilot steered it. The geodesic drive would give it velocity enough to evade any defense, to penetrate any armor. It was loaded with ten tons of titanite. The finder telescopes, beside the big (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) Ss (C(O)