A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

RACKETEERS IN THE SKY 113 to swallow the dryness in his throat, and asked faintly : “We're holding out?” She nodded. ‘‘The men think we’re safe till dark—two hours. Can you stand up? There’s a telebeam call for you. General Berg has arranged it, with the warship.” “That traitor! No good could come of such a telebeam call.” The drumming was louder in the little doctor’s ears. Had the torpedo failed, after all? He stood up, uncertainly. Vera helped him across to the seat in front of the little screen and the two staring ikes. E TRIED not to show his weakness. She mustn’t suspect, nobody must suspect, that he had the lightning death. That would mean panic, surrender, every- thing lost. Vera helped his fumbling fingers. The fluorescent screen sparkled. Shadows shaped themselves into the dark, heavy face of Iron Scarr. He wasn’t grinning, now. His close-set eyes were veiled and ominous. “Clever, Bull.” “Not clever enough—if you're still alive.” “The Valiant had twin power rooms,” Scarr said, ‘“‘with an armored bulkhead between. You burned up one, but merely shook the other.” Dr. Bull muttered explosively. “Yes, Batson crossed you with the plans,” Scarr told him. ‘We're helpless, now. A moon of Taurus. But our repairs will be finished in two hours. We can land men—and new weapons—to take your tower at dark.” “Maybe,” said Dr. Bull. “But I want TAU, right now,” the conqueror said grimly. “You know about the antigen, Bull. I am repeating my offer : your life, your yacht, and a million, in exchange for TAU, intact. Yes or no?” Dr. Bull closed his eyes. The drumming was nearer and more rapid. The virus was already consuming the tissue of his brain. It seemed to swell against his skull. Trembling and cold, his hands pressed against his temples. He wanted to scream. But he looked at Scarr again, and said flatly : “That trick’s too old. I remember you used to take ships with your promises— but your prisoners were always stripped and dead before you set them free. You said yourself your game hasn’t changed.” Scarr’s grin was wolfish. “It’s your only chance, Bull.” “Maybe.” Dr. Bull touched a key, swept that dark face from the screen. “‘Have an order passed down,” he told the nurse. “Every other man report to me on the main floor in five minutes.” And she was gone. The elevator took him down to meet them. Four of the Special Planeteers. Two engineers, two musicians, a crooner, and actor, equipped from the arsenal in the basement. The crooner’s head was bandaged. They all looked tired and be- wildered and afraid. “Men, things are desperate.” Dr. Bull felt confidence returning, as he spoke. This was his specialty: com- manding human action, with words alone. A dollar bill for a bottle of Taurium, or a life for nothing—the principles of stimulus and response held true. “But we are fighting for more than our lives and our homes and our loved ones.” He let the slightest quiver of emotion into his voice. ‘Earth is depending on us. Per- haps all the system. If we let Scarr pass, probably he will never be stopped. All his- tory may be changed. “But we can stop him!” Dr. Bull paused dramatically, before those tired troubled eyes. ‘‘T have a plan,” he said slowly. “I want vou to go back to your posts, and hold out for just two hours more. That will give me a chance to try it—our chance, men, to save everything worth saving.” (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) (C(O)