The Railhead at Kysyl Khoto
By Allen K. Lang
Illustrated by SCHOENHERR
"Kysyl. Railhead. K. E. Ziolkovsky.
5000 meters/second. Luna." That was the
entire message. But its meaning made
White Sands look pretty trivial, and
turned a rocket engineer into a salesman!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity November 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I've been told that during the season of the simoom winds in Morocco, Arab judges let confessed murderers off with a fine. The weather justifies homicide. Washington judges should be as lenient in the summer, I thought, scooting on the contours of my chair to keep the seat of my pants from sweating into the varnish. Ten bucks and costs seemed a fair price to pay society if I killed this Doctor Francis von Munger.
My cigarettes had become limp and brown with the sweat through my shirt. I eased one of these unappetizing noodles out of the pack and lit it. It tasted like burning, damp wool stockings. I picked up an ancient magazine to keep from staring at the blonde receptionist, the only object in the waiting room upon which the eye could rest with comfort.