ASTEROID OF THE DAMNED
By DIRK WYLIE
Somewhere on that asteroid of sin
lurked the crime king of the Universe.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Sorry, son," MacCauley said with the barrel-scrapings of his patience. "I said no and I meant it. I haven't got anything to give you. Now please stop waggling at me and go."
The excited glitter of the Palladian's luminiferous eyes died dispiritedly. MacCauley turned his back on the slight-bodied asterite and rapped his thumbnail against his drained glass. The bartender, a heavy and humorous man, expertly refilled Mac's glass with oily, musky, milk-white synthetic liquor and said: "This Kiddie bothering you? Scat, you, or I'll see that you never get into this place again."
Mac shrugged as he watched the stripling strain to catch the bartender's meaning by reading his lips, then mournfully disappear. "No more than they all do," he answered. "What's the matter with them, anyhow? They're positively nutty on the subject of money."
The bartender shook his head and snatched a quick drag on a smoldering cigar-stub. Replacing it on a ledge, he said: "Not money so much. You couldn't bribe a Kiddie with a certified check for a couple of billion dollars. They're not bright, exactly; they don't regard paper as worth anything. It's metal they want. If it happens to be precious, that's all right, but any kind of metal will do. What they're really crazy about, of course, is silver and copper. They'll do just about anything for it, including murder and treason."