Lee Hayden had sent eleven men to their
death in deep space. Now he wanted only to die
himself. It was at this crucial point that he met—
The Man With The Golden Eyes
By Alexander Blade
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
August 1956
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He lay in the gutter. In his mouth was the taste of whiskey and defeat. There was mud and filth on his face, on his two-week shirt, on his rag-tag suit; and as the street and the buildings rippled and wavered before his eyes, a tape recorder in his mind played over and over:
You're through, Hayden—all washed up—this is the bottom—you can't go any lower—Lee Hayden—boy genius—all washed up—you made the trip in a hurry, son—right down from the top to the bottom in nothing flat—why don't you give up, why don't you kite off, you gutless wonder of the ages—too weak to live—too yellow to die—
On and on the tape played while along the street, came the fastidious to step daintily around the wreck in the gutter; the callous to grin and sneer; the timid to hurry by without looking.
Then a voice: "Can I help you?"
"Go 'way."