OUT OF THIS WORLD
By HENRY HASSE
There was no escape but death
from that fetid prison planet
and its crazed, sadistic overseer.
[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.]
When the Earth supply ship set down upon prison planet Number Seven last week, a curious state of affairs was found: the prisoners below mining the ore as usual, the overseer dead, and every indication of some stark drama having taken place. In the study of the overseer's house one man was found dead, apparently by his own hand, and beside him on the desk was a hastily scribbled document which is herewith published.
We hated Marnick.
Because he was an Earthman and because he laughed, we hated him. Awake and asleep, at our daily drudge of labor and in the throes of sluggish nightmare, with a fierce tenacity from the very depths of our souls—those of us who still had souls—we hated him. And there was not a man among us who had not sworn to kill him if given the chance, who did not dream of being the one. For we knew that some day it was going to happen.