PURPLE FOREVER
By JACK LEWIS
Three men on Venus ... lolling about in their
shirt sleeves and breathing in an atmosphere of
chlorine and ammonia that was sure to kill a man
in thirty seconds. The pictures lied! ... they
must lie! Trick photography?... Inquisitive Carl
Keating found the true answer even stranger.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories November 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The envelope was addressed in a bold sprawling hand that barely left room for the seventy-five cent special delivery stamp in the upper right hand corner. It was a nice stamp—a blue one commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Harvey's first landing on Mars. Carl Keating tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of good paper, typewritten on one side. The message read:
Dear Mr. Keating;
Must see you at once.
Norman Hamlin
He'd barely slid the letter back in its wrapper when the desk phone rang. Automatically he pushed the view-plate to a respectful fifteen inches and threw in the video. The screen swirled for a moment in a milky blur, then abruptly a man's head and shoulders jumped into focus. He was a lean, angular-faced man, with thin shoulders and thinner lips, which at the moment were set in a Lincolnish smile.
"I'm Dr. Hamlin," the face in the screen announced. "You got my letter?"
Carl nodded. "I have your letter doctor, but I'm afraid you have the wrong man. I can't imagine what you'd want to see ME about."