Formula For Conquest
By JAMES R. ADAMS
August Q. Twilken had a formula, Freebooter
Tod Mulhane had a nose for adventure and
Mon Pordo had an urge for Interworld
domination. When those three got together,
hell had to explode—and did.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"I have a formula," the little man said loudly.
I punched him ungently in the ribs and jerked my head toward the mangy crew whooping it up in the close confines of the ill-smelling Martian musk-parlor.
"Shh. Not so loud, guy," I whispered from the corner of my mouth. "This bunch would slit your throat in a minute, if they knew you had something on you that would bring a credit or two. I don't know what your game is, but let's go in the back room where we can talk without startin' someone's ears to burnin'."
I wrapped my arm around the guy's shoulders and steered him toward the back room, singing and laughing, as though I had an overload of Meez-musk and was feeling a little bit happy.
I didn't know what had brought the little fellow to me. I'd never seen him before yet he seemed to know me and had made his way directly to the bar where I stood and addressed me by name. Anybody that knew that much about Tod Mulhane, soldier of fortune, needed looking into, and I was determined to give this mild-mannered, shrimp of a man a thorough going over.