VENGEANCE ON MARS!
By D. B. LEWIS
In the dim Water Temple, where the dead grinned
down on the dead, Hale met his D-day. Should he
give an ex-comrade to the torturing Lhrai or
chance the massacre of Terrestrial thousands?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories September 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Hale cut the motor as he swerved off the ancient plastic roadway. His one-man beetle thumped over the shoulder and, wheels whispering, coasted down the sandy, moonlit slope. It threaded between mighty linla cacti that had the size and shape of spaceships towering grey in the night. He braked it to a slanting stop and got out, a big, long-legged man who carefully kept the little car between himself and the Martian water temple that sat a short distance away where the dunes of the desert began. He thought, Strange to be afraid of getting shot by Randy.
Weiss said, from the shadows, "Better get out of the moonlight, Hale. That beetle won't stop a blaster bolt."
Hale crossed to the clot of men that made dark blurs under the linla. Weiss said, "What took you so long?"
Hale said, "I had to get my gun recharged. Sturm was working on it when Sam came busting in the shop and told me you'd cornered Randy." He touched the blaster at his belt, then brought up the hand to get out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He struck a match on the blaster butt. "Why call me? Why not call the Patrol?"
Someone stirred in the darkness, clearing a throat. "Patrol never hung a looter yet and as long as Boss Ricco kicks back to Patrol brass, they never will. This one, we'll take care of personally. The redboys want him."