Men Without A World
By JOSEPH FARRELL
The Centaurians were making one last effort to
conquer Earth, and their tools were wise-cracking,
space-jaunting O'Dea and Hawthorne—two guys
to whom freedom was more than a word.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The frantic flares of the rockets lit up a murderous landscape as barrel-chested Paul Hawthorne wrestled with the controls. He fought to keep the ship from falling too swiftly, anxious eyes searching for a level spot to set down the partly-crippled vessel.
Behind him, Lance O'Dea clung to a chart table and growled.
"Put it down!" O'Dea ordered. "You're the Einstein who got us to this desert planet of Centauri; now get us landed safely!"
Hawthorne risked a second to turn his grimy face to the animated bean pole behind him. Like himself, O'Dea was unshaven and wrapped in the shapeless coveralls of spacemen. Hawthorne scowled and pushed his hairy arms back into the controls.
"If you think you can do any better," he grunted, "take over yourself!"