CITADEL OF THE GREEN DEATH
BY EMMETT McDOWELL
At the coldly gleaming Experimental Station
they flung this choice in Outlaw Joel Hakkyt's
teeth: "Grinding, endless slavery on Asgard,
that Alpha Centauri hell—or a writhing, screaming
guinea-pig's death here?" He chose Asgard,
naturally. But what was natural—on Asgard?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Joel Hakkyt stirred impatiently in the prisoner's chair. His features, homely, strong-boned and intelligent, were inscrutable. But he didn't know how much longer he could bottle up his indignation. It had been accumulating all during his trial. Now this delay!
The machines had been whisked from the chamber. The investigating psychologist should have returned with his verdict minutes ago. What was wrong?
Joel glanced at his parents, at his wife. They were the only spectators, the three of them sitting stiffly in the front row of benches.
Doctor Hakkyt refused to meet his son's eyes. A plump, tall man, the doctor looked stonily out the windows at the park-like grounds surrounding the Hall of Justice. He was president of Clear Springs Community, and his angry red expression said plainly as words that his son had disgraced him.
Mrs. Hakkyt dabbed at cold eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. Joel's glance passed over her swiftly and on to his wife.