Red Witch of Mercury
By EMMETT McDOWELL
Death was Jaro Moynahan's stock in trade, and
every planet had known his touch. But now, on
Mercury, he was selling his guns into the
weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life
against the soft touch of a woman's lips.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
On the stage of Mercury Sam's Garden, a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, red-head was singing "The Lady from Mars." The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. The girl rendered it with such gusto that the audience burst into a roar of applause.
She bent her head in acknowledgment so that her bronze red hair fell down about her face. There was perspiration on her upper lip and temples. Her crimson mouth wore a fixed smile. Her eyes were frightened.
The man, who had accompanied the singer on the piano, sat at the foot of the stage, his back to the crowded tables. He did not look up at the singer but kept his pale, immature face bent over the keys, while his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, plastered his white coat to his back. Without looking up, he said: "Have you spotted him?" His voice was pitched to reach the singer alone.