ASTEROID OF THE DAMNED
By DIRK WYLIE
Somewhere on that asteroid of sin
lurked the crime king of the Universe.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Sorry, son," MacCauley said with the barrel-scrapings of his patience."I said no and I meant it. I haven't got anything to give you. Nowplease stop waggling at me and go."
The excited glitter of the Palladian's luminiferous eyes dieddispiritedly. MacCauley turned his back on the slight-bodied asteriteand rapped his thumbnail against his drained glass. The bartender, aheavy and humorous man, expertly refilled Mac's glass with oily, musky,milk-white synthetic liquor and said: "This Kiddie bothering you? Scat,you, or I'll see that you never get into this place again."
Mac shrugged as he watched the stripling strain to catch thebartender's meaning by reading his lips, then mournfully disappear."No more than they all do," he answered. "What's the matter with them,anyhow? They're positively nutty on the subject of money."
The bartender shook his head and snatched a quick drag on a smolderingcigar-stub. Replacing it on a ledge, he said: "Not money so much. Youcouldn't bribe a Kiddie with a certified check for a couple of billiondollars. They're not bright, exactly; they don't regard paper as worthanything. It's metal they want. If it happens to be precious, that'sall right, but any kind of metal will do. What they're really crazyabout, of course, is silver and copper. They'll do just about anythingfor it, including murder and treason."
Mac, listening too intently, gulped a bit more of his drink thaneven his spaceman's gullet could take. When the red-hot lava stoppedstrangling him and he could see once more through the streamingfountains that had been his eyes, he managed to choke out: "What dothey want it for? Do they eat it?"
The bartender laughed. "Nah. They don't really eat anything. They drinksome kind of stuff they find in the rocks—like they used to findpetroleum, on Earth. Radioactive, this stuff is. That's all they needto live on. They don't breathe at all. You can see that; they don'teven have a mouth or a real nose, just a sort of trunk that they drinkthrough.... Wait a minute. Be back."
The bartender rolled away. A couple of new customers had come into hisside of the bar and were demanding attention.
Mac sighed and glanced at his watch. But the bartender was back andready for more talk before Mac had made up his mind to leave. Thebartender wanted to talk because this was a dull night in the cafeattached to Pallas' largest gambling-room; for the same reason,MacCauley wanted to leave. He was here on business.
However, he might need to know something about the natives of Pallasfor his business. And he really was shockingly uninformed about thecreatures who inhabited the free-port asteroid. Other than that theywere called Kiddies, looked like seven-year-old Earthly children, anddidn't breathe, he really knew nothing.
"Then what do they do with this metal if they don't eat it?" he asked.
The bartender shrugged. "They probably know, but they're too dopey tobe able to tell you. I asked one of them once—he wrote out an answer,the way they always do when they want to tell you something. Seems theygenerate electricity in their bodies. A Palladian's idea of a real goodtime is to take a hunk of pure copper and hold it in his hands. Thecurrent runs fr