Don Denton had walked into the weirdest
enigma he had ever encountered. Dead men
lived, and ships vanished without sound.
And to top everything, when he tried to
unravel the puzzle—he found that he
had been dead for more than a week.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Don Denton, trouble shooter for the Inter-World Mining Corporation,watched the sailors stowing the supplies aboard his small scout rocket,checking the items from the manifest sheet as they were packed in thestorage compartments.
"That takes care of that," he said finally, signing the sheet with histhumbprint. "Now, I'll be on my way."
The Skipper nodded, scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose so,"he agreed. "Are you sure you won't stay to dinner? I've got a cargoof Martian panyanox that should taste plenty good to you after twomonths of spacing on vitamins."
Don Denton grinned, scrubbed a heavy hand through the reddish, curlymop of hair that flamed above his craggy face. He shrugged, the leatherjacket growing taut across his deceptively wide shoulders.
"Nothing I'd like better," he said, "but I've got orders to get toVenus and find out why the Lanka shipments haven't been comingthrough on schedule."
"Trouble?" Interest flared in the Skipper's eyes.
Don Denton laughed. "I doubt it," he said. "Probably some space tramplanded and sold the men some Martian Ganto seeds. They're probablynursing such large hangovers that they can't work. I'll just take thesupplies on, give the boys a pep talk, then head back for Earth."
"All loaded, Captain," a sailor's voice came from the televisor screen.
Don Denton lounged to his feet. "So long, Captain," he said, "I'llremember that Panyanox invitation, the next time I run into you onMars."
"Sure, sure, of course!" The Skipper flushed. "Er, ah—, Denton?"
"Yes?" Don Denton turned from the door.
"I've got a passenger I want to transship to Venus."
Don Denton grinned, shook his head. "Sorry, Captain," he said, "but nocan do; company rules, you know."
"But this passenger—?"
"No," Denton said decisively. "In the first place, I can't carrypassengers on the scouter; and in the second place, I haven't theslightest desire to be holed up with anybody. Sorry, but your passengerwill have to get a charter job for the trip."
"What I'm trying to tell you," the Skipper said, "is that Miss Palmerhas a Company pass to ride with you."
"Miss Palmer!" The trouble shooter frowned belligerently. "Any relationto Palmer who is the manager on Venus?"
"Daughter, I think."
"Well, you can tell Miss Palmer for me that she's out of luck. Hell,I'll make a bet she's one of two kinds of dames: Either she's theflighty kind who thinks it's just too too divine to explore anotherplanet, or she's the needle-nosed kind who'd drive me nuts with hercomplaints in half a clock-around!"
"I can assure you that she fits neither of those descriptions," theSkipper said, smiled. "In fact, she's about the nicest bit of meteorfluff that's crossed my rockets in many a day."
"Thank you, Captain," Jean Palmer said amusedly from behind Don Denton.She walked past the trouble shooter, turned to face him squarely."Woman hater?" she finished quizzically.
Don Denton flushed, his tan deepening, his startlingly blue eyesevading the mocking, brown eyes of the girl. He shifted nervously fromfoot to foot, his collar suddenly tight and constricting.
"Er—no!" he said defensively, "I—er, well, just