Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe September 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
It was a world of greedy Dynasts—each contending for theright to pillage and enslave. But one man's valor became ashining shield.
... and he who overcomes an enemy by fraud is as much to bepraised as he who does so by force.
Machiavelli, Discorsi, III, 1531
The captain walked down the ramp carrying a lightweight bag. To adiscerning eye, that bag meant only one thing: Max Hunter had quit theservice. A spaceman on leave never took personal belongings from hisship, because without a bag he could by-pass the tedious wait for acustoms clearance.
From the foot of the ramp a gray-haired port hand called up to Hunter,"So you're really through, Max?"
"I always said, by the time I was twenty-six—"
"Lots of guys think they'll make it. I did once myself. Look at menow. I'm no good in the ships any more, so they bust me back to porthand. It's too damn easy to throw your credits away in thecrumb-joints."
"I'm getting married," Hunter replied. "Ann and I worked this out whenI joined the service. Now we have the capital to open her clinic—andninety-six thousand credits, salted away in the Solar First NationalFund."
"Every youngster starts out like you did, but something alwayshappens. The girl doesn't wait, maybe. Or he gets to thinking he canpile up credits faster in the company casinos." The old man saluted."So long, boy. It does my soul good to meet one guy who's getting outof this crazy space racket."
Max Hunter strode along the fenced causeway toward the low,pink-walled municipal building, shimmering in the desert sun. Behindhim the repair docks and the launching tubes made a ragged silhouetteagainst the sky.
Hunter felt no romantic inclination to look back. He had always beenamused by the insipid, Tri-D space operas. To Hunter it had been abusiness—a job different from other occupations only because therisks were greater and the bonus scale higher.
Ann would be waiting in the lobby, as she always was when he came infrom a flight. But today when they left the field, it would be forkeeps. Anticipation made his memory of Ann Saymer suddenly vivid—thecaress of her lips, the delicate scent of her hair, her quick smileand the pert upturn of her nose.
Captain Hunter thought of Ann as small and delicate, yet neither termwas strictly applicable except subjectively in relation to himself.Hunter towered a good four inches above six feet. His shoulders werebroad and powerful, his hips narrow, and his belly flat and hard. H