OUT OF THIS WORLD
By HENRY HASSE
There was no escape but death
from that fetid prison planet
and its crazed, sadistic overseer.
[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.]
When the Earth supply ship set down upon prison planet Number Sevenlast week, a curious state of affairs was found: the prisoners belowmining the ore as usual, the overseer dead, and every indication ofsome stark drama having taken place. In the study of the overseer'shouse one man was found dead, apparently by his own hand, and besidehim on the desk was a hastily scribbled document which is herewithpublished.
We hated Marnick.
Because he was an Earthman and because he laughed, we hated him.Awake and asleep, at our daily drudge of labor and in the throes ofsluggish nightmare, with a fierce tenacity from the very depths of oursouls—those of us who still had souls—we hated him. And there wasnot a man among us who had not sworn to kill him if given the chance,who did not dream of being the one. For we knew that some day it wasgoing to happen.
But when? It seemed impossible. Daily that is what I thought as Itrudged wearily to my place in B-Tunnel two miles below. We wereforty men against him, Martians and Earthmen alike. Once there hadbeen Venusians here, too, but they died too easily, and now Venusiancriminals were sent elsewhere. Forty against Marnick, but still he wasLaw here on the tiny barren satellite of Jupiter—the seventh or eighthin orbit, I have long since forgotten which. The Tri-Planet Federationhad appointed him overseer, then had immediately forgotten him and us.Out of our way, you criminal scum! Out of the sight and memory of men!Thus it was.
Yes, Marnick was law and lord and master of all he surveyed, andbelieve me he surveyed us well. He used to come down the centralvertical shaft in his little case of special glassite, and hover thereabove us, watching; sometimes unbeknownst by us; and heaven help anyworker who fell under his gaze, who he thought might be shirking.Marnick reserved a very special fate for shirkers, a certain torture,so I had heard.
Now all that I had heard came rushing back to flood my brain, as Istood tensely alert, listening to the raucous, inhuman laughter thatsurged down the central shaft to reach our ears. Again it came and yetagain, rising to insane pitch.
I rested my short-handled hand-pick against the little heap of raditeore. I wiped my sweated brow with fingers that burned and tingled fromcontact with the radite. I peered covertly around at the many tunnelsconverging into the central place, and saw the other workers, Martians,and Earthmen, cowering under that sound of laughter. I wondered if Ilooked to them as they looked to me. I knew I was afraid. That wasMarnick's laughter, I had heard it before. His special torture wasgoing on again. Would I be next? So far I had luckily escaped.
I tried to straighten up into a semblance of courage, but again thatshrieking laughter came drifting down to cower me. At the same timeMcGowan left his tunnel next to mine, and came strolling over to me.I was aghast. For any man to so much as leave his post, meant that hewould receive the same punishment that some poor devil up there was nowreceiving. But McGowan always was a reckless one. Tall, brutish, darkand always scowling, a light of indomitable spirit shone perpetuallyout of his c