Casey Ritter, the guy who never turned
down a dare, breathed a prayer to the gods
of idiots and spacemen, and headed in toward
the great red spot of terrible Jupiter.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Those methane and ammonia planets, take it from me, they're thedead-end of creation, and why the Old Man ever thought them up I'llnever know. I never thought I'd mess around any of them, but thingscan sure happen. A man can get himself backed into a corner in thislittle old solar system. It just ain't big enough for a gent of scopeand talent; and the day the Solar System Customs caught me red-handedsmuggling Kooleen crystals in from Mars, I knew I was in that corner,and sewed up tight.
Sure, the crystals are deadly, but I was smuggling them legitimately,in a manner of speaking, for this doctor to experiment with. He wasn'tgoing to sell them for dope. But—and this was the 'but' that waslikely to deprive the System of my activities—even experimenting withthem was illegal even if it needed to be done; also, I had promised notto rat on him before taking the job.
Well, Casey Ritter may be a lot of things we won't mention, but hedoesn't rat on his clients. So there I was, closeted with the tenmembers of the S.S. Customs Court, getting set to hear the gavelfall and the head man intone the sentence that would take me out ofcirculation for a long, long time. And instead, blast me, if theydidn't foul me with this trip to good old Jupiter.
I didn't get it at first. I'd argued with 'em, but inside I'd been allset for the sentence, and even sort of reconciled to it. I could evenhear the words in my mind. But they didn't match what the judge wassaying. I stood there gaping like a beached fish while I sorted it out.Then I croaked, "Jupiter! What for? Are you running outa space in stir?Want to choke me to death in chlorine instead?" Being civil to thecourt didn't seem important just then. Jupiter was worse than the pen,a lot worse. Jupiter was a death sentence.
The senior judge rapped sharply with his gavel. He frowned me down andthen nodded at the judge on his right. This bird, a little old hank ofdried-up straw, joined his fingertips carefully, cleared his scrawnythroat, and told me what for.
"You've no doubt heard tales of the strange population of Jupiter,"he said. "Every spaceman has, I am sure. Insect-like creatures whomanifestly migrated there from some other system and who inhabitthe Red Spot of the planet, floating in some kind of artificialanti-gravity field in the gaseous portion of the atmosphere—"
I snorted. "Aw, hell, judge, that's just one of those screwy fairytales! How could any—"
The senior judge rapped ferociously, and I skidded to a halt. Ourlittle story teller patiently cleared his skinny throat again."I assure you it is no fairy tale. We possess well-authenticatedphotographs of these inhabitants, and if you are prepared to visit themand in some way worm from them the secret of their anti-gravity field,the government stands ready to issue you a full pardon as well as asubstantial monetary reward. Your talents, Mr. Ritter, seem, shall wesay, eminently suited to the task."
He beamed at me. I looked around. They were all beaming. At me!Suddenly I smelled a rat as big as an elephant. That whole Kooleencaper: Had it been just a trap to lead me straight to this? I hadn'tbeen able to figure how they'd cracked my setup....
At the thought my larynx froze up tight. This was worse than I'dthought. Government men trapping me and then beaming at me. And