THE SWORD OF JOHNNY DAMOKLES
By HUGH FRAZIER PARKER
The mad dreams of a crazed dictator had reached from
the past and taken root in the dread Tsom Clan on
Neptune, threatening the peaceful existence of a dozen
worlds. There was little Timmy Gordon and Johnny Damokles
could do—for they were prisoners of the Tsom, working
on the monster bomb that was to signal the invasion.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
A cloudlet of dust whirled across Spaceport X and rose in the thinCallistonian air to beat against the window. The sound was gritty,abrasive. It hadn't rained for weeks, and the sky, clear of clouds,hovered blacker than Holofernes' soul. Jupiter touched the horizon. Andfar away, Neptune's pale blue light glowed softly.
Timmy Gordon walked to the window. "I've never seen old Neptune soclear before," he said. "And say, Johnny, where'd they ever get a namelike that for a planet? Neptune! What's it mean?"
Johnny Damokles laid one fat, hairy hand on the bar. He wiped a glasswith his apron and smiled. "Sure, boss," he said. "All the time youtalking space, eating space. What's a good if you don't know whyplanets get name?"
"Do you, chum?"
"Sure t'ing, boss. Greeks are all knowings about Neptune."
"Well?"
"She's this way. Neptune are a old Greek god, and he are importants forrule the ocean. So what happens?"
"I'll bite, Johnny."
"A fellows finds it this planet. She ain't got a names and deesafellows t'ink she's all watery. So they name her for Mister Neptune.Dem times long ago ... two t'ousand year ... t'ree t'ousand. What themhells!"
"Aw for cripe's sake shut up! You dam' Greeks!"
Timmy and Damokles turned. Shelton Thurner, head pilot of the Jup-CalLine was sitting alone at a side table. He was drunk, very drunk, anda wisp of black hair hung over his forehead. "Shut up!" he screamed,"talkin' about the past! Dam' dumb Greek dishwasher! Neptune wasdiscovered 900 years ago, aroun' 1830 ... and who in hell cares whatit's named ... excep' a Greek." Thurner staggered to his feet. Liquorspilled.
For a little man, Johnny Damokles was both fat and fast. One hand hitthe bar, he vaulted it, and faced Thurner. "What's for you cuss Greek?She are good braves people...."
"I told you to shut up," said Thurner. He planted a big hand in JohnnyDamokles' face and shoved. Johnny fell, and Thurner kicked him brutallyin the side.
Then the room hit Thurner smack on the jaw.
"Want some more?" asked Timmy. He stared down at the hulking pilot, asThurner rolled over and rubbed his face. "Want another?" Timmy repeated.
The door opened, and the Director of Spaceport Operations stood framedin its classic Callistonian marble columns.
"I want the two of you in my office. Special job for T-Three."
Timmy snapped to attention. T-3 was the one military department whichtook immediate command of any pilot under any circumstances. Obedienceto T-3 was unquestioning and immediate. Even Thurner assumed asemblance of military bearing and shook his head to clear the cobwebs.He fell in beside Timmy and, scowling, followed the Director out.Johnny Damokles watched them, wiping greasy glasses on a greasier apronalmost automatically.
The Office of the Director of Operations, shared by the Port Captain,had been designed in 2475 by Anton Sestrovic.
Stars and planets moved silently acr