ENTER THE NEBULA
By CARL JACOBI
The greatest cracksman in the Galaxy—The
Nebula ... mocked by a gay voice that called
herself Andromeda, who led him into
danger—and into the hands of his enemy!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Phil Hanley came out of the managing editor's office and strodesavagely to his desk in the paper littered city room. It was one P.M.,between editions, and the reporters and copy-desk men of the MartianGlobe were taking things easy for the moment. Hanley slumped into hischair, kicked his feet up on his auto-typewriter, and mouthed an oath."He can't do it," he growled. "Who the hell does he think I am anyway?I'll quit, that's what I'll do."
"Not again," taunted McFee, a rewrite man.
"Yes, again," snarled Hanley. "And this time I mean it. Do you knowwhat that lopsided jackass wants me to do? Get a personal interviewwith the Nebula. For all I know, the Nebula might be a fourdimensional robot."
McFee lit a cigarette and leaned against the desk. "Did the old manreally hand you that for an assignment?"
Hanley nodded, his anger passing now into glumness. "It's a compliment,I suppose," he said, "for anyone to think I might have even a chance."His eyes turned from the room and stared unseeing through the windowinto the metropolitan area of Crater City.
"The Nebula," he said slowly. "Every dick and I.P. man in the Systemhas been tearing his hair, trying to get a lead on who or what he is.The Nebula! The greatest cracksman of all time!"
McFee exhaled a lungful of smoke. "He's quite a guy, isn't he?"
Deliberately Hanley dropped his feet to the floor and sat erect."Listen," he said, "he's the Robin Hood of the day, if you can possiblyremember your ancient history. Two years ago he swiped the electrolicjewels from the atomic motors of the Fortuna, the gambling spaceship, broke them into two hundred parts and gave them to the Societyfor Orphaned Children. A year ago he entered the inner rooms of theVenus Gallery and made off with the Cosmic Lady, the greatestpainting of the age.
"The man's a wizard. No vault door, no lock mechanism keeps him out.He walks in, takes what he wants, and leaves before the I.P. men knowwhat's happened. All they find is that little pastel-blue card with thecluster of white dots in the shape of the Constellation Orion. That'swhat gave him the name of the Nebula, you see."
McFee nodded. "I know," he said, "but who is he? And what's hispermanent address?"
For a moment Hanley said nothing. He reached in his pocket, drew out abulldog pipe and a worn tobacco pouch. A glitter was slowly enteringhis eyes. "You know," he said, "I have half a mind to try and find outat that."
The mercury clock over the white mantel chimed the hour of eight A.M.,and Jimmy Starr sat up in bed yawning. As the last note faded intosilence, the door of the room opened, and a white-haired man entered,carrying a tray.
"Good morning, Mr. Starr."
"Good morning, Peters," Jimmy said. "Did you bring the paper?"
The servant nodded, propped a morning edition against Jimmy's upraisedknees and placed the breakfast tray on the side of the bed. "Will youhave orange juice or Martian melon today?" he asked.
"Orange juice, I believe," replied Jimmy absently, and then coughedto hide the sudden tenseness that had entered his voice. He waitedimpatiently while the aged servant opened the window blinds and busiedhimself about the room.
When at last the man had gone, Jimmy sat bolt upright and stare