MIND STEALERS OF PLUTO
By JOSEPH FARRELL
Ron Barnard had stuck his nose into one news
story too many. It had started with a lovely
girl, a wily Chinese and a drug ring that
circled the System. Now it was ending for
him in a rogue spaceship—his epitaph a
rocket's red stream across the starways.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ron Barnard leaned unhappily on Quong Kee's bar and looked over theworst dive on Mars. This hell hole of Quong Kee's was no fit placeeven for a newspaperman looking for a story on the dope ring that washaunting the outer planets. The habitues were cut-throats, fugitivesfrom Earth and the space police. To say nothing of the neoin fiends.
The two unshaven men hunched at a corner table, for instance. He eyedthem in contempt. They were far gone in their addiction to the drug,and he would put no crime past them. They probably would murder theirgrandmothers for a gram of neoin.
The two persons in question straightened as if a gun had been fired.They faced the bar, and their questing eyes found Barnard. One of them,teeth bared and hands bent into claws, started to move toward thereporter.
"What did you think?" the man demanded.
Barnard dropped a coin on the bar and tried to walk carelessly to thedoor. He wanted no fights with a neoin-filled madman. Silently hecursed himself for forgetting the extra sensory powers imparted by thedrug. But the men had seemed too far gone to use their ESP.
The man charged across the room. Barnard saw that escape was out andresigned himself to a fight. He waited for the wild lunge, sidesteppedand shot in a right that sent the addict reeling back. A few customerswatched with mild interest. But this was routine at Quong Kee's—nobodywould interfere.
Sullenly, the man glared at him, as if gathering courage for anothercharge. Barnard knew that actually the irresponsible creature wasworking himself up to a murderous pitch. Now he felt the waves of furybeating at his mind.
He waited, tense and ready. From the corner of his vision he saw thedrapes that cut off the back room come apart, and a figure hurryingout. A slender figure in faded coveralls. Then he looked again.
It was a woman—a slender pale girl who clicked somehow in his memory.He had seen her around Kainor, this port city of Mars, several times inthe past few days.
Watching her, he almost missed the onslaught of the neoin fiend. Thefury of the charge backed him to the wall and he lashed out desperatelyagainst the claws and knees of the man. His head jammed against thewall and crimson streaks exploded before him. He jabbed with achingarms, trying to push the madman off. Dimly, he saw the girl trying towhisper something in the fiend's ear.
The man broke off clawing suddenly, a look of surprise on his twistedface. Barnard watched weakly as he backed off a few steps to listen towhat the girl was whispering. Then the man glared with sullen respectat Barnard for a few seconds and went back to his friend.
The girl turned swiftly and started back for the drapes. Barnard caughther arm.
"Miss—" He stared at her. It was his first good look, and he wonderedwhere she had found the courage to interfere with a raging neoinfiend. If that man had turned on her—!
She wasn't beautiful—she looked as if she hadn't slept much lately.If somebody could put a few pounds on her in the right places—and asmile on her face—
"Thanks," he said, puffing. "I was in a spot—you can't hurt those ladswhen they're hopped. What did you tell him, anyway?"
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