By NELSON BONDDeath stalked the Libra. The
Io-plunging space liner freighted a
secret weapon, and the rebel Kreuther
had vowed it should not arrive.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The ship's clock bonged drowsily three times. Bud Chandler, the junior watch, glared at it languidly. "Thus," he yawned, "endeth the lobster patrol. Three bells, my fine bucko—and the soft, warm hay for you. Or—" There was a hopeful note in his voice. "Or would you like to finish out my trick for me? I'll stand double for you some night."
Dan Mallory said, "Comets to you, sailor!" And he rose, stretching the kinks out of weary muscles. His collar was ope
