Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance
to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose
ships were the scourge of the Void. But his
luck had run its course, and now he was
marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save
himself from a menace weapons could not kill.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"And so, my dear," Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, "I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by."
Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.
The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua, were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.
Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.
A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.
It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.
Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena, fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas, and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.
His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslight