Out of their mountain hideout came the
terrified band of The Renegade. Through
the valleys of Venus they swept, seeking
a greed-maddened slaver who planned an
experiment so cruel and barbaric it would
destroy the very foundation of mankind.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The hooded figure of a man detached itself from the shadows beside thedoor, paused, listening. Nothing stirred. The huge sprawling plantationhouse was silent and yet alive with the feel of sleepers.
Then from below stairs, he heard a door slam. The tinkle of laughterascended to his ears. He crouched. His hand slipped inside his coat,fondled the slug gun nestling in its shoulder holster. The voicesdrifted out of hearing. Uneasy silence settled back over the plantationhouse.
The hooded man let his breath escape between his teeth. He slid backthe door, passed inside like a shadow, shut the door behind him.
The room which he'd entered was lit by the intense, green radiationsfrom the Venusian vegetation. The cold phosphorescent light streamedthrough the open windows, glinted from a glassite desk, soft flexoglaslounging chairs and sofa. It was the typical office from which theplantation owners directed the affairs of their feudal estates.
As silent as a night hawk, the hooded man drifted to the wall, ran hisfingertips over the wood paneling. There was a faint click. The panelslid back revealing a wall safe.
A needle ray of light streamed suddenly from the hooded man's hand,splashed off a paper which he'd drawn from his pocket. He checked thestring of figures printed there, returned the paper to his pocket. Heworked swiftly, surely. Then with a sigh of satisfaction he swung backthe heavy door.
There was a faint thump in the corridor outside the office that brokethe silence.
The hooded man snapped erect, the compressed air slug gun in his hand.He was sharply conscious of the hum of Venusian night life outside thewindows. The room felt sticky, close. His hand was damp with sweatabout the pommel of the slug gun.
He waited five minutes, ten minutes without moving, but the noise wasnot repeated.
He drew a breath, set to examining the papers in the safe by the aid ofthe midget flash. Most of them he put back carefully, just as they'dbeen, but two packets he stuffed into an inside coat pocket. He closedthe door, spun the dial. He heard a sharp click behind him, leapedaround.
At the same instant, the room was flooded with bright white light.
"Please don't!" said a girl's voice.
The hooded man arrested his hand halfway to his shoulder holster.
A startlingly beautiful girl, he saw, was standing in the doorway tothe corridor covering him with a wicked dart gun. She was a tall girlwith the yellowest hair he'd ever seen. She wore a spun glass negligeeand her skin was blue. It was the pastel blue of a Terran dawn flushedwith rose.
She came all the way inside, slid shut the door.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Why don't you turn in the alarm?" said the hooded man dryly. Thepoisoned needle gun was sending goose flesh quivering up his spine. Ascratch would be fatal. His jaw tightened beneath the hood. His eyeswere hard green discs, the dangerous eyes of a hunted man.
"Oh no." The blue girl's voice was low. "I wouldn't do that. I'd neverbe able to get the safe open by myself."
"What?"
"I want you to open the safe for me."
The hooded man didn't reply for a moment. At length, he asked: "What