DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 12, January-February 1940

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Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 12, January-February 1940

Page 25

FANTASCIENCE DIGEST                    Page 25

   "Well, anyway, we've got the macaroons where we want them," announced Mart, slowly.

   "Good! Where's that?"

   "Five million light-years away."

   Dick nodded. "Right, The Hight Muckamuck of Macaroon has enough weapons at his disposal to blast us to smithereens."
 
   "Well, I'd rather be a live Macaroon than a blasted smithereen," remarked Mart Crane, "so suppose we go into action, locate DuQuesne, and put him out of action before he can again betray the human race? He's a dire traitor, a vile blot, a nasty man!

   "Quick, call the girls and tell them we're making a flight. We must hunt him down before he can become nefarious."

   It wasn't, however, necessary to call the girls, because just then the laboratory door burst open and two lovely young ladies catapulted into the room, laughing merrily. Seaton repaired the door frame and examined the catipult while Crane explained the situation to their fiancees.

   "We must do something quickly!" he finished in short pants. Very demure he looked in them, too. 

   "What must who do quick?" boomed a voice from the doorway, and the foru lovers whirled to confront the man standing there. A lithely-built, muscular fellow clad in spaceman's leather, worn but serviceable. His moody, morose face, dark complected and scarred with a hundred old wounds, was lighted with the pallor of steel-colored eyes. One brown hand lay lightly on a heat-gun, the blast of whose deadly violence could have mowed down a charging army like wheat ripe for the scythe. "I'm armed," he continued shortly, his cold, pale eyes boring into those of Seaton who stepped forward to meet him. "My gun burns as straight as any in the land. What's your plan?"

   "Before we tell you anything," snapped Seaton, "what means this trespass?"

   "Press Pass? Press pass?" queried the stranger. "I am not a reporter. I, sir---" he drew himself proudly erect "---I am Northwest Smith!"

   "Was your mother scared by a compass?" asked Crane curiously.

   Northwest Smith chose to ignore him. 

   I intercepted Blacky DuQuesne's message to your laboratory," he said, "far out in space."

   "In a space-ship?" inquired Dorothy, Seaton's betrothed.

   "Certainly!" snapped Smith. "Did you think II was on foot? Anyway, I wish to cooperate with you people in ending the menace of the High Muckamuck of Macaroon. I am prepared to resist this invader until I had shed the last drop of blood in your bodies!"

   "I'm all transfused," murmured Crane. "You mean you want to help us?"

   "I do!" Northwest's cold eyes glittered. "I'm just a glitterbug," he hastily apologized. Then more seriously, "I can help plenty, too. I've got a girl-friend, Jirel of Joiry, who thinks I'm the stuff. Just ask her. Boy, is she a red-headed mama!"

   Margaret, Crane's fiancee. stepped forward at this juncture.

   "I wish to step forward at this juncture," she requested, her

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FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 25 "Well, anyway, we've got the macaroons where we want them," announced Mart, slowly. "Good! Where's that?" "Five million light-years away." Dick nodded. "Right, The Hight Muckamuck of Macaroon has enough weapons at his disposal to blast us to smithereens." "Well, I'd rather be a live Macaroon than a blasted smithereen," remarked Mart Crane, "so suppose we go into action, locate DuQuesne, and put him out of action before he can again betray the human race? He's a dire traitor, a vile blot, a nasty man! "Quick, call the girls and tell them we're making a flight. We must hunt him down before he can become nefarious." It wasn't, however, necessary to call the girls, because just then the laboratory door burst open and two lovely young ladies catapulted into the room, laughing merrily. Seaton repaired the door frame and examined the catipult while Crane explained the situation to their fiancees. "We must do something quickly!" he finished in short pants. Very demure he looked in them, too. "What must who do quick?" boomed a voice from the doorway, and the foru lovers whirled to confront the man standing there. A lithely-built, muscular fellow clad in spaceman's leather, worn but serviceable. His moody, morose face, dark complected and scarred with a hundred old wounds, was lighted with the pallor of steel-colored eyes. One brown hand lay lightly on a heat-gun, the blast of whose deadly violence could have mowed down a charging army like wheat ripe for the scythe. "I'm armed," he continued shortly, his cold, pale eyes boring into those of Seaton who stepped forward to meet him. "My gun burns as straight as any in the land. What's your plan?" "Before we tell you anything," snapped Seaton, "what means this trespass?" "Press Pass? Press pass?" queried the stranger. "I am not a reporter. I, sir---" he drew himself proudly erect "---I am Northwest Smith!" "Was your mother scared by a compass?" asked Crane curiously. Northwest Smith chose to ignore him. I intercepted Blacky DuQuesne's message to your laboratory," he said, "far out in space." "In a space-ship?" inquired Dorothy, Seaton's betrothed. "Certainly!" snapped Smith. "Did you think II was on foot? Anyway, I wish to cooperate with you people in ending the menace of the High Muckamuck of Macaroon. I am prepared to resist this invader until I had shed the last drop of blood in your bodies!" "I'm all transfused," murmured Crane. "You mean you want to help us?" "I do!" Northwest's cold eyes glittered. "I'm just a glitterbug," he hastily apologized. Then more seriously, "I can help plenty, too. I've got a girl-friend, Jirel of Joiry, who thinks I'm the stuff. Just ask her. Boy, is she a red-headed mama!" Margaret, Crane's fiancee. stepped forward at this juncture. "I wish to step forward at this juncture," she requested, her