Fresh power was coming to Earth, energy
which would bring life to a dying planet.
Only two men stood in its way, one a cowardly
rat, the other a murderous martyr; both pawns
in a cosmic game where death moved his chessmen
of fate—and even the winner would lose.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ryd Randl stood, slouching a little, in the darkened footway, andwatched the sky over Dynamopolis come alive with searchlights. Theshuttered glow of Burshis' Stumble Inn was only a few yards off to hisright, but even that lodestone failed before the novel interest of aship about to ground in the one-time Port of Ten Thousand Ships.
Now he made out the flicker of the braking drive a mile or sooverhead, and presently soft motor thunder came down to blanket thealmost lightless city with sound. A beam swayed through the throbbingdarkness, caught the descending ship and held it, a small gleamingminnow slipping through the dark heavens. A faint glow rose from PiMesa, where the spaceport lay above the city, as a runway lightedup—draining the last reserves of the city's stored power, but drainingthem gladly now that, in those autumn days of the historic year 819,relief was in sight.
Ryd shrugged limply; the play was meaningless to him. He turned toshuffle down the inviting ramp into the glowing interior of Burshis'dive.
The place was crowded with men and smoke. Perhaps half the former wereasleep, on tables or on the floor; but for the few places like Burshis'which were still open under the power shortage, many would have frozen,these days, in the chilly nights at fourteen thousand feet. ForDynamopolis sprawled atop the world, now as in the old days when it hadbeen built to be the power center of North America.
The rocket blasts crescendoed and died up on Pi Mesa as Ryd wedgedhimself with difficulty into the group along the bar. If anyonerecognized him, they showed it only by looking fixedly at somethingelse. Only Burshis Yuns kept his static smile and nodded withsurprising friendliness at Ryd's pinched, old-young face.
Ryd was startled by the nod. Burshis finished serving another customerand maneuvered down the stained chrome-and-synthyl bar. Ryd washeartened.
"Say, Burshis," he started nervously, as the bulky man halted with hisback to him. But Burshis turned, still smiling, shaking his head sothat his jowls quivered.
"No loans," he said flatly. "But just one on the house, Ryd."
The drink almost spilled itself in Ryd's hand. Clutching itconvulsively, he made his eyes narrow and said suspiciously, "What yousetting 'em up for, Burshis? It's the first time since—"
Burshis' smile stayed put. He said affably, "Didn't you hear that shipthat just came down on the Mesa? That was the ship from Mars—theescort they were sending with the power cylinder. The power's comingin again." He turned to greet a coin-tapping newcomer, added over hisshoulder: "You know what that means, Ryd. Some life around here again.Jobs for all the bums in this town—even for you."
He left Ryd frowning, thinking fuzzily. A warming gulp seemed to clearhis head. Jobs. So they thought they could put that over on him again,huh? Well, he'd show them. He was smart; he was a damn good helioman—no, that had been ten years ago. But now he was out of the habitof working, anyway. No job for Ryd Randl. They gave him one once andthen took it away. He drank still more deeply.
The man on Ryd's immediate right leaned toward him. He laid a hand onhis arm, gripping it hard, and said quietly: "So you're Ryd R