Vulcan held the weirdest secret of the ages,
one of eternal life that Rick Norman had to
find to save his friend from death. But it held
another secret, too—one that was so vicious,
even knowing it meant Rick Norman was doomed.
[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.]
"It's too risky for you to go alone, Johnny," Rick Norman said. "Waittill I get through showing the Senator around the mine. Then if youstill think your gravity gadget can get us to Vulcan against Sun drag,we'll go look into this Fountain of Youth business together." He knewJohnny wasn't paying any attention to his argument, however, and ashe talked his big fingers were busy under the table unfolding the waxpaper from the two small green capsules—Martian knockout drops. Twoof them would be enough to put Johnny out for a week.
Johnny Gordon's black hair gleamed in the nightclub's orange light.When he laughed, his tanned face was surprisingly boyish—surprisingbecause his name was linked with adventure in headlines on manyplanets. "You think the patrol's going to be laying for me offMercury," he laughed. "Well, I'd like a little excitement."
Norman dropped the wax paper on the floor and hid the capsules inhis big palm. Johnny was right—they would've had a lot more fun ifthey'd never bumped into that dead comet off Neptune. But how werethey to know that cold hunk of drift metal would turn out to be solidplatinum? That was three years ago and now their income was a numberlike the circumference of Jupiter in feet. To him it was a devil of aresponsibility. To Johnny it was just plain boring.
But he couldn't let Johnny get himself killed running away from a fulldress suit. "Okay," he said, faking resignation. "You win." Roughlyhandsome, Norman's hell or high water smile was as much a part of himas his long legs. He filled their glasses as the orchestra startedmoaning Martian Moon, dropped the capsules into the bubbly green winein Johnny's glass. "Here's to the Twenty-First Century Ponce de Leon,"he smiled, raising his glass.
Johnny reached across the table and picked up the bottle. "Here's tothe boredom of a million dollars," he said and drank the toast straightfrom the bottle. He wiped his chin, grinning. "You ought to know youcan't catch me on a Martian mickey. They stop the bubbles."
As Norman stared at the suddenly lifeless wine in Johnny's glass, herealized there was only one thing left to do. He knew a couple of boyswho were pretty handy with a blackjack and he knew an old hunting lodgein the Adirondacks where they could lock Johnny up for a week.
The next morning as Norman was packing his bags, one of his "boys"appeared at the door. His eyes were black and swollen. Embarrassed, heheld out an envelope. Norman tore it open.
"You'll find your other playmate locked in my bathroom. I'll bring youa jug full of the Fountain of Youth." The note was written in Johnny'scareless scrawl! Norman flicked the ampliphone button in the littletable beside his bed.
"Interstellar Spaceport!" he ordered the invisible telemike as hepulled a handful of bills from his pocket and shoved them at thebattered gentleman in the door. "Thanks for trying, Spike. Go kickJohnny's bathroom door down. Joe's locked up in there—"
"Spaceport," the wall speaker said.
"John Gordon," Norman asked, waving Spike out, "has he been there?"
"Mr. Gordon took off half an hour ago, sir," said the ampliphone. "ForMercury."
"Thanks...." As Norman clicked off the receiver, premonition crept overhim like a