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This e-text was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories March 1959.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. copyright on thispublication was renewed.
By CHARLES L. FONTENAY
He was a living weapon of
destruction—immeasurably
powerful, utterly invulnerable.
There was only one
question: Was he human?
Trella feared she was infor trouble even before Motwick'shead dropped forward onhis arms in a drunken stupor.The two evil-looking men at thetable nearby had been watchingher surreptitiously, and nowthey shifted restlessly in theirchairs.
Trella had not wanted to cometo the Golden Satellite. It was asqualid saloon in the roughersection of Jupiter's View, theterrestrial dome-colony on Ganymede.Motwick, already drunk,had insisted.
A woman could not possiblymake her way through thesestreets alone to the better sectionof town, especially one cladin a silvery evening dress. Heronly hope was that this placehad a telephone. Perhaps shecould call one of Motwick'sfriends; she had no one on Ganymedeshe could call a real friendherself.
Tentatively, she pushed herchair back from the table andarose. She had to brush close bythe other table to get to the bar.As she did, the dark, slick-hairedman reached out and grabbedher around the waist with asteely arm.
Trella swung with her wholebody, and slapped him so hardhe nearly fell from his chair. Asshe walked swiftly toward thebar, he leaped up to follow her.
There were only two otherpeople in the Golden Satellite:the fat, mustached bartenderand a short, square-built man atthe bar. The latter swungaround at the pistol-like reportof her slap, and she saw that,though no more than four and ahalf feet tall, he was as heavilymuscled as a lion.
51His face was clean and open,with close-cropped blond hairand honest blue eyes. She ran tohim.
“Help me!” she cried. “Pleasehelp me!”
He began to back away fromher.
“I can't,” he muttered in adeep voice. “I can't help you. Ican't do anything.”
The dark man was at herheels. In desperation, she dodgedaround the short man and tookrefuge behind him. Her protectorwas obviously unwilling, butthe dark man, faced with hismassiveness, took no chances.He stopped and shouted:
“Kregg!”
The other man at the tablearose, ponderously, and lumberedtoward them. He was immense,at least six and a halffeet tall, with a brutal, vacantface.
Evading her attempts to staybehind him, the squat man beganto move down the bar awayfrom the approaching Kregg.The dark man moved in onTrella again as Kregg overtookhis quarry and swung a hugefist like a sledgehammer.
Exactly what happened, Trellawasn't sure. She had the impressionthat Kregg's fist connectedsquarely with the short man'schin before he dodged to oneside in a movement so fast itwas a blur. But that couldn'thave been, because the shortman wasn't moved by that blowthat would have felled a steer,and Kregg roared in pai