This World Must Die!

This World Must Die!, by Horace
Brown Fyfe

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Title: This World Must Die!
Author: Horace Brown Fyfe
Release Date: October 20, 2007 [EBook #23102]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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WORLD MUST DIE! ***

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[Illustration: The girl clawed at Brecken's face as he raised the metal
bar ...]
Social living requires the elimination, or at very best, the modification

of many elements necessary to survival in "nature". And when an
emergency arises, very often it is the person who would be considered a
"criminal", in other situations, who alone is able to cope with the
necessities. If we manage to eliminate "violence" from human affairs,
what will we find when a need for "violence" arises--a need outside of
man's artificial control of his environment?
THIS WORLD MUST DIE!
Feature Novelet of Dread Necessity
"You have been chosen for this mission of murder because you are the
only people in our culture who are capable of this type of violence. You
have broken our laws, and this is your punishment!"
By H. B. Fyfe
Lou Phillips sat on the cold metal deck of the control room, seething
with a growing dislike for the old man.
"What you are here for," the other had told him when the guards had
brought Phillips in, "is a simple crime of violence. You'll do, I'm sure."
The old man paced the deck impatiently, while a pair of armed guards
maintained a watchful silence by the door. Two more men in plain gray
shirts and trousers sat beside Phillips, leaning back sullenly against the
bulkhead. He guessed that they were waiting for a fourth, remembering
that three other figures had been hustled aboard with him at the Lunar
spaceport.
The door slid open, allowing another youth in gray uniform to stumble
inside. One of the guards in the corridor beyond shoved the newcomer
forward, and Phillips' eyebrows twitched as he had a closer look. This
last prisoner was a girl.
He thought she might have been pretty, with a touch of lipstick and a
kinder arrangement of her short, ash-blonde hair; but he lowered his
eyes as her hard, wary stare flickered past him. She walked over to the

bulkhead and took a seat at the other end of the little group.
The old man turned, scanning their faces critically. "I am in charge of a
peculiar project," he announced abruptly. "The director of the Lunar
Detention Colony claims that you four are the best he has--for our
purposes!"
Long habit kept the seated ones guardedly silent. Seeing, apparently,
that they would not relax, he continued.
"You were chosen because each of you has received a sentence of
detention for life because of tendencies toward violence in one form or
another. In our twenty-second century civilization such homicidal
inclinations are quite rare, due to the law-abiding habits of generations
under the Interplanetary Council."
He had been pacing the cramped space left free by the equipment, the
guards, and the four seated prisoners. Now he paused, as if mildly
astonished at what he was about to say.
"In fact, now that we are faced by a situation demanding illegal
violence, it appears that no normal citizen is capable of committing
such an act. Using you may eliminate costly screening processes ... and
save time. Incidentally, I am Anthony Varret, Undersecretary for
Security in the Council."
None of the four showed any overt sign of being impressed. Phillips
knew that the others, like himself, were scrutinizing the old man with
cold, secretive stares. They had learned through harsh experience to
keep their own counsels. Varret shrugged. "Well, then," he said dryly,
"I might as well call the roll. I have been supplied with accurate
records."
* * * * *
He drew a notebook from his pocket, consulted it briefly, then nodded
at the man next to the girl. "Robert Brecken," he recited, "age
thirty-one, six feet, one hundred eighty-five pounds, hair reddish brown,

eyes green, complexion ruddy. Convicted of unjustified homicide by
personal assault while resisting arrest for embezzlement. Detention
record unsatisfactory. Implicated in two minor mutinies."
He glanced next at the youth beside Phillips. "Raymond Truesdale, age
twenty-two, five-feet-five, one-thirty. Hair black, eyes dark brown,
complexion pale. Convicted of two suicide attempts following failures
in various artistic fields. Detention record fair, psychological report
poor."
His frosty eyes