This World Must Die! | Page 6

forward.
Brecken saw him coming, and tried to shift around to meet the
engineer's charge. Phillips crashed into him shoulder first, and they
both brought up against the opposite bulkhead with a thud. He
concentrated all his strength into wringing the other's forearm until he
heard the bar clang to the deck.

Brecken clubbed him on the side of the head with a wild left swing, and
Phillips found the big man's foot in the way when he tried to sidestep.
He lost his balance, but kept his grasp on the other so that they went
down together, thrashing about for some opening. Brecken was
red-faced with a maniacal rage. Beads of saliva sprayed from his
twisted lips as he sputtered curses.
The engineer let go suddenly and jolted the other under the chin with
the heel of his left hand. The man arched backward, but Phillips caught
a knee in the chest that sent him slithering across the deck. As he strove
to twist to his hands and knees, he saw Brecken groping for the bar.
Never reach him, thought Phillips frantically.
Thrusting one foot against the leg of an anchored data desk, he raised
himself half upright as he lunged desperately at Brecken. Strangely, it
occurred to Phillips for a fleeting lapse of time that old Varret had been
reasonably astute in his selections, if he desired violent-tempered
throwbacks. Then the breath was knocked out of him as he smashed
into Brecken with a force that sent them both hurtling into the
bulkhead.
The other's grunt of pain was almost lost beneath the sharp smack of
bone against metal. Phillips scrambled up hastily, but his opponent lay
still.
Over by the data desk, Donna was beginning to squirm quietly and
make groping motions with her outstretched hands. Truesdale had
retreated to the forward end of the control room, his features blanched
by apprehension.
I'll bet, thought Phillips, that old Varret slipped up in your case, my lad.
Your reaction to violence must be what they call normal.
He beckoned brusquely. "Give me a hand with him," he ordered.
Brecken still showed no sign of consciousness. Truesdale approached
warily, and with his aid Phillips lifted the unconscious man. With their

burden limp in their hands, they staggered down the corridor to one of
the sleeping compartments. There, they slung him into a bunk.
"He needs attention," said Truesdale.
"He won't get it from me," snapped Phillips. "Lumps on the head were
his idea; there's no time to fool with him."
He pulled the sliding door shut, noticing that it had no lock. Since
Brecken would probably be some time recovering, however, he put that
out of his mind.
* * * * *
Having returned to the control room, they discovered Donna sitting up.
At the sight of them, she pulled herself somewhat shakily to a standing
position, and brushed back her blonde hair.
"What happened?" she asked.
"He bumped his head on the bulkhead," said Phillips shortly.
This was accepted without comment. They turned to the instruments
and examined the dial of the range indicator.
"They aren't very far away," said Donna quietly. "Where do you stand
now, Phillips?"
"I suppose we'd better do it," he admitted. "Pretty vicious, aren't you?"
"No!" she snapped. "I don't like it either; I've never caused the death of
any human being."
"Oh, sure. That's why you were on Luna!"
She looked at him levelly in the eye, but her shoulders drooped a trifle
with the resignation of one who has often been disbelieved.
"My husband was a nice guy," she murmured, "but he never did know

when he had a drink too many for piloting his jet. He passed out trying
to give me a wild ride, and I got to the controls just in time to
crash-land the rocket; that's where they found me before I came to."
"Oh," said Phillips.
"I'm not half as hard as I'm trying to pretend," Donna went on, "even
after a year on Luna. But I was a nurse before I was married. I'm
thinking about what it will be like if this plague hits the planets before
they find something to fight it with. The children ... imagine that, will
you?"
Phillips stared at the range indicator. It seemed there were times when
an ugly thing had to be done for the common good. He wondered how
the old-time executioners had felt, in the days when there had been
judicial homicide. There were still jailers, for that matter, and men who
butchered cattle.
"Call it a mercy killing," murmured Donna between pale lips. "Maybe
you think that isn't still done once in a while, in spite of modern
society."
"Ummh," Phillips grunted. "Well, if you can watch at this end,
Truesdale and I can go set