Planet Stories Super Pack #2. Ray Bradbury, Nelson S. Bond, Leigh Brackett

#42) Max Brand Western Super Pack ISBN 978-1-63384-841-2

      (PSP #43) R. A. Lafferty Super Pack ISBN: 978-1-5154-4504-3

      (PSP #44) Keith Laumer Super Pack ISBN: 978-1-5154-4511-1

      Phantom Out of Time

      By Nelson S. Bond

       Graed Garroway’s empire on Earth was toppling, smashed by the flaming vengeance of Dirk Morris who struck from nowhere with blinding speed and true justice. Yet such a thing could not be—for Dirk Morris was dead, slain at the brutal command of the Black Dictator.

      Metal grated upon metal, a heavy gate at the far end of the corridor swung open, and footsteps stirred dull echoes down the quiet prison-block. Neil Hardesty turned beseeching eyes to his friend and leader.

      "Dirk," he begged, "for the last time…let us share this with you? Please!"

      Vurrth, the hulking Venusian, nodded mutely, lending his support to Neil’s appeal. Shaughnessey, Vurrth’s earthly equal in size and strength, rumbled deep in his throat, "Yes, Dirk. We’re all in this together. Let’s take the punishment together…like men."

      Dirk Morris shook his head. His voice was firm; his gaze calm and steady.

      "No. It’s better one of us should die, than all. We set ourselves a righteous task: to rid the System of a madman and a tyrant. We pledged ourselves to fight…to win…or to die. Our first leader has already given his life that worlds may someday again breathe the air of freedom. A dozen of our comrades have paid the price of rebellion. Edwards, Johnson, Vallery…our blood-brothers.

      "Now it is my turn. But my passing does not mean we give up the fight. You, Hardesty, must take over the leadership of our little clan. When you have been freed, carry on! Find new recruits; rebuild our organization. Four against an empire is mighty odds, but if you four surrender, the liberty of all men is doomed for generations!"

      Fred Meacher said hopefully, "That’s right. Someone must pick up the torch. Neil, if you’d rather not, I’ll bear the Message —"

      "Never mind," said Hardesty. "I’m ready to take it. Well, Dirk?"

      The footsteps were drawing nearer. Swiftly, coolly, but deliberately, Dirk Morris placed his lips close to Neil’s ear, whispered a brief sentence. Hardesty started. His eyes first widened, then narrowed with incredulous surmise.

      "Dirk!" he gasped. "But that’s.... You can’t mean—"

      "Quiet!" warned Brian Shaughnessey. "Here they come! The skulking rats!" He spat contemptuously on the floor as a band of armed men halted before the cell in which the quartet was imprisoned.

      The foremost guardsmen parted, and before the grille appeared a man tall and powerful, dark of eye and beetling of brow; a personage whose innate ruthlessness and cruelty could not be disguised even by the ornate finery he wore. This was Graed Garroway, "Black" Garroway, tyrant of Earth, emperor of the System, Overlord—by force of arms—of the entire Solar Union.

      He smiled. But there was little mirth in his smile, and no sincerity.

      "Well, Morris?" he demanded.

      "Well?" repeated Dirk stonily.

      "Your time passes swiftly. Have you decided to tell your secret?"

      "I know one thing," said Morris, "that is no secret. My time passes swiftly, yes. But so does yours. The days of your dictatorship are numbered, Garroway. Soon the cleansing flame of righteous rebellion will rise to sweep you and every evil thing you stand for from the face of creation!"

      Garroway stiffened, flushing with dark anger.

      "You speak boldly for a doomed man, Morris. Guards, open the cell!" He scowled. "It may amuse you to learn that I did not need your information, traitor. I gave you a final chance to offer it of your own free will. But your cherished ‘secret’ has already been solved."

      "Solved!" That was Hardesty. "You mean—?"

      "Quiet, Neil!" warned Dirk. "He’s faking!"

      Garroway laughed.

      *

      "Faking? You shall see in a few minutes, when I put you to death in the murderous device constructed by your one-time leader, Dr. Townsend!"

      "Murderous—" began Hardesty.

      "Please, Neil! Then you…you found Dr. Townsend’s chamber?" asked Dirk.

      "Yes. And experimented with it, too. We know, now, its purpose. Too bad Robert Townsend did not live to receive our congratulations. So that was your secret, eh? Your late leader succeeded in perfecting a disintegration chamber?"

      "Disint—" began Morris. Then he stopped abruptly. When he spoke again, his voice was defiant. "Well…now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"

      Brian Shaughnessey stared at his friend miserably.

      "Disintegrating machine!" he choked. "Nothing but a damned theoretical gadget! Is that the great invention we’ve been risking our lives for? Dirk—"

      "Do about it?" laughed Garroway negligently. "Why, I’m going to turn it to my own usage, of course. And you, my unfortunate young conspirator, will attain the distinction of being the instrument’s first human victim. Come, guards! We have no more time to waste."

      "A moment!" interrupted Morris. "You will keep your promise? My companions go free when I die?"

      The Overlord nodded with mock graciousness.

      "Graed Garroway needs compromise with no man. But I have given my word. Yes, your companions go free."

      "Very well, then. I am ready."

      Morris turned and gripped warmly the hand of each of his companions in turn. Then he stepped forward. Two guards flanked him. The Captain of the Guard rasped a command. The little band marched down the avenue and out of sight; silence surged in to hush the stir of footsteps. Somewhere a barrier clanged metallically.

      "A disintegrating machine!" moaned Shaughnessey. "A damned disintegrating machine! Suppose we did have it? What good would it do us? It wasn’t portable. We couldn’t use it to fight Garroway’s hordes. Dirk’s just thrown his life away for nothing—"

      "Please, Brian!" begged Hardesty.

      His hands were knotted at his sides, the knuckles as white as his lips. Meacher’s eyes were ghastly. Only Vurrth displayed no emotion, but the sinews of the Venusian’s throat were taut cords of strain as he, with the others, waited.

      Slow seconds passed on sluggish feet. Then, after a million aeons, came the dreaded signal. From afar sounded the thin, persistent hum of pulsing current; the strong lights of the prison-block dimmed briefly…glowed…dimmed again…and glowed....

      *

      Brian Shaughnessey, strong fighting man that he was, raised a hand to his eyes. Neil Hardesty’s breath broke in a shaken murmur. Meacher whimpered, and Vurrth’s massive fists tensed at his thighs.

      Again a door opened…again footsteps approached the prisoners. There was a look of gloating malice on Garroway’s swarthy face. He said, "Open the cell, guards. Let them out now."

      Hardesty whispered, "It…it is over?"

      "It is over. Your friend has vanished…disappeared into whatever hell awaits rebels." The Overlord smiled. "It was a most interesting exhibition…most. Through the glazed pane we saw him standing, panic-stricken, frozen with terror. Then the current was turned on. Before our eyes, he vanished as a mist—"

      "I don’t believe it!" growled Shaughnessey. "Morris was afraid of nothing; man, beast, nor devil—"

      "And ... and we ?" broke in Fred Meacher fearfully.

      "Go free," said Black Garroway, "as I promised. But have a care!