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Planeteer Magazine, v. 2, isssue 1, March 1939
Page 10
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{Illustration labeled:} Illustrated by Marconette HE OF THE XANDY BY Walter E. Marconette A TALE OF VORAL OF THE SPACE POLICE Voral Strrode grimly down a crooked, narrow street in Ongress. His metal space boots clanged alarmingly on the rough, unkempt pavement. Hot, sultry fog obscured the dingy building lining this little used thoroughfare. Mentally he cursed himself for a fool. For three long months he had endured this steaming hell-hole of Venus to find Oroc, the space-rover. Undoubtedly, Voral told himself, it would eventually turn-out to be another false lead. The clang beneath his feet turned to a dull, hollow thud as his stalking legs carried him across a decrepit bridge. Far, far below the water sloshed monotonously against ancient oiles. A faint musty odor drifted to the Martian's sensitive nostrils., and he shuddered with revulsion at thought of the fearsome creatures which swam lazily through the Venusian rivers and seas. With amlmost a sigh of relief Voral left the bridge and turned toward a dim, green glow to his left. He entered a small inn, or at least what passed for an inn in Venusian slums. Four men seated at a rickety table, the only one in the room, glanced up. One swore softly under his breath at the sight of Voral's bright crimson uniform. The Martian fully realized that he had stumbled into a dive of the worst sort. Thoughts of retiring to the street flashed through his brain, but with a proud swagger he dicided to see it through. The landlord, a thin, scrawny man, stepped forward. Even through the dirty smock which half-covered the fellow's body, Voral could see him quake with fright. Controlling his fears the man addressed the towering red-clad figure before him in a harsh whine. "Who are what do you want here?" Voral regarded the little man with piercing eyes, until the
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{Illustration labeled:} Illustrated by Marconette HE OF THE XANDY BY Walter E. Marconette A TALE OF VORAL OF THE SPACE POLICE Voral Strrode grimly down a crooked, narrow street in Ongress. His metal space boots clanged alarmingly on the rough, unkempt pavement. Hot, sultry fog obscured the dingy building lining this little used thoroughfare. Mentally he cursed himself for a fool. For three long months he had endured this steaming hell-hole of Venus to find Oroc, the space-rover. Undoubtedly, Voral told himself, it would eventually turn-out to be another false lead. The clang beneath his feet turned to a dull, hollow thud as his stalking legs carried him across a decrepit bridge. Far, far below the water sloshed monotonously against ancient oiles. A faint musty odor drifted to the Martian's sensitive nostrils., and he shuddered with revulsion at thought of the fearsome creatures which swam lazily through the Venusian rivers and seas. With amlmost a sigh of relief Voral left the bridge and turned toward a dim, green glow to his left. He entered a small inn, or at least what passed for an inn in Venusian slums. Four men seated at a rickety table, the only one in the room, glanced up. One swore softly under his breath at the sight of Voral's bright crimson uniform. The Martian fully realized that he had stumbled into a dive of the worst sort. Thoughts of retiring to the street flashed through his brain, but with a proud swagger he dicided to see it through. The landlord, a thin, scrawny man, stepped forward. Even through the dirty smock which half-covered the fellow's body, Voral could see him quake with fright. Controlling his fears the man addressed the towering red-clad figure before him in a harsh whine. "Who are what do you want here?" Voral regarded the little man with piercing eyes, until the
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