Death stalked the _Libra_. The Io-plunging space liner freighted a secret weapon, and the rebel Kreuther had vowed it should not arrive. The ship's clock bonged drowsily three times. Bud Chandler, the junior watch, glared at it languidly. "Thus," he yawned, "endeth the lobster patrol. Three bells, my fine bucko--and the soft, warm hay for you. Or--" There was a hopeful note in his voice. "Or would you like to finish out my trick for me? I'll stand double for _you_ some night."…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.