One big name per story is usually considered to be sufficient. So when two of them appear in one by-line, it can certainly be called a scoop; so that's what we'll call it. H. L. Gold and science-fiction go together like a blonde and a henna rinse. Robert Krepps is also big time. You may know him also under his other label—Geoff St. Reynard, but a Krepps by any name can write as well. The roller coaster's string of cars, looking shopworn in their flaky blue and orange paint, crept toward the top

Porfirio Villa had known from the first that this adventure of his was a mistake. His wife had told him to stay off the roller coaster, but he had sneered. What could happen? The people always got off again, laughing and wiping their brows. He had the bad burn on his left hand, caused by an accidental smacking of the steam table in a rage at his fool of a helper;—that idiot who now had had charge of the stand for two days! lodo feo! —and so, enforced to a vacation, he must step into the cars and

Mrs. Full sat on the straw, twisting her hands together. She did not know she was doing it until she had to disentangle them to pull her skirt lower on her folded legs, and then she deliberately put one hand flat on the floor so that she would not appear to be nervous. She wanted Calvin to be as proud of her in this terrible crisis as she was of him. But Calvin was calm, at any rate; so she was impatiently proud of him. "We've got to slam something into that opening next time the wall slides bac

Adam Pierce had an idea. It had begun to grow in his mind while the woman was running the miniature spaceship, but he had thought it over until he was certain it wasn't so silly as to make them laugh at him. Now he felt sure he'd hit on the truth; too many evidences for it, and nothing much that he could see against it. "I have an idea," he said. "To get out?" asked the woman. "No, ma'am. I think I know where we are." "Where?" asked everyone, except the big man, Summersby, who was sitting on the

When they were let out of their prison box next morning—nine o'clock Friday, by the chronograph, and they had slept another fifteen hours—there were five of the gigantic beast-creatures waiting for them. Any hopes that Tom Watkins had had of rooting around the big hall for a way of escape died with a dejected grunt. There must be well over a ton of enemies there, with their caverned red eyes peering down at the humans. No chance to explore under those gazes. The boss of the alien scientists—Watk

"I have seen you," said Villa to Adam, who was gnawing on a drumstick. "You wear the wig and a bone in the nose, and a tigerskin around you." "Sure," said Adam. "I'm the Wild Man from Zululand. It's one job where my color's an advantage." "A fine job!" said Villa. "You should have come down to my stand. The best chili in New York." "I had a bowl there last week. Without my make-up, I mean." "I will give you a bowl free when we go home. With tacos," added Villa generously. "It's good stuff," said

Tom Watkins awoke slowly. He had a cramp in one arm from sleeping on it, but otherwise he was conscious of a comfortable, healthy feeling, which told him he'd slept well and long. He stretched and brushed a few pieces of straw from his face. Straw? He suddenly remembered sitting down on their platform, very sleepy and worried because of the abruptness of it. He sat up. Summersby had just stood, yawning. "Did you carry me in here?" he asked the big man. "I was going to ask you that." "Christ! Wha

By Tuesday they were all in a state of anxiety and scarcely-contained rage. Their surveillance was casual, often non-existent, yet not once had they been able to block the wall of their prison or open the great door of the laboratory. Circumstances, chance, fate, whatever you wanted to call it, something had stopped them every time. There were three giants in the lab today. Sometimes there would be one of them, sometimes as many as five; but always there would be the one who had first removed th

Summersby was losing the sense of being apart, of having no problems no matter what happened. These people had drawn him into their trouble against his will; the situation was so bad that he could no longer tell himself he didn't give a damn. So he had a bad heart! He couldn't turn his back on these poor devils because of that. It was stupid and selfish. He felt sorry for them. He was uncomfortable with them, as he always was with standard-sized people, and he would still repel any attempt on th

It was ten minutes to twelve. Summersby was panting like a spent hound. He had not exercised in months, not since the doctors had told him his heart was just about gone, and he was surprised that he hadn't keeled over before now. Dashing around playing guerrilla like some six-year-old! It had been a damn good idea, though. The giant children—there were two of them today—were still enthralled, lying on their bellies with their furry watermelon heads propped in fantastic two-thumbed hands. Leaning

There was darkness, then bright sun. They stood on a street corner, and Summersby could read the signs as plainly as Watkins must have read them in the focusing lens of the matter transmitter on the unknown planet. Broadway and 42nd Street. The five of them had clicked into being on the busiest corner of New York. "That old crook," said Adam, gulping. "He focused us here for a gag." "I look awful ," gasped Mrs. Full, and Summersby, glancing at her, agreed. Like all of them, she had lost weight;