Joe Carson's Weapon

By JAMES R. ADAMS

From Mars they had come, these vanguards of a ruthless horde that would conquer Earth—if they could steal the weapon of Joe Carson's fertile mind.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Joe Carson grinned broadly and again reread his letter to the editor of Galactic Adventures. Galactic Adventures was Joe's favorite science-fiction magazine and he had spent many happy hours roaming the cold of space and inventing ponderous machines through the medium of its pages.

The latest issue lay open on the desk before him, its garish cover mercifully hidden from view. The cover was Joe's main reason for writing his missive, although he had several minor motives, not the least of them being his desire to see his name in print. The book was opened to the readers' section, which contained various vituperative gripes, complaints and kicks in the pants for the editor, intermingled with gushy, complimentary notes that praised the magazine to high heaven. Boy! That one from Henry Snade (The Obscure Organism) was a lulu. It told the editor, in no uncertain terms, where to go and gave half a page of reasons why he should never return.

Joe had all but bashed his brains out trying to pen a letter half as entertaining as the one from Snade and now his eyes flickered with appreciation as he scanned the product of his efforts.

Ye Humble Ed:

Once again the keeper has negligently left my door unlatched and I slyly crawl from my cage, drawn by one, irrevocable purpose. Glancing hither and yon, to make sure I am unobserved, I dash to the fence and clear it with a prodigious leap that carries me half way to the corner drugstore.

Snatching a tricycle from a gawping kid, I push his face in the mud and pedal furiously the remaining distance to the store. Leaping off, I rush in and batter my way through the screaming throng, shouting imprecations at all who stand in my way.

Panting with exhaustion, I at last reach my goal and clutch it to my breast. The crowd surges forward and frantic hands grab at the prize.

"It's mine! All mine!" I shout in their faces. "No one can take it from 

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