LADY INTO HELL-CAT

By STANLEY MULLEN

Tracking her across black space-lanes and slapping magnetic bracelets on her was duck soup for S.P. Agent Heydrick. Only then did he learn what a planet-load of trouble he'd bought.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The inspector of security police dropped his shoes on the floor and put his feet on the desk where he could watch his toes wriggle.

"Sure we're sloppy here," he said belligerently. "You pretty boys of the Space Patrol don't know what it's like in a slime-hole frontier town like 9 Ganymede."

Lee Heydrick smiled grimly. "I guess you didn't catch my name. I earned these service bars of mine. I was one of four survivors of the first Trans-Plutonian Expedition."

The inspector suddenly became respectful. "Oh, you're that Heydrick?" He referred to the credentials on his desk. "What's a pirate-chaser like you doing on an assignment like this? Seems like picking up fugitive murderers for the disintegrators is a job for the security police."

Heydrick grunted. "So it is. I don't like the job any better than you do. But this is no ordinary murderer. She's a red Martian. Killed Feyjak, third man in the Red Council. Worked in his laboratory. They suspect a Wilding plot."

"Feyjak, eh? They ought to give her a medal. I feel sorry for the girl—good-looker, too. Still sounds like a police job."

Heydrick growled. "Yes, it does. Just some more rotten politics. There's not supposed to be any politics in the Space Patrol. Hooey! The Red Scientists are in power, and my foster father, Tyko, is head man of the Blue. So I get assignments like this. Just so they can get a whack at Tyko. They hope I'll fail—that's all they want."

The inspector warmed noticeably. "So Tyko's your foster? I'm a blue myself ... out of working hours. That's why I'm stuck in a last frontier hellhole like this. Anything I can do to help?"

Heydrick loosened up and sat down. "I don't know. It's a mean job any way you look at it. The girl says she didn't kill him. They can't use scopolamine. She's a desert dweller of the old blood, and it 

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