The Alien Dies At Dawn

By Alexander Blade

Kendall Stone had twelve hours to save a thousand lives. It wasn't much time, especially since someone was making sure he didn't use it!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy December 1956 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

There was a scream of tortured air over the Mojave Spaceport as a two-man starship dropped on its hot jets toward the wide cementalloy landing field. It slowed and settled gently to the ground. Before the faint wisps of smoke had time to dissipate, the airlock door opened, and a big, broad-shouldered man got out. He dropped lithely to the ground and started off across the field at a quick trot.

He nearly bowled over a field attendant who had been coming toward him. "Hey!" the surprised attendant said. "Don't you want your ship checked?"

"Don't have time," Kendall Stone called back, as he continued running toward the Customs Office. He glanced at his watch. 1800. Twelve hours till dawn. Twelve hours!

Kendall Stone gritted his teeth and doubled his pace. He was in a super-plus top-level hurry. He'd practically burned a hole in the vacuum between Earth and Mars trying to get to Mojave on time. Twelve hours! At dawn, Galth of Rastol would die in the execution chamber for the crime of murder. And it was up to Kendall Stone to stop it.

He opened the door to the Main Lounge of the spaceport building and pushed his way through the thick, jostling crowd, moving slowly toward the Customs Office. He hardly noticed the people he shoved aside. There was only one thought in his mind: I've only got twelve hours.

Personally, Stone didn't give an octangle damn about Galth; he didn't even know the Rastolian personally—had never heard of him until a short time ago. But if Galth of Rastol died, so would a thousand others. The human colony on Rastol III would be wiped out in reprisal.

Including, Stone thought bitterly, the wife and two sons he had left behind to go on this purchasing trip.

The Customs Office was in sight now. He threaded his way through the mob. Just before he reached the door, he was almost pushed off balance by a squat, chubby little man who steadied him, apologized profusely, and went on his 

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