Dirk temple stared woozily at the intricate indicators on the visa-board of his sleek speeding space ship.
Through an alcoholic fog of three days density his brain tried vainly to make the necessary deductions from the graphs and charts and meters that pitted the surface of the shiny chrom-alloy control panel.
 | An image should appear at this position in the text. To use the entire page scan as a placeholder, edit this page and replace "{{missing image}}" with "{{raw image|Amazing Stories Volume 15 Number 12.djvu/111}}". Otherwise, if you are able to provide the image then please do so. For guidance, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images. |  |
The guard's whip lashed through the air
and came down on Dirk's bare shoulders
It was no go. The indicators bounced crazily before his blood-shot eyes confusing him hopelessly.
He leaned helplessly back in the pilot's chair of the trim single seater and came to a profound decision.
"I am drunk," he said aloud.
Pleased by his astuteness in figuring this out for himself he smiled genially and reached for the square bottle of Martian brandy beneath his seat. He lifted the bottle to his lips but only a few drops of the fiery liquor dribbled over his chin.
"Empty," he said profoundly. "Can't fool me."
He dropped the bottle and kicked the deceleration lever with his foot.
111
