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Delerium on Deneb By ROLF MARTELL Horga learned the secret of the deadly dust—but he had no knowledge of how it would hit him. JON HORGA, big, bulky and space-tanned, sat alone in the spaceport bar, nursing the last drink he could buy. He savagely ground out his blue Venusian cigar and felt the single orange credit note in his jacket pocket. Tomorrow, he knew, a space patrol blacklist would be thrown at him for suspected wrecking, and he'd be grounded for good. Horga, though he burned with anger, was not badly worried. Flush with credits or broke, he'd always land-ed on his feet, because he'd always been a little harder and more ruth-less than his enemies. And everyone —man or humanoid—he considered his potential enemy. He gave little attention to the bar-girls in their short, provocative skirts, the crew members or the rocket mechan-ics who wandered past his table. But his cold blue eyes narrowed as he saw the old spaceman stagger towards him. Horga judged he was a prospector just back from a long star trip. He had the look |
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