Beer-Trust Busters By A. R. STUART "It's a hell of a note when one guy controls the beer situation--let's do Dudley dirty!" rang the war cry of Doc, Listless and Outhouse. And the intrepid trio went blearily about the business of dirtying Dudley--empty bottles marking their trail. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We pulled into the spaceport with the asteroid in tow. Platinum--20%. Very nice. We cleared our papers and sold the deposit for a tidy sum. There was only one thing to do and we did it. "Three beers," said Outhouse. Six feet four he was and built like one. The bartender brought them over. None of those mechanical mixers for us like they have in the high class joints. We like human company. Maybe that's why I'm always fighting with Outhouse Murphy and Listless Lomack. "Nice spotting on that asteroid, Doc," said Listless, downing his beer in a gulp and ordering three more, all for himself. "It's nice to have an astrophysicist in the crew. Sometimes you actually have a purpose." "More than a third class navigator," I yipped. But I was feeling pretty good. We all were. Money in our pockets, a good ship to roam around in and the best of company. We sat around over more beer, discussing plans for a real bender of which this was only the beginning, as you might say. When we finally picked out what we wanted to do, we called for the bill. Murphy picked it up and set it down. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Look," he commanded. I added up the column and checked the total. Then I thought back over the number of drinks we'd had. Listless pulled out a pocket slipstick but I didn't need it. "The price," I said in a hushed whisper, "has doubled." Listless turned to the bartender. "What's the idea?" he asked. The guy shrugged. "That's the latest," he said. "I can't help it. I gotta pay more, I gotta charge more." "Who's your supplier?" asked Outhouse. "Drake," said the bartender. Murphy turned to us. "I got suspicions," he informed us. "I got to go chase 'em up. I'll be back in a little while." Listless and I debated whether to order more. It was almost cheaper to drink hard liquor but we decided that discretion was the better part of hangover and stuck to beer. We hung around for about an hour and finally the door was shadowed by Murphy's tremendous form. If an elephant can slide, Murphy slid onto a stool. He ordered a couple and turned to us. "Well, boys, what do you think of the doings of Dirty Dudley?" Listless and I looked at each other. "Dudley D. Drake, young tycoon; embezzled from his father, sold short on his brother and now controls the beer situation."