Passage To Planet X By HENRY HASSE They trailed a legend through the void, seeking a world of freedom, adventure and wealth. They reached their goal, a planet beyond all planets, a weird land of the Lost--where silent death prepared to strike. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Mark Travers hoisted himself up from the floor. He leaned against the supply locker, rubbed his aching jaw where the big man's fist had just landed, and grinned ruefully. The big spaceman didn't grin. He faced Mark straddle-legged and snapped, "Who are you?" "Mark Travers." His smooth gray eyes surveyed the man's bulk. He thought he could handle him, but filed it for future reference when he saw the neutro-gun in the other's fist. "Travers, eh. A blasted stowaway! You come aboard at Marsport?" "Obviously." "How?" "It was easy," Mark shrugged. "Your ship was small, dark, and carried no insignia. I watched your men loading supplies secretly. Furthermore, you hadn't filed your destination with Central Bureau. Just the kind of set-up I wanted." "You know a lot," the big spaceman's eyes went hard. "Are you a sneaking I-S-P? Never mind. I'll see for myself!" He came a step forward, and his gun got playful with the third button on Mark's plasticoid shirt. Expertly the man's fingers went over him. "Careful, there, I'm ticklish!" "So's the release on this trigger, so just stand still." Mark stood still. The search revealed no papers or identification of any kind. "I'm not I-S-P," Mark told him sincerely. "If I were, do you think you'd ever have lifted gravs from Marsport?" "Okay, fella. I'm Mal Driscoll. Sorry I had to clip you so hard, but you never should have pointed that contraption at me when I stepped in here. So help me, I thought it was some new kind of weapon." His eyes narrowed. "What is it?" For a mere second Mark hesitated. He glanced down at the small, stub-lensed box which he had clung to. "Why, it's--only a camera. New type, invention of my own." Driscoll nodded. "Come on, stowaway. We'll go up and see Janus. No skin off my teeth, if he wants to keep you aboard." They stepped out of the room and along a corridor, bracing themselves against the forward thrust of the rocket engines. "Who's Janus?" "Our Commander." "And what if he doesn't want me aboard?" Unobserved, Mark pressed a hidden stud in the black box. Tiny but powerful coils hummed to life, quickly ascended the scale to the inaudible. Camera? Mark smiled to himself and hoped none of the men here knew anything about cameras! "You know the space-code on that," Driscoll answered his question. "If it is so desired, stowaways are tossed into space."