Somewhere in the void was a planet with a new element that could transform men into supermen. It was Boone's job to find that world--if he survived-- The Terror Out Of Space By Dwight V. Swain [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy July 1954 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a good proposition, the way the lean, grey man from Associated Independents told it. He ticked off the points on his fingers: "Ten thousand credits an Earth year, Boone, win or lose. Full command of the field force. Five per cent cut on the profits if you get a mekronal processing unit in production on one of the unassigned satellites ahead of the Cartel." "Sorry, Terral." Again, Boone glanced at his chronox. "It's like I said. Any other time I might be interested. But right now I've got something else on my mind." "Fifteen thousand, then. And ten per cent if you spot in more than one satellite." Terral leaned forward. "Hell, man, that's more than you can hope to make as a GX if you stay with the Cartel!" Boone grinned, after a fashion. "Sorry." The lean man pushed back abruptly and gulped down his drink. "Then it _is_ the woman!" he accused. A spark of pale fire lighted behind the grey eyes. Even in the dimness of the thil-shop, Boone couldn't miss the tension. "Krobis shoves her in ahead of you, but you'd still throw away your future--" Boone brought his own glass down on the tanach table top, just hard enough so that it clicked a curt, sharp period to the other's sentence. "And what makes that your business?" For the moment Terral's narrow jaws seemed to widen at the hinges. His lips peeled back, as if he were about to say something raw and cutting. Then, reconsidering, he breathed in deep instead and slumped loose in his seat. The thin lips drew together in a crooked smile. "My business--? Nothing, Boone. Nothing at all." "That's the way I see it, too." Boone got up. "Good night, Terral." He strode on out, not bothering to shake hands or look back.