Raymond Zinke Gallun (1911 - 1994) was among the earliest pulp fiction writers who specialized in science fiction, and he sold many stories to magazines in the 1930s under his own name and several pseudonyms (such as Dow Elstar, E.V. Raymond and William Callahan). His first novel, "People Minus X" (included here) was published in 1957, followed by his second, "The Planet Strappers," in 1961 (also included here). He was honored with the I-CON Lifetime Achievement Award in 1985 at I-CON IV; the award was later renamed The Raymond Z. Gallun Award. THE REVOLT OF THE STAR MEN THE ETERNAL WALL ASTEROID OF FEAR BIG PILL RETURN OF A LEGEND COMET'S BURIAL STAMPED CAUTION PEOPLE MINUS X (novel) THE PLANET STRAPPERS (novel) The Collector If you enjoy this ebook, don't forget to search your favorite ebook store for "Wildside Press Megapack" to see more of the 250+ volumes in this series, covering adventure, historical fiction, mysteries, westerns, ghost stories, science fiction -- and much, much more!
Raymond Z. Gallun began writing during the pulp era of the 1930s and soon established himself as one of the leading science fiction authors of his time. This new autobiography related the story of his life and provides an insider's look at the early days of the SF field.
As unheralded as ghosts, but as significant as a new dawn of history, there came to Earth from distant Ganymede's glowing crescent—three micro-androids, minuscule beings, carrying the treasure of immortality...
Child, it was, of the now ancient H-bomb. New. Untested. Would its terrible power sweep the stark Saturnian moon of Titan from space ... or miraculously create a flourishing paradise-colony?
Space-weary rocketmen dreamed of an asteroid Earth. But power-mad Norman Haynes had other plans—and he spread his control lines in a doom-net for that oasis in space.
Raymond Zinke Gallun (1911 - 1994) was among the earliest pulp fiction writers who specialized in science fiction, and he sold many stories to magazines in the 1930s under his own name and several pseudonyms (such as Dow Elstar, E.V. Raymond and William Callahan). His first novel, "People Minus X" (included here) was published in 1957, followed by his second, "The Planet Strappers," in 1961 (also included here). He was honored with the I-CON Lifetime Achievement Award in 1985 at I-CON IV; the award was later renamed The Raymond Z. Gallun Award. THE REVOLT OF THE STAR MEN THE ETERNAL WALL ASTEROID OF FEAR BIG PILL RETURN OF A LEGEND COMET'S BURIAL STAMPED CAUTION PEOPLE MINUS X (novel) THE PLANET STRAPPERS (novel) The Collector If you enjoy this ebook, don't forget to search your favorite ebook store for "Wildside Press Megapack" to see more of the 250+ volumes in this series, covering adventure, historical fiction, mysteries, westerns, ghost stories, science fiction -- and much, much more!
Helplessly Marooned in Space, Earthman and Uranian Devise a Cunning Trap for an Interplanetary Outlaw!Excerpt"You're licked, Raff Orethon. The new Esar repulsion shield will protect me and my people, not the Titanian colony. I could kill you now, but to do so would be a waste of effort, since you are already as good as dead. Sometimes self-murder is justified, my friend. If you and that ridiculous Uranian mascot of yours resorted to suicide, I am certain that you would save yourselves much anguish of mind. That is all. Korse Bradlow, the Ringmaster, has other business. Goodbye, trouble shooter! Farewell!"Raff Orethon, strapped in the wrecked cabin of his spaceboat, was dimly aware of the words that clicked faintly in the etherphones of his oxygen helmet. His faculties were still numb from the crash. In them there was room for scarcely more than one thought-he had failed. Foggily he saw Korse Bradlow creep over the rusty surface of the meteor against which the ruined spaceboat was telescoped. He saw him straighten up, holding the metal box which contained the pilfered Esar models tightly against the side of his vacuum armor. He saw Bradlow jump athletically clear of the great lump of cosmic refuse, catch the door-rail of his own gaudily gilded ship floating free in the ether, open the valve, and disappear into the interior. A moment later the rockets of the golden craft spat blasts of incandescent flame, and it hurtled away, clear of the immeasurably frosty glory of Saturn's Rings. Its form dwindled swiftly among the brittle stars."What are we going to do now, Orethon?
A man may be a scoundrel, a crook, a high-phased confidence man, and still work toward a great dream which will be worth far more than the momentary damage his swindles cost. Excerpt Outside Tycho Station on the Moon, Jess Brinker showed Arne Copeland the odd footprints made in the dust by explorers from Mars, fifty million years ago. A man-made cover of clear plastic now kept them from being trampled. "Who hasn't heard about such prints?" Copeland growled laconically. "There's no air or weather here to rub them out--even in eternity. Thanks for showing a fresh-arrived greenhorn around..." Copeland was nineteen, tough, willing to learn, but wary. His wide mouth was usually sullen, his grey eyes a little narrowed in a face that didn't have to be so grim. Back in Iowa he had a girl. Frances. But love had to wait, for he needed the Moon the way Peary had once needed the North Pole. Earth needed it, too--for minerals; as an easier, jump-off point to the planets because of its weak gravity; as a place for astronomical observatories, unhampered by the murk of an atmosphere; as sites for labs experimenting in forces too dangerous to be conducted on a heavily-populated world, and for a dozen other purposes. Young Copeland was ready for blood, sweat, and tears in his impulse to help conquer the lunar wastes. He sized up big, swaggering Jess Brinker, and admitted to himself that this man, who was at least ten years his senior, could easily be a phony, stalking suckers. Yet, Copeland reserved judgment. Like any tenderfoot anywhere, he needed an experienced man to show him the ropes. He already knew the Moon intimately from books: A hell of silence, some of it beautiful: Huge ringwalls. Blazing sunlight, inky shadow. Grey plains, black sky. Blazing stars, with the great blurry bluish globe of Earth among them. You could yearn to be on the Moon, but you could go bats and die there, too--or turn sour, because the place was too rough for your guts. Afield, you wore a spacesuit, and conversed by helmet radiophone. Otherwise you lived in rooms and holes dug underground, and sealed up. The scant water you dared use was roasted out of gypsum rock. The oxygen you breathed was extracted from lunar oxides by a chemical process. Then air-rejuvenator apparatus reseparated it from the carbon-dioxide you exhaled, so that you could use it over and over. Copeland had read the tales: With that kind of frugality as the price of survival, lunar prospectors could turn selfish to the point of queerness. Afraid somebody might follow them to their mineral claims, they'd take more pains to leave as little spoor as possible than a fox being tracked by dogs. "Speaking of how footprints last around here," Copeland remarked for the sake of conversation, "I understand you've got to be careful--stick to high ridges, and to parts of the flat maria where there's no old volcanic ash or dust of thermal erosion.
From the bow of one of America’s ships a beam of bluish light stabbed out and struck an enemy craft. It passed thru the vessel as tho it had been made of glass instead of thousands of tons of steel.
The hero of the novel is Ed Doukas, who is the nephew of the scientist whom everyone blames for the destruction of the Moon (though it's never clear if the scientist is actually guilty); this uncle survived, because he had left the Moon the day before the experiment.Soon, the government learns of the survival of the uncle, and he goes underground. Ed soon finds himself a pariah due to his relation to his uncle.As the story proceeds, there begins to be a debate, then more animosity between people who are natural, and the re-created android personalities, until it begins to resemble McCarthyism, as the naturally-born people believe the androids want to take over the world.Ed learns where his uncle is hiding, and decides to stand with the androids, since the natural-born are so hysterical and are becoming luddites, i.e. they are against all science.Soon, there is a war between the two sides, and that fills up the rest of the story.
Armchair Fiction presents extra large editions of classic science fiction double novels. The first novel, “Operation Disaster” is a terrific story filled with harrowing outer space adventure by Raymond Z. Gallun. There were ten spaceships for ten brave men. Ten of them, brash and cocky for the most part, all equipped with Harmon Pushers, the new individual spaceships that could take you anywhere you wanted to go in the Solar System. So they struck out—some in groups, some individually—toward the unknown. For some it was as simple as going to the Moon. Others felt the alluring, exotic pull of Mars and Venus. Some even felt the mysterious beckoning of the far-off Asteroid Belt. But for all of them it was a chance to meet their destinies in the wilds of outer space. They promised to meet again in ten years, after they’d explored all of space. It was sentimentality of course, such as kids have always gone in for. Only, out in space, kids turn into men. The second novel is by one of sci-fi’s most unheralded master authors, David H. Keller, M. D. “The Conquerors” is a grand tale about the Earth being invaded from within. They called themselves “The Conquerors” and one day they decided to take over a big chunk of the United States. Soon a strange mist began to form over Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina—causing all man-made structures to rot. The President and the state governments seemed powerless to stop it. But who were these strange little men who came up out of the earth, wielding a power that could destroy the world! Only a staunch British anthropologist and two young Americans had any chance of saving humanity from impending doom. Their trail led to moss-covered ruins, underground cities, and torture pits beyond imagination!
A man may be a scoundrel, a crook, a high-phased confidence man, and still work toward a great dream which will be worth far more than the momentary damage his swindles cost. Excerpt Outside Tycho Station on the Moon, Jess Brinker showed Arne Copeland the odd footprints made in the dust by explorers from Mars, fifty million years ago. A man-made cover of clear plastic now kept them from being trampled. "Who hasn't heard about such prints?" Copeland growled laconically. "There's no air or weather here to rub them out--even in eternity. Thanks for showing a fresh-arrived greenhorn around..." Copeland was nineteen, tough, willing to learn, but wary. His wide mouth was usually sullen, his grey eyes a little narrowed in a face that didn't have to be so grim. Back in Iowa he had a girl. Frances. But love had to wait, for he needed the Moon the way Peary had once needed the North Pole. Earth needed it, too--for minerals; as an easier, jump-off point to the planets because of its weak gravity; as a place for astronomical observatories, unhampered by the murk of an atmosphere; as sites for labs experimenting in forces too dangerous to be conducted on a heavily-populated world, and for a dozen other purposes. Young Copeland was ready for blood, sweat, and tears in his impulse to help conquer the lunar wastes. He sized up big, swaggering Jess Brinker, and admitted to himself that this man, who was at least ten years his senior, could easily be a phony, stalking suckers. Yet, Copeland reserved judgment. Like any tenderfoot anywhere, he needed an experienced man to show him the ropes. He already knew the Moon intimately from books: A hell of silence, some of it beautiful: Huge ringwalls. Blazing sunlight, inky shadow. Grey plains, black sky. Blazing stars, with the great blurry bluish globe of Earth among them. You could yearn to be on the Moon, but you could go bats and die there, too--or turn sour, because the place was too rough for your guts. Afield, you wore a spacesuit, and conversed by helmet radiophone. Otherwise you lived in rooms and holes dug underground, and sealed up. The scant water you dared use was roasted out of gypsum rock. The oxygen you breathed was extracted from lunar oxides by a chemical process. Then air-rejuvenator apparatus reseparated it from the carbon-dioxide you exhaled, so that you could use it over and over. Copeland had read the tales: With that kind of frugality as the price of survival, lunar prospectors could turn selfish to the point of queerness. Afraid somebody might follow them to their mineral claims, they'd take more pains to leave as little spoor as possible than a fox being tracked by dogs. "Speaking of how footprints last around here," Copeland remarked for the sake of conversation, "I understand you've got to be careful--stick to high ridges, and to parts of the flat maria where there's no old volcanic ash or dust of thermal erosion.
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