 How was Gunther defeated?
The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY "Get Gunther," the official orders read. For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console, wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. It made a spiked fist and knocked the rear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. Hathaway only knew he was picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't long in following, swearing loud words. A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out of the controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. "Is this what ?" yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattled around—human dice in a croupier's cup. Marnagan elevated seven feet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. "Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathed from asteroid crackup. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain that stretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars. Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it look sick. Upon the sharp meteoric rocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supply mashed and scattered. Or was suffocation a better death...? If it's proof you want, I've got it here, on film." "It's not proof we need now, Click. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: "This is Gunther's work. Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get back to Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a pirate whose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally wins through to a triumphant finish. There wasn't much to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. We got fifty minutes to prove you're right. Immense crimson beasts with numerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, some tubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing along in the air. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmed after him. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. Click's voice gasped it out, as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.
 Click and Irish tricked him and his pirate guards.
 Click and Irish tricked him and his pirate guards.  He had a heart attack.  He surrendered.  The U.S. Cavalry swarmed his base.