 Who drew the fatal slip?
DOUBLECROSS by JAMES Mac CREIGH Revolt was brewing on Venus, led by the descendant of the first Earthmen to land. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Everything shipshape, I take it!" Four or five generations ago they were. "They had to acclimate themselves to Venus's climate. And there's some sort of a paltry underground group that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive the native Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, that is—right down into the mud. That's a basic law of—" The annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallic voice rasped: "Officer of the Deck! Instruments reports a spy ray focused on the main lock!" Lowry, interrupted in the middle of a word, jerked his head back and stared unbelievingly at the tell-tale next to the annunciator. We have agreed that, if the Earth-ship returns, it means disaster for Venus. Therefore, it must not return." "The Council did not know what we would face. Abruptly he set the bomb down, savagely ripped six leaves off a writing tablet on the table next him. There will be danger, I think...." It had held Venus-tobacco cigarettes; there were a few left. She shook them out and handed the bowl to Svan, who was rapidly creasing the six fatal slips. He dropped them in the bowl, stirred it with his hand, offered it to the girl. She reached in mechanically, her eyes intent on his, took out a slip and held it without opening it. The bowl went the rounds, till Svan himself took the last. "We will go, all six of us, in my ground car, to look at the Earth-ship. And the sixth person will have his chance to steal to the side of the ship. It will not be noticed in the dark—they will take off before sunrise, because they must travel away from the sun to return—in forty hours the danger is removed." Impatiently, he crackled: "Look at the slips!" Instinctively they had opened the slip, turned it over and over, striving to detect if it was the fatal one. He gave it but a second's glance, then looked up to see who had won the lethal game of chance. Svan waited impatiently for the chosen one to announce it—a second, ten seconds....
 Svan
 Svan  Ingra  Toller  Ingra's aunt