Design For Doomsday, by Bryce Walton. Slogging through Venus' reeking muck and groping horrors toward the forbidding dome of Solar Science City—treasure-vault of the best brains in the System—Guardsman Venard ed the frightened whispers: "An evil god rules there!"

The tone of the slurred, emotionless voice was cold and deadly, as were the tones of all Martians who had taken to their grotesque hearts the mystic, dictatorial disease of Zharkonism. It droned an implacable death song from the audio. It echoed horribly down the shadow-eaten labyrinth of that sprawling death-mart which was officially labeled Terro Concentration Camp Seven.

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