Ron Goulart - Hello, Lemuria, Hello.pdf - Ron Goulart - widez2

The Publishers

modestly announce

that

HELLO, LEMURIA, HELLO

has been awarded the

highest prize . . .

THE GOOFY

. . . at the Annual Convention

of the

Crackpot Writers of America.

— Sheraton-Nostalgia Hotel

Manhattan, April 2022

Now—at long last, your first opportunity to read this work in

its Original, Unabridged, and Unexpurgated version!

Cover Art by Josh Kirby.

All of the characters in this book are fictitious,

and any resemblance to actual persons, living

or dead, is purely coincidental.

F IRST P RINTING , M ARCH 1979

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

P R I N T E D I N U . S . A .

HELLO, LEMURIA, HELLO

Chapter 1

The assassin came in and ordered waffles.

It was a warm and pleasant morning in Organic, California, the last day of April, 2022. A faint

breeze was drifting in across the calm Pacific and the beach below.

The assassin was small and dapper, dark-complected and wearing a spotless white turban and a

spotless two-piece white daysuit. He carried his kilgun in his spotless white briefcase.

But Jake Conger didn't know that when he served him. A lean, deeply tanned man of thirty-two,

Conger was looking after their nearly empty Vegetable Patch restaurant this particular morning.

His wife was over in Gomezville #2 protesting.

"Haie, sahib!" exclaimed the assassin softly when the plate was set before him. "These be the

most delightful appearing soywaffles I have ever encountered. Surely Kali smiles upon my humble

self."

He poured surpsub lavishly over them, cut a square and ate it with sedate murmurs of joy and

small wiggles of pleasure. Then his left hand flashed into his briefcase, came out gripping his silver

kilgun.

Conger was a few seconds ahead of him. He kicked up with his booted right foot before the

barrel of the glittering weapon could point at any vital portion of him.

The boot toe made contact with a wrist bone. "Haie! By the numerous arms of Kali!" screamed

the spotless assassin.

Spinning, sparkling, the gun went upward until it smacked one of the realwood crossbeams.

The kilgun made a clicking sound and a ray of intense purplish light came flashing down out of it.

The ray touched the assassin's face. He screamed once. His head disappeared completely and

his turban slumped down into his collar.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Conger took a few unsteady steps backward as the assassin's body tumbled

over.

"Can we expect more of this sort of thing, Mr. Conger?" inquired a husky black skytrucker

who'd dived beneath his table an instant after the weapon had emerged.

"Huh?" Conger was scanning the room for more assassins.

"Some truckers enjoy rowdy joints, but as for myself I favor a quieter atmosphere. One where a

contemplative mode of—"

"I don't know, Caz." Conger watched the dead man twitch and grow still on the raw plank

flooring. "I'm retired now, nobody should want to do me in."

"Used to be a government agent of the killer sort," remarked a small grey customer to her

younger and larger blond husband. "I remember reading about him in Famous once. Conger the

killer."

"Oh, really?" The blond young man giggled while concentrating on getting the fork in his hand

to stop quivering.

Ron Goulart - Hello, Lemuria, Hello.pdf

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